The Constable De Bourbon. William Harrison Ainsworth

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      “I know not,” replied Montmorency, “but I trust he may be restored to the king's favour, and this abominable process abandoned.”

      “That is not likely to be the case,” remarked Bonnivet. “If Bourbon humbles himself, the king may overlook his faults—not otherwise.”

      “I have yet to learn what faults he has committed,” said Montmorency. “I know he has been unjustly treated, and so I shall not hesitate to tell the king.”

      “You had better not say as much to the duchess,” remarked Bonnivet.

      “Wherefore not?” demanded the marshal. “If this suit is pressed to an issue, mischievous consequences are sure to follow, and I therefore hope it may be amicably arranged. From Bourbon's appearance here, I augur favourably. If I can help to set the matter right, I will.”

      “Take my advice, marshal, and do not meddle in the matter,” said Bonnivet. “You will only incur the duchess's displeasure.”

      “I care not for that,” said Montmorency.

      “And yet it is to the duchess you owe your bâton. You are ungrateful, monsieur le maréchal.”

      These words were not uttered by Bonnivet, but by a singular personage, who had approached them unawares, and listened to their discourse. On turning, Montmorency beheld Triboulet, the king's jester. The court buffoon wore the parti-coloured garb proper to his office, and carried a bauble in his hand. Misshapen in person, he had high shoulders, long arms, large feet and hands, and an immense head. His brow was low, his eyes lighted up by a malicious flame, and his countenance altogether had a cunning and mischievous expression, which inspired fear while it excited mirth.

      Immediately behind Triboulet stood a tall, thin man, whose appearance offered a striking contrast to that of the jester. This personage wore a black taffeta robe with loose sleeves, and a silken skull-cap of the same hue, which set off his sallow features. His eyes were thoughtful in expression, and a long grey beard, descending to his girdle, added materially to the gravity of his aspect. This individual was the renowned Cornelius Agrippa, who after many years of travel and strange adventure in Germany, Switzerland, the Low Countries, and England, now formed part of the royal household of France, and occupied the post of physician and astrologer to the Duchess d'Angoulême, who had great faith in his medical and mystic lore. Though the courtiers affected to deride Agrippa's predictions, and sometimes charged him with dealing in the black art, they nevertheless stood in great awe of him.

      “Why dost charge me with ingratitude, thou ribald knave?” said Montmorency to the jester.

      “Because you turn upon your benefactress,” replied Triboulet.

      “Bah! I have got no more than my due,” said Montmorency. “Thou shouldst talk of my ingratitude to the duchess—à propos of the Constable de Bourbon.”

      “Her highness has no reason to be grateful to the Constable,” said Triboulet, with a strange grin.

      “But the king has,” rejoined Montmorency. “Without him, Marignan would scarce have been won. I would rather lose my marshal's bâton than Bourbon should be deprived of his possessions.”

      “The king shall hear of this,” muttered Bonnivet. “Did the stars tell you that Bourbon would come here to-day, learned sir?” he added to Cornelius Agrippa.

      “I expected him,” replied the philosopher.

      “Then possibly you know his errand?” continued Bonnivet, with an incredulous smile.

      “I know it,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “I could tell you why he comes, and what will befal him, but I care not to read the future to those who mock my lore. The star of Bourbon is temporarily obscured. But it will break out with added splendour. This day is the turning-point of his destiny. If he stays here he will be great—but if he departs he will be greater.”

      “How are we to interpret that, compère?” inquired Triboulet,

      “As you will,” rejoined Agrippa, contemptuously. “The words of wisdom are unintelligible to fools. But mark me, messeigneurs,” he added to Bonnivet and Montmoreney. “The destinies of the king, the duchess, and the Constable, are this day linked together—but the influencing power resides in Bourbon.”

      “Why in him? Explain your meaning, doctor!” demanded Bonnivet.

      “I have said all I care to say,” replied Agrippa. “But here comes the Constable. Will you stay and bid him welcome?”

      “No, I will in, and inform the king of his arrival,” said Bonnivet.

      “You will find his majesty in the grand gallery,” said Agrippa. “I left him there, not many minutes since, with the Comtesse de Chateaubriand.”

      “I will go thither,” replied Bonnivet, hastening across the vestibule.

      “Methinks the Constable is like a wild beast about to fall into a trap,” remarked Triboulet to the astrologer. “Were I the king, if I once caught him, I would not let him go.”

      “Neither would I,” replied Agrippa, significantly. “But his majesty cannot read the future.”

      By this time Bourbon had dismounted from his charger, and was received with the ceremony due to his exalted rank by the chamberlain, who descended the stairs to meet him. Pages, esquires and gentlemen bowed as the haughty Constable mounted the steps, and when he readied the summit the Marshal de Montmoreney advanced to meet him, and a very cordial greeting passed between them.

      “I am right glad to see you here again, prince,” said the marshal. “I hope we shall soon gather fresh laurels together in the Milanese.”

      “I should rejoice to fight by your side,” replied Bourbon. “But I know not why I have been sent for by the king.”

      “Have you been sent for?” said Montmoreney, surprised. “I thought you came of your own accord. So much the better. You will be well received. The king is in a very gracious humour—and so is the duchess.”

      “Ah! the duchess!” exclaimed Bourbon, with an expression of deep disgust.

      “You do not speak of her highness as she speaks of you, prince,” observed Triboulet. “I have heard her sigh and seen her change colour at the mention of your name.”

      Bourbon made no reply to this remark, but graciously returned the salutation addressed to him by Cornelius Agrippa. A slight sign from the astrologer, who was standing within the vestibule, drew him towards him.

      “I would fain have a word with your highness,” said Agrippa, as the Constable approached him. “I have been consulting your horoscope.”

      “Ha! what have you found therein, good doctor?” asked Bourbon, who was by no means free from superstition.

      “Much,” replied Agrippa, gravely. “This is a critical hour with you, prince—the most critical hour of your existence, since it forms the turning-point of your career. According as you now act, so will your future destiny be influenced. Comply with certain propositions which will be made you, and which will in no respect affect your honour, and your position will be assured, and you will be elevated СКАЧАТЬ