THE VALOIS SAGA: Queen Margot, Chicot de Jester & The Forty-Five Guardsmen (Historical Novels). Alexandre Dumas

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СКАЧАТЬ devotion or the result of his imprudence.”

      “Unfortunately,” replied Henry, “being half Catholic already, I have lost all influence over Monsieur de Condé. Your friend was wrong, therefore, in addressing himself to me.”

      “It was not only in regard to the Prince de Condé that your majesty could be of use to my friend, but in regard to the Prince de Porcian also, the brother of the one who was poisoned.”

      “Ah!” exclaimed Charlotte, “do you know, Réné, that your stories partake of the gruesome? You plead at a poor time. It is late, your conversation is death-like. Really, your perfumes are worth more.” Charlotte again extended her hand towards the opiate box.

      “Madame,” said Réné, “before testing that, as you are about to do, hear what cruel results wicked men can draw from it.”

      “Really, Réné,” said the baroness, “you are funereal this evening.”

      Henry frowned, but he understood that Réné wished to reach a goal which he did not yet see, and he resolved to push towards this end the conversation which awakened in him such painful memories.

      “And,” he continued, “you knew the details of the poisoning of the Prince de Porcian?”

      “Yes,” said he. “It is known that every night he left a lamp burning near his bed; the oil was poisoned and he was asphyxiated.”

      Henry clinched his fingers, which were damp with perspiration.

      “So,” he murmured, “he whom you call your friend knows not only the details of the poisoning, but the author of it?”

      “Yes, and it is for this reason that he wished to ask you if you would use over the Prince of Porcian the remains of that influence and have the murderer pardoned for the death of his brother.”

      “Unfortunately,” replied Henry, “still being half Huguenot, I have no influence over Monsieur le Prince de Porcian; your friend therefore would have done wrong in speaking to me.”

      “But what do you think of the intentions of Monsieur le Prince de Condé and of Monsieur de Porcian?”

      “How should I know their intentions, Réné? God, whom I may know, has not given me the privilege of reading their hearts.”

      “Your majesty must ask yourself,” said the Florentine calmly. “Is there not in the life of your majesty some event so gloomy that it can serve as a test of clemency, so painful that it is a touchstone for generosity?”

      These words were uttered in a tone which made Charlotte herself tremble. It was an allusion so direct, so pointed, that the young woman turned aside to hide her blush, and to avoid meeting Henry’s eyes. Henry made a supreme effort over himself; his forehead, which during the words of the Florentine wore threatening lines, unbent, and he changed the dignified, filial grief which tightened his heart into vague meditation.

      “In my life,” said he, “a gloomy circumstance — no, Réné, no; I remember in my youth only folly and carelessness mingled with more or less cruel necessity imposed on every one by the demands of nature and the proofs of God.”

      Réné in turn became constrained as he glanced from Henry to Charlotte, as though to rouse the one and hold back the other; for Charlotte had returned to her toilet to hide the anxiety caused by their conversation, and had again extended her hand towards the opiate box.

      “But, sire, if you were the brother of the Prince of Porcian or the son of the Prince of Condé, and if they had poisoned your brother or assassinated your father”— Charlotte uttered a slight cry and raised the opiate to her lips. Réné saw the gesture, but this time he stopped her neither by word nor gesture; he merely exclaimed:

      “In Heaven’s name, sire, answer! Sire, if you were in their place what would you do?”

      Henry recovered himself. With trembling hand he wiped his forehead, on which stood drops of cold perspiration, and rising to his full height, replied in the midst of the silence which until then had held Réné and Charlotte:

      “If I were in their place, and if I were sure of being king, that is, sure of representing God on earth, I would act like God, I should pardon.”

      “Madame,” cried Réné, snatching the opiate from the hands of Madame de Sauve, “madame, give me back this box; my messenger boy, I see, has made a mistake in it. To-morrow I will send you another.”

      Chapter 23.

       A New Convert.

       Table of Contents

      The following day there was to be a hunt in the forest of Saint Germain.

      Henry had ordered a small Béarnais horse to be made ready for him; that is, to be saddled and bridled at eight o’clock in the morning. He had intended giving this horse to Madame de Sauve, but he wanted to try it first. At a quarter before eight the horse was ready. On the stroke of eight Henry came down to the court-yard. The horse, proud and fiery in spite of its small size, pricked up its ears and pawed the ground. The weather was cold and a light frost covered the pavement. Henry started to cross the court-yard to the stables where the horse and the groom were waiting, when a Swiss soldier whom he passed standing sentinel at the gate presented arms and said:

      “God keep his Majesty the King of Navarre.”

      At this wish and especially at the tone in which it was uttered the Béarnais started.

      He turned and stepped back.

      “De Mouy!” he murmured.

      “Yes, sire, De Mouy.”

      “What are you doing here?”

      “Looking for you.”

      “Why are you looking for me?”

      “I must speak to your majesty.”

      “Unfortunately,” said the king, approaching him, “do you not know you risk your head?”

      “I know it.”

      “Well?”

      “Well, I am here.”

      Henry turned slightly pale, for he knew that he shared the danger run by this rash young man. He looked anxiously about him, and stepped back a second time, no less quickly than he had done at first. He had seen the Duc d’Alençon at a window.

      At once changing his manner Henry took the musket from the hands of De Mouy, standing, as we have said, sentinel, and while apparently measuring it:

      “De Mouy,” said he, “it is certainly not without some very strong motive that you have come to beard the lion in his den in this way?”

      “No, sire, I have waited for you a week; only yesterday I heard that your majesty was to try a horse this morning, and I took my position at the gate of the Louvre.”

      “But how in this СКАЧАТЬ