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СКАЧАТЬ windows he saw his old friend Estoc, still busily talking to the good farmer Chasseron. De Montigni did not stop, however, but merely said, as he passed by, "Take care of him, Estoc, and seek him out a comfortable room."

      "That I will, Sir," replied Estoc, and continued his conversation.

      The first meeting between the two who now stood together in the window, had been somewhat curious. On quitting the hall, the old soldier had entered the vestibule with his usual wide and hasty strides; and, as that side of the château was turned from the sun, so that it was darker than most other parts of the house, he might not have seen the man he came in search of, who was seated on a bench near the window, had not his attention been called by a voice pronouncing the word, 'Estoc.'

      Turning quickly round he advanced towards him, and gazed in his face, saying, "You seem to know me, Sir, and methinks I have seen you before."

      "You have, my good friend," replied Chasseron; "we have met twice; do you not remember Michael Chasseron?"

      "I remember Peter Chasseron, right will," replied the old soldier; "he took me prisoner at St. Jean, and treated me right kindly; but you are not the same," and while he spoke he continued to examine the countenance of his companion with great attention.

      "And when he had taken you," replied the farmer, "he brought you to the person who was in command of the troop. That was his brother. I am the same. Do you recollect me now?"

      Estoc gazed at him again, and then answered in a significant tone, "I think I do; but it is twelve years ago, and you were a young man then. Come into the window and let me look at you."

      "I am the same I tell you," replied Chasseron, moving into the window; "there, take as good a look as you like."

      Estoc did not fail to do so; then cast down his eyes, and bit the side of his hand with his teeth. "Well," he said, at length, "you are a bold man to venture here, all things considered. Do you not know that we are all Catholics in this place, and Monsieur de Chazeul one of the foremost of the League, who would think no more of putting you to death, be the result what it would, than of sitting down to his supper?"

      "Parbleu! I know it right well," replied Chasseron; "and that is the reason I waited for you here. I am sure that you are not one who would betray me, and as for your leader, the good commander, I would put my life in his hands without the slightest fear."

      "That you might, that you might," said the old soldier; "and it will be better to tell him too. But do none of these people know you? Some of them must have seen you. Why, the very name of Chasseron, if they had recollected, was enough to make the Marquis cut your throat. He would no more hesitate to roast a Huguenot alive in that court-yard, than to kill a stag or a wolf;" and, as he spoke, he looked over his shoulder to see that no one was coming.

      "He would need two or three to help him," replied Chasseron; "and I felt sure that, if I trusted to the young Baron's word, I should find those within who would take the part of honour. But none of these men have seen me for years; and when they did, 'twas but for a moment. You know in those days I came and went like the lightning. As for the name of Chasseron, it has long been forgotten too.--But hark ye, Estoc, you love this young Lord it seems? Now it is for his sake that I have come hither; not for a night's lodging, which I could obtain where I chose. I have heard at C[oe]uvres that they are playing him false here; and that there are plans afoot for doing him wrong in several ways. Perhaps I may aid him, if I know the facts; and I would fain do so for his good father's memory. He was as high and honourable a gentleman as any in France. Though adversaries, we were not enemies, and I owed him something too for courtesies shown when, God help me, there were few to show them."

      "Ah! I wish my poor Lord could hear those words," cried Estoc. "But you are right, Sir, you are right. They are playing poor Louis false. Wait a bit, and you shall hear more in the course of the evening; and if you can help him, though I doubt it, God will bless you, were you twenty times a heretic."

      "Parbleu! you must be speedy with your tidings, Master Estoc," said Chasseron, "for I must be away before nine tomorrow. I have got my wheat to dispose of," he added; "a weighty matter in my new trade."

      The old soldier laughed. "I should think, Sir, you would make but a poor farmer," he replied; "but you shall have all my news this very night. Ha! here comes the young Lord. As soon as he is gone by, I will tell the good old commander that you are in the house; and you shall see him yourself in his room."

      Before Chasseron could reply, De Montigni passed through the vestibule, as I have before described; but the moment he was gone the old soldier added, "We are to talk with the poor lad while he is dressing, and if I can so manage it, you shall be called to take a part; if not, I will find the means ere night be over. Here come the rest--let them pass, and then wait for me. I will be back with you in a minute."

      As he spoke, all those whom we have seen conversing in the hall passed through the vestibule, with the exception of Rose d'Albret, who retired by another door, leading direct to her own apartment. The good old commander, supporting himself on his stick, was the last that appeared, with his eyes bent down upon the ground, and his lips muttering disconnected sentences to himself. In the semi-darkness that now reigned, no one took any notice of Chasseron or his companion; but the moment that his old leader had reached the opposite door, Estoc followed, and taking his hand familiarly, put it through his own arm, as if to assist his on his way; but at the same time he bent his head and seemed to whisper. The old commander suddenly stopped gazing in his face, and then hurried on at a quicker pace than before, in evident agitation.

      In less than two minutes, Estoc returned, saying in a low voice, "Come, Sir, come! he is wild to see you;" and, with a quick step, Chasseron followed him from the room.

      CHAPTER V.

      Louis De Montigni was in hope of a brief period of repose and solitude; repose not so much of the body as of the mind; solitude in which he might, to use the fine expression of Holy Writ, "Commune with his own heart and be still." He had much need of it; for the last half hour had exhausted him more than all the fatigues of the day. It had been one of greater emotion than he knew, or would admit; and what is there more wearing than emotion? He imagined that he felt pained and grieved, only at finding, on his coming back to a place which had long been his home, that he was half a stranger, his place in its familiarity usurped by another, and he himself looked upon, not as the returned son of the house, but as one to be observed and marked by those now in possession. But in reality and truth, there were deeper sources of anxiety and sorrow below; though it must always be full of anguish to a young and inexperienced heart to find for the first time the emptiness of professions, the hollowness of half the friendships to which we trusted, the selfishness of the many, the baseness of some, the instability of others, the falsehood, even, of the near and dear--to discover that a few short years, a few short hours, perhaps, will shake us loose from hearts in which we fancied ourselves rooted so that tempests would not teams out. Yet there are more painful things than even these every-day lessons of the world's constitution; things that, blighting at once hope and confidence, extinguishing the lamp of the future, and clouding the moonlight of memory, dispose us to lay down the weary head upon any pillow for repose--even if it be that of the grave.

      He would not show all that he felt; he wished to show no part of it; and he was anxious, most anxious, to have a short space, in which, by his own power over his own mind, he might repress all external appearances of disappointment and regret, and so school his heart, that not the slightest token of what was passing therein might show itself in his outward demeanour.

      With this purpose, and in this hope, he took his way up one of the narrow wooden staircases in the château, towards the apartments СКАЧАТЬ