Chicot the Jester. Dumas Alexandre

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СКАЧАТЬ slowly and softly, found the staircase, and went up. In the corridor he stopped, for he heard a voice say, “Gertrude, tell your mistress that it is I, and that I must come in.”

      This was said in an imperious tone, and, a minute after, Bussy heard a woman’s voice say:

      “Pass into the drawing-room, Monsieur, and madame will come to you.”

      Then he heard the sound of a door shutting. He made a few steps silently, and extending his hand, felt a door; he went in, found a second in which was a key; he turned it, and entered the room tremblingly. The room in which he found himself was dark, except from the light shining from another. By this he could see two windows, hung with tapestry, which sent a thrill of joy through the young man’s heart. On the ceiling he could faintly see the mythological figures; he extended his hand, and felt the sculptured bed. There was no more doubt, he was in the room where he had awakened the night of his wound.

      Bussy hid behind the bed-curtains to listen. He heard in the adjoining room the impatient step of the unknown; from time to time he stopped, murmuring between his teeth, “Will she come?”

      Presently a door opened, and the rustling of a silk dress struck on Bussy’s ear. Then he heard a woman’s voice, expressive at once of fear and disdain, saying:

      “Here I am, monsieur, what do you want now?”

      “Madame,” replied the man, “I have the honor of telling you that, forced to set off to-morrow morning for Fontainebleau, I come to pass the night with you.”

      “Do you bring me news of my father?”

      “Madame, listen to me – ”

      “Monsieur, you know what we agreed yesterday, when I consented to become your wife, that, before all things, either my father should come to Paris, or I should go to him.”

      “Madame, as soon as I return from Fontainebleau, I give you my word of honor, but meanwhile – ”

      “Oh! monsieur, do not close the door, it is useless; I will not pass a single night under the same roof with you until you bring me my father.” And the lady, who spoke, thus, whistled through a silver whistle, which was then the manner of calling servants.

      Immediately the door opened, and a young, vigorous-looking girl entered. As she went in, she left the door open, which threw a strong light into the room where Bussy was hid, and between the two windows he saw the portrait. Bussy now crept noiselessly along to where he could peep into the room. However carefully he moved, the floor creaked. At the noise the lady turned, she was the original of the portrait. The man, seeing her turn, turned also; it was M. de Monsoreau.

      “Ah!” thought Bussy, “the white horse, the woman carried away, there is some terrible history.”

      Bussy, as we have said, could see them both; she, standing up, pale and disdainful. He, not pale, but livid, agitated his foot impatiently.

      “Madame,” said he, at last, “do not hope to continue with me this character of a persecuted woman; you are at Paris, in my house, and, still more, you are Comtesse de Monsoreau, that is to say, my Wife.

      “If I am your wife, why refuse to conduct me to my father? Why continue to hide me from the eyes of the world?”

      “You have forgotten the Duc d’Anjou, madame.”

      “You assured me that, once your wife, I should have no more to fear from him.”

      “That is to say – ”

      “You promised me that.”

      “But still, madame, I must take precautions.”

      “Well, monsieur, when you have taken them, return to me.”

      “Diana,” said the count, who was growing visibly angry, “Diana, do not make a jest of this sacred tie.”

      “Act so, monsieur, that I can have confidence in the husband, and I will respect the marriage.”

      “Oh! this is too much!” cried the count. “I am in my own house, you are my wife, and this night you shall be mine.”

      Bussy put his hand on his sword-hilt, and made a step forward, but Diana did not give him time to appear.

      “Stay,” said she, drawing a poignard from her belt, “here is my answer.” And rushing into the room where Bussy was, she shut the door and locked it, while Monsoreau exhausted himself in menaces and in blows on the door.

      “If you break this door you will find me dead on the threshold.”

      “And be easy, madame, you shall be revenged,” said Bussy.

      Diana was about to utter a cry, but her fear of her husband was strong enough to restrain her. She remained pale and trembling, but mute.

      M. de Monsoreau struck violently with his foot, but convinced that Diana would execute her menace, went out of the drawing-room, shutting the door violently behind him. Then they heard him going down the stairs.

      “But you, monsieur,” said Diana, turning to Bussy, “who are you, and how came you here?”

      “Madame,” said Bussy, opening the door, and kneeling before her, “I am the man whose life you preserved. You cannot think that I come to your house with any bad designs.” As the light streamed in, Diana recognized him at once.

      “Ah! you here, monsieur,” cried she, clasping her hands, “you were here – you heard all?”

      “Alas! yes, madame.”

      “But who are you? your name, monsieur?”

      “Madame, I am Louis de Clermont, Comte de Bussy.”

      “Bussy! you are the brave Bussy!” cried Diana, filling with joy the heart of the young man. “Ah! Gertrude!” cried she, turning to her servant, who, hearing her mistress talking to some one, had entered in terror, “Gertrude, I have no more to fear, for from this time I place myself under the safeguard of the most noble and loyal gentleman in France.” Then holding out her hand to Bussy.

      “Rise, monsieur,” said she, “I know who you are, now you must know who I am.”

      CHAPTER XIII.

      WHO DIANA WAS

      Bussy rose, bewildered at his own happiness, and entered with Diana into the room which M. de Monsoreau had just quitted. He looked at Diana with astonishment and admiration; he had not dared to hope that the woman whom he had sought for, would equal the woman of his dream, and now the reality surpassed all that he had taken for a caprice of his imagination. Diana was about nineteen, that is to say in the first éclât of that youth and beauty which gives the purest coloring to the flower, the finest flavor to the fruit. There was no mistaking the looks of Bussy; Diana felt herself admired. At last she broke the silence.

      “Monsieur,” said she, “you have told me who you are, but not how you came here.”

      “Madame, the cause of my presence here will come naturally out of the recital you have been good enough to promise me; I am sure of it, from some words of your conversation with M. de Monsoreau.”

      “I will tell you all, monsieur; your name has been sufficient СКАЧАТЬ