The Constable De Bourbon. Ainsworth William Harrison

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      “Justice must and shall be done you, Charles,” cried the Dame de Beaujeu. “I will go to the Duchess d’Angoulême at once. Your arm, Charles – give me your arm.”

      “You are not equal to the effort, madame,” said the Constable.

      “If it costs me my life, I will see her,” cried the resolute old duchess. And she took a few steps, but her strength then utterly failed her, and she would have fallen but for the Constable’s support.

      Her physician and Cornelius Agrippa, who had been anxiously watching her, flew to her assistance.

      “Oh! that; I had but one hour left of my former strength! I should die content,” she groaned.

      “Drink of this, madame,” said Cornelius Agrippa, offering her a phial. “It is a sovereign elixir, and will restore you.”

      But she had not strength to take the phial, and was evidently sinking.

      Bourbon, however, placed the elixir to her lips, and made her swallow a few drops. The effect was instantaneous and almost magical. New strength seemed imparted to her limbs, the hue of health returned to her cadaverous cheeks, and she was able to stand without support.

      “You have given me new life,” she said to Agrippa.

      “Waste not a moment of it, madame,” he replied. “It may not be of long duration.”

      Just then, the great folding-doors at the end of the hall were thrown open, and the king, accompanied by the Duchess d’Angoulême and Bonnivet, entered the salon. Behind them came a crowd of courtiers, amongst whom were Montmorency, Saint-Vallier, and René de Bretagne.

      “I have my wish. She is here!” cried the old duchess.

      On the entrance of the king, Claude advanced to meet him, and the Dame de Beaujeu followed closely behind her, marching with the firmness and majesty of former years. As he beheld her move along in this way, Mathieu Bernard observed to Agrippa:

      “You have performed a miracle.”

      “I have but restored the vital energies for a moment,” replied the other. “It is the last flash of the expiring taper.”

      The royal party met in the centre of the salon. Bourbon had followed his mother-in-law, and Saint-Vallier and René came over and stationed themselves beside him.

      “I am sorry to learn, sire,” said Claude, “that our cousin, the Constable de Bourbon, has incurred your displeasure. Let me intercede for him with your majesty.”

      “It is true that the Duke dc Bourbon has deeply offended me,” said the king. “But it is not too late for his restoration to favour.”

      “You hear that, prince,” said Claude to the Constable. “All may yet be well.”

      “Sire,” interposed the Dame de Beaujeu, “I ask for justice to my son-in-law, the Duke de Bourbon. Has he not served you faithfully? Has he not brought you men and treasure? Has he not bled for you in the field? And how has he been rewarded? By slights, by the withdrawal of his pensions, by the spoliation of his property, by disgrace, by dishonour. Sire, wrongs like these are enough to make a traitor of the noblest and most loyal heart in France.”

      “No wrong, madame, has been done to the Constable de Bourbon,” rejoined the king. “But, if I am not misinformed, he has already played the traitor.”

      Bourbon looked sternly at the king, but took no other notice of the insinuation.

      “Believe it not, sire,” said the Dame de Beaujeu. “Whoso has told you that has spoken falsely,” she added, glancing at the Duchess d’Angoulême. “Charles de Bourbon is no traitor. But goad him not to desperation by wrongs greater than any man can tamely endure.”

      “Peace, madame. You trouble the king,” said the Duchess d’Angoulême.

      “What!” exclaimed the Dame de Beaujeu, regarding her with unutterable scorn. “Is Anne of France, daughter of Louis XI., the wisest and the greatest monarch that ever sat on the throne, to hold her peace at the bidding of Louise de Savoie? But I will not be silent. I will tell the king, your son, that he has done a flagrant act of injustice in aiding you to avenge yourself upon the Duke de Bourbon. All shall know the cause of your animosity.”

      “I will hear no more,” cried François, impatiently.

      “Listen to me, sire, I beseech you,” said Queen Claude. “You have done Bourbon grievous wrong. Make him some amends. You know I rarely interfere with your proceedings, but in this case I cannot refrain. I would not have you commit injustice.”

      “Do you also tax me with injustice?” said the king, frowning.

      “I have said it, sire,” she replied.

      “I should be wanting in duty to your majesty if I remained silent,” said Montmorency. “In my opinion, Bourbon has been unjustly treated.”

      “You, too, against me, marshal?” cried the king.

      “I will answer for Bourbon’s loyalty with my head, sire,” said Saint-Vallier.

      “And so will I,” added René de Bretagne.

      “I take you at your word, messieurs,” replied François. “Charles de Bourbon, you are free to depart.”

      “Sire, you do wrong in granting this permission,” sad the Duchess d’Angoulême.

      “Beware, madame,” said the Dame de Beaujeu, stepping towards her. And clutching her hand, she whispered, “Interfere, and I will proclaim your infamy to all around.”

      Bourbon tarried not a moment. With a haughty obeisance, and with a look of ill-disguised menace at the king, he quitted the salon, followed by Saint-Vallier and René.

      This time he experienced no hindrance from the guard, but passing through the vestibule, and descending the great horse-shoe staircase, he mounted his steed, and rode off with his escort.

      As Cornelius Agrippa had predicted, the Dame do Beaujeu expired on her litter on the way back to Paris.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK

      BOOK II. – THE FLIGHT

      I. THE SECRET TREATY

      At the ancient Château of Moulins, the abode of his illustrious ancestors, the Constable de Bourbon dwelt in princely state, maintaining a vast number of retainers, holding a court little inferior in splendour to that of the king, and exercising all the privileges of a powerful feudal suzerain. A grand and picturesque-looking structure was the château, and from its proud position dominated the town, and the rich vine-covered district around it. Not two leagues from Moulins was the abbey of Souvigny, a venerable Gothic pile, which was to the Dukes of Bourbon what Saint Denis was to the Kings of France – a mausoleum.

      On his return from Fontainebleau to Moulins, Bourbon allowed no indication to appear from his manner that he was disturbed by the quarrel that had taken place between him and the king, though those in his confidence knew that he meditated revenge, and was making preparations for revolt.

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