THE 
 LITTLE 
 HUGUENOT 
 
 MAX PEMBERTON
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 WILLIAM P. WREDHJ
 
 THE LITTLE HUGUENOT"
 
 MAX PEMBERTON. 

 
 "THE 
 
 LITTLE HUGUENOT 
 
 B "Romance of jfontafnebleau 
 
 BY 
 
 MAX PEMBERTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE IMPREGNABLE CITY," ETC 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 1895 

 
 COPYRIGHT 1895, BT 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PACK 
 
 PEPIN is BLESSED 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 AT THE GATE OF THE CHATEAU 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 GABRIELLE DE VERNET 26 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE KINGFISHER AND THE CROWS 37 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE ABBE GONDY COUNTS HIS SPOONS 49 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 IN THE BOWER OF VIOLETS 57 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 THE ABBE GONDY WRITES A SERMON 70 
 
 762541
 
 Contents. 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MASKING IN THE WOODS 82 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 PEPIN MAKES A BARGAIN 99 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PRIEST 107 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THE ABB AND THE TREE 122 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 DE GUYON HEARS THE NEWS 133 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 THE APPARITION 143 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 THE KING SUPS 159 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 EXODUS , 171
 
 "The Little {luguenot," 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PEPIN IS BLESSED. 
 
 THE priest had a volume of Cicero 
 upon his lap, and in his right hand 
 there was a rosary carved of amber 
 and of gold. Though the sun's beams 
 fell soft in the glen, and the grass was 
 green and rich, and a canopy of young 
 leaves cast welcome shade upon his 
 face, he continued to read the oration 
 upon which his eyes had fallen, and 
 to banish those seductive whisperings 
 of the devil, that he should lay him- 
 self down and sleep. Insensible to 
 the wooing music of the gushing cas- 
 cade, or to that stillness which had 
 come upon all nature as the heat of 
 7
 
 "The Little Huguenot" 
 
 the day fell, he maintained a fine 
 rigidity of posture as he sat upright 
 upon a boulder of stone, and bent his 
 whole soul to the study of the black- 
 lettered text before him. Hours 
 passed and found his attitude un- 
 changed ; a distant church bell chimed 
 the quarters dolefully, and drew from 
 him no other response than the mut- 
 ter of an Ave; the shadows in the glen 
 lengthened and lengthened ; even the 
 first freshness of night breathed upon 
 the forest, and left him insensible to 
 all but those problems of his faith 
 which crowded upon his mind. 
 
 Death and sleep and eternity ! A 
 priest may think even of these. Six 
 years before this year, 1772, Pere Ca- 
 vaignac was far too busy snatching 
 souls in Paris to trouble himself with 
 those more subtle reasonings to which 
 a new philosophy had turned. But 
 here in the depths of the forest of 
 Fontainebleau, it was otherwise. The 
 very atmosphere seemed dream-giv- 
 ing and full of spells. The unbroken 
 silence of the thickets, the music of 
 8
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 the glittering falls, the dark places 
 of pools and caverns, threw back the 
 man's mind upon itself, and wrung 
 from him the question, To what end ? 
 Why was he an exile from the capi- 
 tal ? Why was his home a hut of logs 
 hidden even from the eyes of the 
 woodlanders ? For what cause did 
 he eat black bread and drink sour 
 wine ? That he might sleep for ever 
 after death as he had slept through 
 eternity before his birth ? Night and 
 the new philosophy told him that 
 here was his answer ; day and the 
 soul's voice rekindled his faith so that 
 he seemed to behold the Christ walk- 
 ing in the forest before him. And 
 in these moments, the remembrance 
 that he was a hunted man, that when 
 next he looked upon the city that he 
 loved it would be for the last time, 
 exalted his whole being, and lifted 
 him up in visions to the gates of 
 heaven itself. 
 
 Night began to come down in ear- 
 nest when at last the Jesuit closed his 
 book. He had sat so still in his
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 meditation that a deer thrust herself 
 through the bracken not fifty yards 
 from him, and drank undisturbed at 
 the rippling brook. A great eagle 
 was soaring high above him ; and oft 
 as he listened he could hear the crafty 
 patter of a wolf or the screech of a 
 heron in the distant marsh. There 
 was no tongue of the forest with 
 which six years of exile had not made 
 him familiar ; no note of bird or 
 beast that was novel enough to carry 
 his mind from the path it followed. 
 From man alone he turned, hiding 
 himself in the very depths of the brack- 
 en, frequenting the darker caves, lurk- 
 ing in the glens where the springs bub- 
 bled and the adder sunned himself. 
 It was not alone that the edict of ban- 
 ishment which had fallen upon his 
 Order made men a danger to him. 
 He had been indiscreet enough to be- 
 lieve that the broad principles of his 
 faith were meant to bind prince and 
 peasant alike ; and he had even de- 
 nounced the profligacy of kings from 
 the pulpit ; and this with so fanatical
 
 " The Little Huguenot." 
 
 a zeal that men cried, " Here is a 
 new Ravaillac let his Majesty be- 
 ware of him !" From that day there 
 was no den dark enough to hide him 
 in Paris, no friend so powerful that 
 he could find shelter in his house. 
 He fled to the forest, and lurked there 
 waiting and watching, as his rector 
 had commanded him. 
 
 The deer drank at the stream, and 
 bounded into the thicket again ; the 
 silver birches swayed their branches 
 before the gentle west wind ; a clock 
 in the distant village chimed the hour 
 of seven. The priest rose from his 
 seat, and wrapped himself in the 
 warm black cape which served him 
 for cloak by day and blanket by 
 night. Then he forced his way 
 through the bushes and struck upon 
 a narrow, bramble-hidden path which 
 carried him out upon the lawn-like 
 sward above. Here were great 
 gnarled oaks and groves of yoke- 
 elms ; undulating sweeps of the finest 
 grass land all carpeted with violets ; 
 pools deep down in the shady glades ; 
 ii
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 even beaches of the finest yellow sand, 
 where the brooklets made music in 
 their pebbly beds. But the Jesuit 
 had eyes for none of these things. 
 He stood at the glen's head, motion- 
 less, irresolute, perhaps even fearful. 
 A small company of mounted men 
 had debouched from the opposite 
 wood ; and seeing him, one of their 
 number set spurs to the beast he rode 
 and galloped furiously across the 
 grass. 
 
 The man was ill-dressed, and odd 
 enough to be remarkable anywhere. 
 He wore a leather jerkin about his 
 body, and a broad-brimmed hat with 
 the stump of a feather in it. His 
 calves were bound round with strips 
 of bright green cloth, and his breeches 
 were balloon-shaped and of prodig- 
 ious size. He had a pair of little 
 twinkling eyes which danced like the 
 flame of a candle in the wind, and 
 his cheeks were so fat that rolls of 
 flesh almost hid his mouth. For 
 sword he carried a cudgel of black 
 wood ; and from the holster, where 
 12
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 his pistols should have been, the end 
 of a four-holed flageolet protruded. 
 But conspicuous among his accoutre- 
 ments was a wine-skin with little in 
 it, and this he held his hand upon 
 lovingly while he addressed the 
 Jesuit. 
 
 " Holy Mother of God, defend me 
 from all devils !" said he, surveying 
 the motionless priest with some curi- 
 osity ; and then, in quick correction, 
 he added : 
 
 " Thy blessing, my father !" 
 
 The Jesuit turned upon him a swift, 
 searching glance. 
 
 "What do you want with me?" 
 he asked in a hard, cold, rarely used 
 voice. 
 
 " No other service than one of 
 charity, most reverend sir. I am a 
 man of peace, as you may observe, 
 carrying no other weapon than that 
 which may rob men of their feet to 
 wit, may set them to the dance, the 
 ballad, the pasquil and those light 
 enjoyments of the flesh which our 
 master Horace has even deigned to 
 
 13
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 commend on occasion. And now for 
 my sins, for which I pray the inter- 
 cession of my holy patron, whose 
 honourable name I happen to have 
 forgotten, I who know the forest 
 better than the Mass book am lost 
 in this tangle at a moment when the 
 natural humour of man leads him to 
 meat and even to a cup of wine. 
 Take me to these, my father, and I 
 will jingle so many silver pieces in 
 your hand that a whole legion of 
 souls shall to-morrow go dancing out 
 of purgatory." 
 
 The man stopped for want of 
 breath. The priest was about to 
 plunge again into the thicket, leaving 
 him unanswered, when the others of 
 the cavalcade rode up, and the leader, 
 who was dressed in the uniform of 
 the king's musketeers, reined in his 
 horse and doffed his plumed hat to 
 the ecclesiastic. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I am a lieutenant 
 of the guard bound upon a mission 
 from his Majesty to the Chateau aux 
 Loups, which, as you may be aware,
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 is the residence of Madame La Com- 
 tesse de Vernet. If you can set us 
 on the way thither " 
 
 " Or to any decent inn where we 
 may find food and drink," chimed in 
 the first fellow. 
 
 " Pepin, keep your tongue still." 
 
 " Nay, my captain, there is no 
 hand in France strong enough to 
 hold it." 
 
 " If you can set us, I say, on the 
 road thither," continued the other, 
 ignoring his servant, and addressing 
 the Jesuit, " I will see that we do not 
 forget the service." 
 
 The priest had looked up quickly 
 at the mention of the Chateau aux 
 Loups. For a moment he seemed to 
 be occupied counting the number of 
 the escort, and this the leader of it 
 observed. 
 
 " Fear nothing from these men, 
 sir," said he, " my mission is an 
 honourable one, and will be welcome 
 to the countess. By the Mass, she 
 should be glad of a little company in 
 such a wilderness as this." 
 15
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Your mission is an honourable 
 one and yet you come from the 
 king, sir?" said the priest now look- 
 ing the lieutenant full in the face. 
 
 " Aye, honourable, indeed," inter- 
 rupted the buffoon, Pepin ; " and 
 hark ye, my father, another word 
 such as that and I will even lay my 
 cudgel on your back. The devil take 
 you for a loutish brawler. I would 
 as soon talk with a throaty Spaniard." 
 
 " Pepin, if you do not keep your 
 tongue still, I will cut it out," said 
 the Lieutenant de Guyon, turning 
 round lazily in his saddle. 
 
 " Aye, my master, that would be a 
 service, for on my life it is as dry as 
 a peppercorn." 
 
 The priest had seemed to be think- 
 ing deeply while servant and master 
 thus disputed. In truth, a hundred 
 questions were troubling him. Why 
 had de Guyon, a notorious tool of du 
 Barry, come with an escort of six 
 musketeers and this clown to the re- 
 treat of Gabrielle de Vernet ? "What 
 evil did the visit portend ? Of what 
 16
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 meaning was it to him personally 
 or to his Order, which had found in 
 the girlish mistress of the chateau one 
 of its sincerest friends ? Before he 
 could answer any single suggestion, 
 the captain of the band spoke again. 
 
 " I am awaiting your answer, my fa- 
 ther. You have heard of madame ?" 
 
 The priest answered slowly. 
 
 " So surely have I heard of her, 
 and of the holy way she walks, that 
 if I thought you had come here mean- 
 ing any ill to her, I would strike you 
 down with my own hand. Paul de 
 Guyon, look where you go, lest you 
 lose the path and your eyes be blind- 
 ed. You talk to me of an honourable 
 mission, but what of honour hath the 
 king with Gabrielle de Vernet ? 
 Speak no lies lest the Almighty God 
 blast them on your lips." 
 
 He stood with arm outstretched 
 and fire in his eyes, and for a moment 
 the other quailed before him ; but de 
 Guyon recovered himself quickly, 
 and cloaking his anger as he might, 
 he gave rein to his horse. 
 
 17
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Did our time not press, master 
 priest," said he, " I would pause 
 awhile to knock sense into your head 
 with the flat of my sword. A curse 
 on you and your warnings, too. We 
 will even find the chateau for our- 
 selves." 
 
 He turned away making a sign to 
 his men ; but the buffoon bent down 
 from his saddle and placed a hand 
 upon the priest's shoulder. 
 
 " Benedicite ! holy father," said 
 he, " but you are free with your 
 warnings. And hark ye, I, Pepin 
 the fool, have a word of warning 
 also. Get to your hut, Francois 
 Cavaignac, for I recognise you, and 
 by the blessed Host I will have you 
 hanged as high as yonder elm." 
 
 The priest's hand trembled for a 
 moment upon the hilt of the dagger 
 which his cassock concealed. But it 
 was only for a moment. Conquering 
 his temper, and disdaining other 
 weapon than his fist, he suddenly 
 dealt the jester a rousing box on the 
 ear, and then plunged into the thicket. 
 18
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT THE GATE OF THE CHATEAU. 
 
 PEPIN rubbed his ear ruefully, and 
 sat looking at the bushes wherein the 
 priest had disappeared. 
 
 "Dog of a Jesuit," he muttered, 
 " if you had stayed " 
 
 He made an ugly grimace with the 
 words, and finished what wine there 
 was in the skin. Then, remembering 
 that the others had now ridden out 
 of hearing, he set spurs to his mule 
 and galloped after them. 
 
 " So the priest boxed your ears ?" 
 said de Guyon, surveying him with 
 some amusement. 
 
 " Parbleu-! Excellency, he did but 
 give me his benediction." 
 
 " I wish he had knocked some sense 
 into your head." 
 
 " Would you cry ' A miracle ! ' mon 
 maitre T ' 
 
 19
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " I would cry anything you please 
 if it would set me on the road again. 
 I thought you knew every path in the 
 forest. You told me so when I en- 
 gaged you at the Barriere d'Enfer. " 
 
 " Aye, and that is so, sir. Every 
 path I know, and yet which path is 
 which, the devil take me if I can say. 
 Look yonder now ; there is a grove 
 of yoke-elms with a wood of pines 
 beyond it, and a brook hollow be- 
 twixt and between. I could name a 
 hundred such within ten leagues from 
 the Table du Roi. Oh, truly, mon 
 maitre, I know the forest as a horse 
 knows the stable." 
 
 De Guyon, whose beast stumbled 
 often upon the sandy track, and 
 whose patience was fast ebbing, an- 
 swered him with a fresh objurgation 
 long and lasting. It was now near 
 to being full dark, and but for the 
 light of the moonbeams, which fell 
 soft upon copse and thicket and 
 seemed to cast a snowy mantle so 
 white it was upon every leaf and 
 bush, the way would have been im-
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 possible. Yet the scene was one of 
 exceeding beauty. The shiver of the 
 aspen, the ripple of brook or stream, 
 the long-drawn note of a night bird 
 intensified the dreamy silence of the 
 forest. Here and there when a horse 
 forced his way through the bramble 
 with a snap of twigs and a rustle of 
 boughs, a wolf sprang out of his cover 
 and raced across the sward. The 
 shimmer of the light in many a glade 
 showed stags browsing, or wild ponies 
 herding. But of habitation there was 
 no sign, nor of man. 
 
 The little troop must have left the 
 priest twenty minutes before de 
 Guyon resumed his conversation with 
 the rogue who had led him on such a 
 fool's errand. The stillness of the 
 forest and the spell of the night, 
 wedded to his fatigue, had quelled 
 the words upon his lips, and com- 
 pelled him to remember upon what 
 emprise he was embarked. He be- 
 gan to wonder by what manner of 
 cunning and tale he should lead 
 " the little Huguenot," Gabrielle de
 
 "The Little Huguenot.' 
 
 Vernet, from her nest in the forest 
 to the intrigues and dangers of the 
 palace. He asked himself if all the 
 stories of her wit and beauty were 
 the mere fancies of her friends, or 
 pretty realities which he must know 
 and cope with. He remembered that 
 he had met her once at Paris in the 
 house of her cousin Claude Vernet, 
 the painter ; but that was two years 
 ago, immediately after the death of 
 her husband, Comte de Vernet, the 
 uncompromising foe to the Catholic 
 faith, and before she withdrew to the 
 chateau to put into practice a creed 
 built on the confession of the Savoy- 
 ard Vicar, added to a certain ortho- 
 doxy which satisfied her fat kinsman, 
 the Abbe Gondy, who regarded her 
 possessions With the eyes of a father 
 and a devout son of the Holy Church. 
 The lieutenant could recall nothing 
 of her features ; he knew nothing of 
 her life but such facts as were told 
 in the gossip of the ramparts and the 
 salon. Nor did he hold it possible 
 that she would offer any objection to 
 22
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 accompany him to the palace there 
 to set her views and opinions before 
 his Majesty. Her views and opin- 
 ions ! What a play it was ! And 
 how the king would listen to the 
 creed of such a piquant disciple ! 
 What a task the conversion would 
 be. He began even to wonder who 
 would marry her when the royal ears 
 were weary of her platitudes, and the 
 spell of debauchery had chilled her 
 zeal. 
 
 With such thoughts for company, 
 he rode on in silence. They had 
 now come out upon park-like land, 
 where great oaks cast black rings of 
 shade ; and a lake, harbouring many 
 wild-fowl, shone like a mirror of sil- 
 ver. There was a great wood, black 
 and seemingly impenetrable, upon 
 the far shore of the lake, and when 
 de Guyon observed this, he drew 
 rein and surveyed his environment. 
 
 "Well, rogue," said he to Pepin, 
 " where have you brought us now ?" 
 
 " By the blood of John, that's what 
 I begin to ask myself." 
 23
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 De Guyon looked at him for a mo- 
 ment with withering contempt in his 
 glance. 
 
 " Unspeakable fool," said he, " I 
 have the mind to box your ears as 
 the priest did." 
 
 " Aye, that would be something ; 
 but look you, my master, a boxed 
 ear will never make a full belly ; and 
 I have heard it said that patience is 
 the father of plenty. There's fine 
 ground for a bivouac here, if your 
 Excellency commands. Lord, that I 
 should bring you to bed of a fast !" 
 
 He sat scratching his head dole- 
 fully while the weary horses began to 
 nibble at the grass and the men to 
 mutter among themselves. Scarce, 
 however, had de Guyon decided that, 
 full or fasting,' he could go no fur- 
 ther, when the silence was broken of 
 a sudden by the barking of dogs ; a 
 very babel of sound arising up, as it 
 were, from the heart of the obstruct- 
 ing wood. Then lights appeared be- 
 tween the trees, and the voices of 
 men were heard. 
 
 24
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Oh, glory be to God for the path 
 that I have followed !" said Pepin, 
 recovering from his momentary be- 
 wilderment. " Yonder, my master, 
 is the Chateau aux Loups." 
 
 " It lies in the thicket, then ?" 
 
 " Aye, as close surrounded with 
 trees as a fine woman with petticoats. 
 You could no more come up to it 
 without guide than fly to heaven with 
 half a paternoster. Blessed be the 
 holy patron that hath brought me !" 
 
 But de Guyon no longer paid heed 
 to him. 
 
 " Wind a blast on the horn," said 
 he. 
 
 The sleeping forest echoed the mu- 
 sic of the note, and the little troop 
 rode on. 
 
 25
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GABRIELLE DE VERNET. 
 
 PEPIN had spoken the truth about 
 the chateau. It lay amongst the 
 trees like a kernel in a nut. Many 
 of the gigantic oaks which girdled it 
 about thrust their long branches 
 against the ramparts that looked 
 down upon its narrow fosse. A man 
 might have ridden in the forest for a 
 year, and have known nothing of the 
 turreted, castle-like building whereto 
 Gabrielle de Vernet had, after the 
 death of the Count, withdrawn to 
 keep herself unspotted from the 
 world. Paul de Guyon, halting in 
 parley with a lackey at the wood's 
 edge, could espy neither path nor 
 gateway ; and suffered his horse to 
 be led through the mazy labyrinth of 
 26
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 tree and bush, until he stood at last 
 before the drawbridge and clattered 
 into the ill-paved courtyard. 
 
 " My lady is at her devotions," 
 said the man, " but I doubt not she 
 will see your Excellency at once. 
 Meanwhile, I will look to the com- 
 fort of your men." 
 
 " Ah," said Pepin, smacking his 
 lips, " an honest soup with lettuce 
 and leeks, a nice piece of bouil!6, a 
 frangipani and some green peas & la 
 bourgeoise. ' ' 
 
 The man looked at him with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "It is the eve of the feast of St. 
 Philip and St. James," said he sim- 
 ply, " monsieur will not wish to 
 break the fast." 
 
 " To break the fast !" gasped Pe- 
 pin, "aye, my friend, I have the 
 mind to break it and that right soon. 
 But I was ever a man of simple tastes 
 a well-boiled capon now !" 
 
 The servant shrugged his shoulders 
 and turned to de Guyon. 
 
 " If only we had known of your 
 27
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 Excellency's coming," said he. " It 
 was otherwise before my master died. 
 But now ah, we are put to shame 
 in our own house !" 
 
 " Suffer no shame on my account, 
 good friend," said de Guyon, " I am 
 a soldier and look for a soldier's fare. 
 Your mistress is at her devotions, did 
 you say ?" 
 
 " In the chapel yonder, mon- 
 sieur " 
 
 " Then I came fortunately. Pe- 
 pin, look to the men and behave 
 yourself. I am going to say my 
 prayers." 
 
 " Ho, ho," said Pepin to himself, 
 " mon maitre goes to pray. Surely 
 the stars will fall !" 
 
 The chapel was upon the left side 
 of the courtyard, a quaint Norman 
 nook with fine rounded arches and 
 pilaster-like buttresses, which had 
 warred with the centuries and won 
 victories. A stream of light was 
 poured through its open but richly 
 carved doorway, and the narrow win- 
 dows were so many pictures of saints 
 28
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 and angels hung up upon the be- 
 grimed walls. De Guyon, standing 
 in the porch, observed many little 
 shrines with candles burning before 
 them, and he could hear the voice of 
 the priest soft in a rippling monotone 
 of prayer. When at last he ventured 
 to enter, and to kneel at the bottom 
 of the nave, the flicker of tapers and 
 the long shadows they cast in the 
 ashes and upon the bare stone pave- 
 ment, blinded his eyes to any obser- 
 vation of the few worshippers who 
 knelt before the high altar. But the 
 magnificent ornaments of the chapel 
 made themselves plain ; and he 
 doubted no longer those rumours of 
 Gabrielle de Vernet's wealth which 
 had come to the Court and had made 
 "the little Huguenot" a subject for 
 the gossip of the curious and of the 
 king. None but a very rich woman, he 
 said, could have heaped those altars 
 with such jewelled crosses and such 
 inlaid candlesticks. The very cruci- 
 fix nailed to the wall above the pul- 
 pit must have been worth the salary 
 29
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 of an almoner. Soft carpets, unsur- 
 passable carvings of wood, pictures 
 of the Christ and of saints, shrines 
 whereon diamonds and rubies and 
 precious stones caught the tapers' 
 light, and adding to it their own fires, 
 scattered dancing rays upon the 
 gloom, were evidences of an ardent 
 love of church and of a well-filled 
 purse. Whatever might have been 
 the creed of the girlish mistress of 
 the Chateau aux Loups, and there 
 were many who avowed that in her 
 heart she despised the Catholic relig- 
 ion, and was even less than a good 
 Protestant, she yet conformed to 
 the outward observance of the old 
 forms. This chapel was an unan- 
 swerable witness to her generosity. 
 It remained for the lieutenant to 
 learn if it were also a witness to her 
 sincerity. 
 
 To de Guyon, steeped in the un- 
 ending niaiseries of the Court, with 
 the glare of masquerade and banquet 
 still in his eyes, the chill and gloom 
 of this chapel were sobering. As he 
 30
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 knelt at the foot of a great pillar and 
 peered into the darkness of the chan- 
 cel for the tapers before the taber- 
 nacle were unlighted the reality of 
 his task and the absurdity of it forced 
 themselves upon his mind. It was 
 the king's hope to lure " the little 
 Huguenot" from her forest fastness, 
 and to make sport of her creed ; and 
 as de Guyon did not doubt of her 
 honour at the palace. A debauched 
 appetite was made strong again in 
 this thought of so dainty a dish. If 
 only the mistress of the chateau could 
 be tempted by intrigue to set foot in 
 the palace, the battle was won. St. 
 Anthony himself could not have shut 
 his ears to the apocalypse of license 
 and debauchery of which the king 
 was the arch-priest. What mere in- 
 trigue could not accomplish, the wit 
 of madame would ensure. This, at 
 least, was the intention of those who 
 had sent the young lieutenant of the 
 guard to the work. There was scarce 
 a finer man in the palace. His cour- 
 age and good-nature were notorious.
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 And he could play a part like Grand- 
 val himself. Only in the silence of 
 the chapel did the hazard of the ven- 
 ture occur to him. How would he 
 fare if " the little Huguenot" read 
 his purpose ? He had but six men 
 with him. There must have been a 
 hundred who would rally to the tocsin 
 of the chateau. The fanatical warn- 
 ings of the priest in the forest were 
 prophetical of the common spirit. 
 He might be cast into the fosse with- 
 out, and no men of his company live 
 to tell the tale of his coming. The 
 common tongue said that Gabrielle 
 was a woman of fine spirit. But 
 that he must learn for himself. 
 
 Until this time, he had been un- 
 able from his place of observation to 
 see anything of the company in the 
 chapel. But now, when the priest 
 had ended the mournful chanting, 
 little acolytes in scarlet cassocks and 
 white cottas kindled the tapers upon 
 the high altar and also those in a 
 great chandelier beneath the rood- 
 screen. The new light fell upon a 
 32
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 reredos of marble and gold, almost 
 hidden by vases of white flowers. It 
 fell, too, upon the face of an old 
 priest gorgeously robed in a jewelled 
 cope. While taper-bearers and thuri- 
 fers prostrated themselves before the 
 Host in the monstrance, and a hid- 
 den choir began to sing very sweetly 
 the Latin hymn, " O Salutaris Ho- 
 stia, " de Guyon had eyes for none 
 of these, but only for the little group 
 of worshippers who knelt by the 
 chancel gates. Here were some 
 twelve men and women, all seem- 
 ingly absorbed in their devotions, all 
 dressed very soberly, and for the 
 most part in plain black. There was 
 not a man amongst them that hid his 
 hair in a wig ; not a woman of the 
 company that seemed to know of the 
 coiffure & boucles badines, au berceau 
 d'amour or au mirliton. Simplicity 
 was the note of it all, and de Guyon, 
 when he had shaken off his surprise, 
 admitted that this simplicity was in 
 pretty harmony with the sombre note 
 of the chapel. He might have been 
 
 33
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 watching so many monks and nuns 
 who had clothed themselves in lay 
 dress but timidly. 
 
 In the centre of the little company, 
 there knelt a girl whose face was hid- 
 den from him, but whose figure and 
 pose were infinitely graceful. He 
 was led to believe by the position she 
 occupied that she must be the coun- 
 tess, and that the men at her side 
 were the poets and philosophers who 
 had come to the chateau to air their 
 graces and to fill their stomachs. 
 For the time being she was occupied 
 entirely with her devotions, and when 
 she raised the smallest of white hands, 
 it was to bury her face in them while 
 she prostrated herself before the up- 
 raised Host, Anon, however, the 
 music died away suddenly ; the last 
 cloud of incense floated to the vault- 
 ed roof ; the acolytes extinguished 
 the candles before the altar, and the 
 girl rose and passed down the chapel. 
 De Guyon said to himself that the 
 gossips were right. If a Madonna 
 had come out of one of the pictures 
 34
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 above the shrines, and had stood be- 
 fore him, lending flesh and blood to 
 the painter's vision, he could scarce 
 have been more surprised. Such a 
 delicacy of form and feature he had 
 hardly seen in all the six years he 
 had been at Versailles ; had never 
 known eyes in which so much tender- 
 ness and emotion seemed to lie. He 
 declared that her mouth was like a 
 rosebud upon which the dew has just 
 fallen. She held herself with the 
 grace of a woman grown grey in 
 practising the courtesies ; yet her 
 limbs had the roundness and supple- 
 ness of maturing youth. The black 
 robe, falling from her shoulders pret- 
 tily yet without panier, and set off 
 only with lace at her neck and wrists, 
 was her best adornment. She wore 
 no jewels ; not so much as a band 
 of gold upon her arm. Her brown 
 hair was simply coiled upon her 
 head. De Guyon said to himself 
 that Legros, with all his art, could 
 not have added to the effect of it. 
 And with this thought he left the 
 35
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 chapel to await her in the court- 
 yard. 
 
 Her greeting was simple, neither 
 effusive nor lacking welcome. 
 
 " I have heard of you, Monsieur 
 de Guyon, from my Cousin Claude," 
 said she, when he had presented his 
 letters to her ; " you must be tired, 
 indeed. Let us think of supper be- 
 fore we read even these letters" and 
 so turning to the group of men stand- 
 ing behind her, she added simply 
 
 " Gentlemen, let me present you 
 Monsieur de Guyon, a lieutenant of 
 his Majesty's Guards. He has rid- 
 den far to serve us, and we must 
 thank him by hastening to supper." 
 
 She passed on with a graceful in- 
 clination of her head, while servants 
 conducted de Guyon to a room in the 
 right wing of the chateau. Ten min- 
 utes later he was supping in the hall.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE KINGFISHER AND THE CROWS. 
 
 THE lieutenant of the guard was a 
 man to please. His scarlet coat 
 slashed with gold, his fine lace and 
 buckles, his gorgeous sword-belt, 
 showed all the points of his lusty fig- 
 ure in their perfection. There was 
 dormant intellect marked in his eyes, 
 good temper in the well-balanced fea- 
 tures of his face, which always wore 
 a self-satisfied smile. Two studies 
 alone occupied him at Versailles or 
 Paris the study of showy wit and of 
 showy women. Seated by Gabrielle 
 de Vernet's side in the hall of the 
 chateau he was like a kingfisher 
 among crows. A sense of superiority 
 gave him confidence. He said to 
 himself that it would be easy to shine 
 in such a company. 
 
 37
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 The long table, lighted by heavy 
 silver candelabra, was arranged in 
 the form of a horse-shoe. The crows, 
 broken down wits and poets, display- 
 ing a ripe eagerness for the repast, 
 were at the lower end of the hall. 
 A heavy-browed priest, with hanging 
 cheeks and a purple cassock, sat upon 
 the left hand of the hostess. There 
 was armour in abundance upon the 
 walls of the panelled apartment ; 
 and a choir in a gallery at the far end 
 sang a Latin grace very prettily. 
 And that done with, the lackeys 
 busied themselves and the crows be- 
 gan to peck. 
 
 Until this moment, de Guyon had 
 not exchanged two words with^ the 
 girl upon his left hand, but the mo- 
 ment that hot soup was placed before 
 him, he began to rack his brain for 
 some pleasantry that should please. 
 He had contrived to turn a pretty 
 compliment, and was beginning to 
 blurt it out, when to his great annoy- 
 ance, she raised her finger, and whis- 
 pered to him 
 
 38
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " We have yet to read the Gospel 
 of the day." 
 
 De Guyon checked the words upon 
 his lips, and turned to his dinner. 
 Notwithstanding the pious hopes of 
 the serving man that Pepin would 
 not break his fast, there was meat set 
 before the young lieutenant ; and 
 the crows, who were busy with dishes 
 of carp and other unsavoury fish, 
 turned greedy eyes upon his plate. 
 Some fine old Burgundy helped him 
 to wash down the repast, but the 
 others, save the priest, drank a thin 
 white wine, and their mouths shrank 
 every time they raised their tumblers. 
 Nor did one of them venture to open 
 his lips, but sat with eyes cast down 
 and unresting jaws, while a young 
 man, who wore a cassock and bands, 
 read the Gospel of the day, and after- 
 wards a sermon by Massillon, of 
 which the note was the ardent de- 
 nunciation of all profligates. Then 
 only was the floodgate of talk open- 
 ed ; then only did the crows begin to 
 caw. 
 
 39
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Well, Monsieur de Guyon, and 
 what news have you to tell me of 
 Paris?" 
 
 The girl at the head of the table 
 turned a pair of searching eyes upon 
 him. Her face wore the suspicion of 
 a smile. He felt that she was look- 
 ing him through and through. And 
 he returned her glance, putting on 
 the air of a man who could not by 
 any possibility conceal anything. 
 
 " Indeed, madame," said he," I left 
 the Barriere d'Enfer yesterday at 
 daybreak. We count nothing news 
 in Paris that is forty hours old. And 
 it is a week since I have seen Madame 
 de Boufflers." 
 
 " Who is better versed in the small 
 talk of the day than any other lady in 
 Paris. What a misfortune for you." 
 
 " It is no misfortune which brings 
 me to the Chateau aux Loups." 
 
 She paid no heed to the compli- 
 ment, resting her chin upon the back 
 of an exceedingly white hand. 
 
 " But the people of the chateau 
 amuse you very much ?" she asked. 
 40
 
 "The Little Huguen 
 
 " We are never amused by that 
 which we esteem." 
 
 She became thoughtful for a min- 
 ute, continuing to keep her eyes upon 
 him ; but before she spoke again, the 
 purple-robed priest upon her left 
 hand turned from his meat for the 
 first time. 
 
 " Present me to monsieur," said 
 he. 
 
 " My kinsman, the Abbe Go. 
 said she simply. 
 
 " Your visit is very welcome to us, 
 monsieur," said the Abbe, bowing ; 
 " though we are not of the world, we 
 are yet weak enough to wish to know 
 what the world does. What says 
 Paris now of the death of Madame 
 Doublet de Persan. Ah, the great 
 folk I have met in her house St. 
 Palaze Mairan, Devaur, Perrin ! 
 What a salon it was ! I shall never 
 forget her banquets." 
 
 The Abbe looked regretfully at the 
 relics of the fish before him, and 
 helped his memory with a deep sigh, 
 and a second glass of the rich red 
 
 41
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 Burgundy. But de Guyon, glad to 
 be set going, answered him apace 
 
 " The loss of Madame Doublet de 
 Persan is irretrievable," said he : 
 " we shall not see her like again in 
 Paris. Madame Geoffrin is old ; Ma- 
 dame du Deffand grows tiresome. 
 You have heard, monsieur, that her 
 Majesty of Russia is anxious to carry 
 .the fashion of the city to the bour- 
 geoisie of St. Petersburg. Madame 
 Geoffrin has refused her twice. Ma- 
 dame du Deffand declines to be the in- 
 strument. Society, she says, is made 
 up of persons incapable of knowledge, 
 thought, and feeling. They have 
 enough of those in Muscovy already." 
 
 "Ah!" cried the Abbe", with an 
 unecclesiasticaj laugh, " and that is 
 true. If all one hears of her Majesty 
 is well said, she has as many affairs 
 as a grisette of Bordeaux. But I 
 never listen to such tales myself. 
 Charity, monsieur, is a great virtue. 
 Let us cultivate it always." 
 
 He smacked his lips over the wine, 
 and Gabrielle de Vernet spoke again. 
 42
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " You are riding to the palace at 
 Fontainebleau, monsieur?" she asked 
 de Guyon. 
 
 He was ready with his answer. 
 
 " I am riding to the palace when it 
 is madame's pleasure to ride with me." 
 
 "My pleasure? Oh, my dear Mon- 
 sieur de Guyon, what should I do at 
 Fontainebleau ?" 
 
 " Then you have not read of his 
 Majesty's invitation, madame ?" 
 
 " Certainly, I have not. I do not 
 love letters." 
 
 He looked at her incredulously. 
 
 " But a command from the king ; 
 that is different." 
 
 " Not at all it is the same thing ; 
 an expression of wishes one does not 
 feel for a person in whom one has no 
 interest. His Majesty's letter may 
 wait the morning. I am in no hurry, 
 and I am sure that he is not." 
 
 " And the note from your Cousin 
 Claude?" 
 
 " Oh, my Cousin Claude writes al- 
 ways of himself the subject in which 
 he is most concerned." 
 
 43
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 De Guyon bit his lip. The woman 
 was either a* delightful actress, or a 
 pretty simpleton gone crazy in the 
 practice of a discredited creed. 
 
 " We have need of example at the 
 Court, madame, " said he. " You 
 have heard the saying of the Abbe 
 Cozer : ' In order to be something, a 
 great part of the nobility is plunged 
 into nothingness.'' 
 
 " And you think that I should be 
 an example ?" 
 
 " His Majesty is sure of it." 
 
 " But you yourself ?" 
 
 " I am of the king's opinion, as a 
 soldier should ever be." 
 
 To his surprise she now laughed 
 lightly. 
 
 " Should I have you for a pupil ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " One of the most faithful." 
 
 " And you would walk with me in 
 the park if I wore no other gown 
 than this?" 
 
 " I would look for no greater hon- 
 our. The best ornament of beauty 
 is simplicity, madame." 
 
 44
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " As the best weapon of intrigue is 
 truth, monsieur." 
 
 Her mood passed for a moment to 
 severity. Her lips were pursed up, 
 her eyes searched him curiously. It 
 was only for a moment, however. 
 Presently she began to laugh again, 
 and she murmured, as if to herself, 
 some doggerel in which a wag had 
 caricatured the fashionable coiffure 
 of the hour 
 
 " Soutiens, Jasmin, je succombe, 
 Et prends bien garde, faquin 
 Qui si ma coiffure tombe 
 Tu auras ton compte demain." 
 
 "They tell me," said she, "that 
 women now wear their hair a foot 
 high." 
 
 " To conceal the smallness of their 
 heads, believe me, madame." 
 
 " What an excellent reason." 
 
 " Which, in your case, I venture to 
 think would be no reason at all." 
 
 "A hit, a hit!" chimed in the 
 
 Abbe, who had been busy with the 
 
 wine-bottle. " They do say that the 
 
 women at the Court nowadays carry 
 
 45
 
 The Little Huguenot" 
 
 much virtue on their skulls and little 
 in their breasts. But, for myself, I 
 pay no heed to these scandals. The 
 tongue of the world is very wicked, 
 Monsieur de Guyon." 
 
 "It is often very amusing," said 
 de Guyon. 
 
 " And the more amusing because 
 the less true," said madame. 
 
 " Exactly ; truth is a very ordinary 
 faculty to cultivate." 
 
 " And, therefore, you let it lie fal- 
 low." 
 
 De Guyon bit his lip again. In all 
 their talk it seemed to him that the 
 slim and graceful girl in the black 
 robe was laughing at him. Accus- 
 tomed to mould women to his mood, 
 to bend them' before the graces which 
 it was the business of his life to culti- 
 vate, he knew not how to meet an 
 antagonist against whom flattery was 
 no weapon, and wit no defence. Nor 
 was he willing to admit that he had 
 cut a poor figure. 
 
 "I am tired to-night," he said, 
 
 " but to-morrow " 
 
 46
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 The supper being now done, the 
 countess rose from the table and led 
 the way into a little boudoir, not in- 
 elegantly furnished, and betraying 
 nothing of that ascetic rigour else- 
 where to be observed. 
 
 " We will talk of all these things 
 in the morning, when you ride with 
 me, monsieur," said she. " To-night 
 we must amuse you." 
 
 He could not find it on his tongue 
 to tell her that already she amused 
 him nay, fascinated him beyond any 
 woman he had known. The vigour 
 and freshness of her mind were al- 
 ready conquering him. He felt like 
 a boy that had been beaten when he 
 sat at her side to listen to the harpist, 
 and to the ballads of one of the crows, 
 delivered with a nasal drawl and a 
 precision which were ludicrous. And 
 when at last she bade him good- 
 night, and he went up to the great 
 oak-panelled bedchamber, he carried 
 with him the memory of a sweet girl- 
 ish face, of a woman's eyes that 
 seemed to read his whole soul, of a 
 
 47
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 voice which was soft and pleasing as 
 the clear note of a bell. 
 
 From the window of his bedcham- 
 ber he could look out upon a great 
 sweep of the forest, flooded with the 
 moonbeams. The scene rich in soft 
 lights, in tremulous whisperings and 
 suggestions of sleep fell in with his 
 mood. From the inner court of the 
 chateau he could hear snatches of 
 song floating upon the stillness of the 
 night ; the harsh voice of the rogue 
 Pepin, the deep, baying laugh of the 
 musketeers, spoke of the passing of 
 the wine-cup and of the camp jest. 
 But the woodlands slept, and the rare 
 cries of beasts o,r notes of birds were 
 like challenges of sentinels that 
 guarded the moon-lit ramparts. 
 
 The spell of it all was irresistible, 
 dream-bearing. Long de Guyon sat 
 at his open window, busy with his 
 thoughts. And this thought was 
 above all others : that the mistress 
 of the chateau must not go to the 
 palace, though her absence cost him 
 his command. 
 
 48
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ABBE GONDY COUNTS HIS SPOONS. 
 
 THE Abbe Gondy descended from 
 the grassy hill upon which he had 
 watched de Guyon and Gabrielle de 
 Vernet set out to the hunt ; and so 
 soon as the last of the horsemen had 
 disappeared into the thick wood 
 which lay upon the borders of the 
 home park, he returned with slow 
 steps to the chateau. For the first 
 time for some years the Abbe was 
 thinking. His ponderous mind 
 creaked on its hinges : he had a prob- 
 lem to solve, and he admitted that he 
 could make nothing of it. 
 
 At the door of the stables he found 
 the rogue Pepin, basking in the glori- 
 ous sunshine. 
 
 " Good morning, my friend," said 
 the Abbe, suddenly conceiving a no- 
 
 49
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 tion ; "so you have deserted your 
 master ?" 
 
 "Aye, and that's God's truth, fa- 
 ther for who would shake his body 
 on a horse when he can lie back down 
 in the blessed sunlight ? Blood of 
 Paul ! I have no stomach for boar's 
 meat when I must do the catching." 
 
 " You are a philosopher, my son." 
 
 "If so be that your philosopher 
 waits while other men work, I am 
 that same person." 
 
 The Abbe smiled. 
 
 " I like your teaching, friend," said 
 he. 
 
 " Oh, I am a faithful pupil of Holy 
 Church, my father." 
 
 " Would that' we had more of them 
 in these evil times," said the Abbe, 
 raising his eyes solemnly to heaven, 
 but instantly casting them down 
 again. 
 
 " You have breakfasted, my son ?" 
 he asked, a moment later. 
 
 " In the matter of a snack I have 
 done fairly well, monsieur ; but 
 should you be led to inquire if my 
 50
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 girths are drawn tight, so to speak, I 
 would even answer you, nay !" 
 
 The Abbe's eyes twinkled. 
 
 " Yesterday was a fast," said he ; 
 " to-day is a feast. You shall drink 
 a cup of wine at my own board." 
 
 Pepin was on his legs in a moment. 
 Five minutes later the same legs 
 were dangling beneath the Abbe's 
 groaning table. 
 
 " God send a saint every day of the 
 year !" said Pepin, filling his mouth 
 with slices from the breast of a well- 
 boiled capon. 
 
 " Amen to that !" cried the Abbe, 
 drinking a glass of luscious red wine. 
 
 " And a fat capon for sinners to 
 fast upon." 
 
 " Let me fill your glass," said the 
 Abbe, with oily condescension. 
 
 " You are too good, my father." 
 
 " I am the servant of the servants 
 of God," murmured the Abbe, while 
 his hand which held the decanter 
 shook beyond concealment. " You 
 have been with Monsieur de Guyon 
 long, my friend ?" 
 51
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " I was with his father at Minden, 
 monsieur. Dieu ! I had three at once 
 upon my sword !" 
 
 Pepin lied very discreetly. The 
 truth was that de Guyon had picked 
 him up the previous day at the Bar- 
 riere d'Enfer, but the memory of 
 Minden allowed him to pose as an 
 old family retainer. The Abb6, how- 
 ever, knew nothing of this, and, as- 
 suming that he was talking to a con- 
 fidential servant, he opened his heart 
 freely. 
 
 " You are accompanying your mas- 
 ter to the palace ?" 
 
 Pepin had not the faintest notion 
 whither de Guyon was carrying him, 
 so he said, and there were tears in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " I follow him to the world's end, 
 men p^re. ' ' 
 
 " You know why he has come 
 here?" 
 
 Pepin did not know, but he was 
 far too wise to betray his ignorance. 
 With his tongue in his cheek, he 
 made a grimace at the Abbe. 
 52
 
 "The Little Huguenot" 
 
 "Ah," said the priest, with a sly 
 laugh, " you are a cunning fellow." 
 
 " I am as God made me, holy 
 father." 
 
 " I always said," continued the 
 Abbe, as if to himself, " that madame 
 woujd hear of us." 
 
 " It's known in all Paris," said 
 Pepin, clutching at a straw. 
 
 The Abbe appeared not to notice 
 the remark. 
 
 " Your master has many friends at 
 Court ?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 " Their names would fill a book," 
 said Pepin. 
 
 " And he has come straight to us 
 from the king ?" 
 
 " From the king !" cried Pepin, ob- 
 serving on a sudden the opportunity 
 to appear knowing ; " ha, ha, that's a 
 fine story. From the king ! What an 
 idea !" 
 
 The Abb6 looked at him search- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Fill your glass," said he. 
 
 Pepin did so. 
 
 " If you will tell me the name of 
 53
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 the person whose messenger your 
 master is, I will give you ten gold 
 pieces," said the Abbe*. 
 
 " Ten gold pieces," murmured 
 Pepin, making another grimace ; 
 " oh, but I am a faithful servant, 
 monsieur." 
 
 "Then twenty pieces," urged the 
 Abbe. 
 
 He counted the money out upon 
 the table but covered it with his 
 hand. 
 
 " One moment, my friend," said 
 he ; " when did your master last have 
 audience of his Majesty ?" 
 
 " Audience of his Majesty ! Ha, 
 ha, you joke, Monsieur 1'Abbe !" 
 
 The priest began to put the money 
 into the bag again. 
 
 " We do not understand each other 
 yet," said he. 
 
 "Nay," said Pepin, "we under- 
 stand each other perfectly. My mas- 
 ter last had audience of his Majesty 
 nine months ago, when he was sub- 
 lieutenant at the Louvre." 
 
 "You lie," said the Abbe coolly, 
 54
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 replacing all the money in the bag ; 
 " nine months ago your master was 
 in Corsica. And he spoke with the 
 king at Versailles five days ago." 
 
 " Ah ! what tricks my memory 
 plays with me," said Pepin, taken 
 unawares ; " but about those ten 
 pieces, monsieur?" 
 
 " You see how well they go in this 
 bag," remarked the Abbe, at the 
 same time withdrawing the decanter 
 from the other's reach ; " we will 
 talk of them again, my son, when 
 your memory is in no mood for tricks. 
 Meanwhile, I have to say my office." 
 
 Pepin scratched his head. He saw 
 that he had made a mess of things. 
 
 " Parbleu! that was a good break- 
 fast," cried he but the Abbe already 
 had his breviary in his hand. 
 
 " Bon jour, monsieur !" said Pepin, 
 lurching out. 
 
 " Impostor !" murmured the Abbe, 
 kneeling at his faldstool. 
 
 " What Burgundy !" exclaimed 
 Pepin, staggering to the stables to 
 sleep. 
 
 55
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 The Abbe's devotions were inter- 
 spersed with strange thoughts that 
 morning. His eyes would wander 
 from the pages of his breviary ; his 
 busy brain employed itself with any- 
 thing but worship. The coming of 
 de Guyon had upset him strangely. 
 It had even suggested to him the pos- 
 sibility that Gabrielle de Vernet 
 might marry again. And how would 
 he fare with a master at the chateau ? 
 He said to himself that he might 
 fare badly ; might in an extreme 
 case be driven out to some mean care 
 of souls in some mean hamlet. "Far 
 better," whispered the devil in his ear, 
 " that she should go to Versailles, and 
 leave you in possession of the Chateau 
 aux Loups. She may become as the 
 others, but you, at any rate, have 
 tried to keep her to the faith. And 
 she is a pure woman." 
 
 " Vade retro Sa tanas," murmured 
 the Abbe piously ; and then he fell 
 to reading the words: "Brethren, 
 be sober and watch."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN THE BOWER OF VIOLETS. 
 
 GABRIELLE DE VERNET was a per- 
 fect horsewoman. De Guyon said to 
 himself twenty times as he rode with 
 her on the morning after his coming 
 to the chateau that she would surely 
 break her neck. Somehow, he found 
 that he was more anxious for her 
 safety than for his own. She looked 
 so girlish with her golden-brown hair 
 coiled loosely on her neck, and her 
 tiny hands controlling a great horse 
 that might have carried a command- 
 er. And no difficulty of the road 
 was too great for her nerve or her 
 daring. He shuddered again and 
 again when she rode blindly through 
 the labyrinthine way of copse thicket, 
 or galloped wildly where the sward 
 was soft and the way was open. 
 57
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 There were moments when he said 
 that she must certainly be killed. 
 And he himself was no mountebank 
 in the saddle. 
 
 Even to a man accustomed to the 
 gaudy pictures of life at Court, the 
 scene was no unworthy one. The 
 green coats and feathered hats of the 
 woodlanders, the changing beauties 
 of the forest ; the baying of the 
 hounds, the winding blast of horns, 
 the thud of hoofs upon the rich green 
 turf braced his mind to exhilara- 
 tion in the sport. And when to this 
 there was added that fascination 
 which the company of Gabrielle de 
 Vernet already cast upon him, his 
 heart went out to the spirit of the 
 morning, and all the burning fevers 
 of intrigue and ambition and de- 
 bauchery seemed to leave him. 
 
 At the first she had ridden with the 
 others, with a fearlessness which 
 many a man might have envied. But 
 when they had galloped some miles 
 almost upon the outskirts of the for- 
 est, it appeared to de Guyon that she 
 53
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 was drawing away from the chase, 
 and seeking to plunge into the 
 darker places of the woods. The 
 note of the horns died down in the 
 distance ; the voice of the hounds 
 were faint echoes in the hollows ; 
 and still she rode on through groves 
 of close set pines and tangles of 
 bramble ; over swards carpeted with 
 violets and meadows of soft sand ; by 
 dark pools and bubbling brooks. 
 When at last she drew rein it was at 
 a thicket's edge in a grass glade odor- 
 ous with the perfume of sweet flow- 
 ers ; there one of her own serving 
 men came out to greet her. 
 
 " Our ride is over, Monsieur de 
 Guyon," said she, jumping lightly 
 from her horse, " and here we should 
 find our breakfast. Did you think 
 that I was going to lose you in the 
 forest?" 
 
 She was blushing deeply ; but it 
 was with the blush of a young girl's 
 health. It seemed to de Guyon that 
 she had left at the chateau that 
 stately dignity of speech and bearing 
 
 59
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 which he had remarked at their first 
 meeting. Nor did he know in which 
 mood he found her the more charm- 
 ing. While he had thought over- 
 night that there was no woman at 
 Versailles to be compared to her as 
 the graceful mistress of a household, 
 he now said that this girlish freedom 
 was unsurpassable in its charm and 
 attractiveness. And her riding-dress 
 showed her pretty figure to exceeding 
 advantage ; the quaint round hat in 
 which she had gone to the hunt gave 
 piquancy to the freshness of her 
 young face. He said to himself that 
 the wonder was, not that the king 
 now desired to see her, but that she 
 had not been lured to the palace long 
 ago. Yet he trembled at the thought 
 of her being there ; found himself in 
 some way posing mentally as her 
 protector from ills which it seemed a 
 crime to think upon. 
 
 The nook in which they were to 
 
 breakfast was the one she called her 
 
 bower. In part it was of nature's 
 
 making ; in part the work of her own 
 
 60
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 gardeners, who had trained honey- 
 suckle about the little \vooden pavil- 
 ion and had almost smothered it in 
 roses. Here, in the depths of the 
 glen, a clear pool of water caught the 
 sun's rays streaming through a can- 
 opy of boughs and branches, and 
 showed gold and silver fish basking 
 in the warmth, or feeding on the ripe 
 green weeds which flourished on the 
 pebbly bed. A little balcony, pleas- 
 antly shaded by a roof of flowering 
 creeper, was built over the pond, and 
 the breakfast to which de Guyon had 
 been invited was spread out upon a 
 little wooden table on this balcony. 
 He saw at once that only two chairs 
 were set ; and for a moment he had 
 hopes of this discovery. Was it pos- 
 sible that Gabrielle de Vernet was 
 going to make love to him ? 
 
 This pleasing speculation was soon 
 at rest. Directly the girl began to 
 speak to him he knew that no such 
 thoughts were in her mind. The 
 pretty speech he had framed died 
 away upon his lips. He began men- 
 61
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 tally to pay her a new homage. She 
 was so different from any woman he 
 had known. He felt like a child be- 
 fore a mistress and yet he was drawn 
 towards her as towards one whom all 
 the world must love. He said that 
 it would be heaven itself to hold her 
 in his arms ; then remembered that 
 he had come to her that he might 
 carry her to the shame of the Court. 
 It was a pitiful errand, indeed ; it 
 seemed the more pitiful when she be- 
 gan to speak of it fearlessly. 
 
 " You are wondering why I left 
 the hunt and brought you to my 
 bower ?" she asked while she heaped 
 her plate with fresh fruit, and the 
 servant filled their glasses with a 
 pleasing yellow wine. 
 
 4 ' Parbleu ! since your bower is so 
 pleasant a place, why should I ask 
 any such question ?" 
 
 " It would be very natural if you 
 had done so," said she, unmindful of 
 the compliment, " and I don't know 
 that I am not treating you very ill. 
 But I promised myself that I would 
 62
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 talk of your message this morning - 
 and my curiosity is your punishment. 
 I have now read my cousin Claude's 
 letter, in which he conveys to me the 
 king's earnest wish that I should 
 present myself at Versailles. You, I 
 understand, are sent to emphasise 
 that wish." 
 
 It was a very direct question, and 
 he saw no way by which he might 
 evade it. 
 
 " Certainly, that is so," he stam- 
 mered at last. " His Majesty's wish 
 is to be read as a command in a mat- 
 ter like this. I will tell you frankly 
 that I am sent to escort you to the 
 palace, where the king would be glad 
 to consult you upon many subjects 
 connected with with " 
 
 " With what, Monsieur de Guyon ? 
 Really you provoke my curiosity 
 again." 
 
 He felt that she was laughing at 
 him, and in his embarrassment his 
 tongue failed him. 
 
 "Oh, 1 ' she said, continuing in a 
 spirit of raillery, " you are a very bad 
 63
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 ambassador, Monsieur de Guyon. I 
 shall really have to help you myself." 
 
 " I am afraid that you speak truth. 
 I am a soldier, madame, and my 
 principal occupation is to obey." 
 
 " Even when obedience concerns a 
 woman's honour?" 
 
 He had no answer to give to her 
 his mind was bent like a whip in her 
 hands. 
 
 " Yes, my friend," she continued, 
 sparing him in nothing, " I can scarce 
 think that you have lived under the 
 king's roof for five years without 
 knowing well what his Majesty's gra- 
 cious wish implies. You ask me if I 
 will go to the palace ? I answer you 
 by another question does the .dove 
 go willingly to the cage, the deer to 
 the stable ? Does the man who has 
 breathed God's air upon the hills 
 sleep at his ease in a cellar ? Here, 
 with the children who love me, with 
 the forest for my home, with the 
 worship of God in Jesus Christ for 
 my occupation, I find life rich in 
 treasure, as she is always rich to those 
 64
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 that deal well with her. Think you 
 that I would surrender these my 
 pleasures at the nod of any king 
 even at the nod of the well-beloved ? 
 Oh, Monsieur de Guyon, you know 
 that I would not." 
 
 She had spoken quickly, the effort 
 suffusing her face with a glow of 
 pink ; her eyes bright with earnest- 
 ness of purpose. De Guyon, accus- 
 tomed to the restraint of the women 
 of the Court, to the practice of ver- 
 bal insincerities, listened to her with 
 amazement. Here was a woman 
 who believed in Christ yet a woman 
 with warm blood in her veins ; no 
 recluse of the cell, but a living, breath- 
 ing entity, to listen to whom was to 
 hear a voice as from another world. 
 Her very frankness gave him cour- 
 age ; all the fine phrases with which 
 he had hoped to ensnare had long 
 passed from his mind. He an- 
 swered her in plain words as she 
 wished. 
 
 " Madame," said he, "it is ill to 
 put upon the servant the designs of 
 65
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 the master. I am the servant of 
 King Louis. If he says go, I go ; or 
 stay, and I stay. How then would 
 you make me your adviser ? Indeed, 
 this visit is none of my planning. I 
 knew not of it until the hour in which 
 I was bidden to set out. It is only 
 when you speak to me like this that I 
 am able to answer frankly. As a 
 soldier, I say to you, come with me 
 to the palace ; as a friend, I urge 
 you to remain at your chateau as long 
 as the king will permit." 
 
 " As long as the king will permit ! 
 Then he adds threats to the expres- 
 sion of his pleasure ?" 
 
 " His Majesty does not love to be 
 contradicted, madame." 
 
 " Nay, but you shall contradict 
 him for me ; you shall return this 
 very night with my message. If I 
 am to go to Versailles " 
 
 " To Fontainebleau. His Majesty 
 will be there on Sunday next to re- 
 ceive you." 
 
 " Oh, his Majesty is very thought- 
 ful. See, my dear Monsieur de 
 66
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 Guyon, how he would shield me 
 from prying eyes." 
 
 " He judged that the journey 
 would be less fatiguing ; you are but 
 five leagues from the palace of Fran- 
 cis, are you not ?" 
 
 " Six exactly, mon ami yet far 
 enough to prove a heavy burden 
 when his Majesty comes to carry 
 me." 
 
 " To carry you !" 
 
 " I will go no other way. He shall 
 take me in his own arms. Think 
 you, Monsieur de Guyon, that you 
 could carry me six leagues ? Cer- 
 tainly you could not." 
 
 De Guyon thought that he would 
 be happy if the attempt were per- 
 mitted to him ; but he said nothing 
 of this, harking back rather to the 
 message he must bear. 
 
 " The king comes to the chateau 
 on Saturday about sundown," said 
 he ; "I am to meet him there with 
 news of you." 
 
 " Then that you have. You will 
 tell him that Gabrielle de Vernet 
 67
 
 ''The Little Huguenot." 
 
 will come to the Court when he shall 
 be pleased to carry her there." 
 
 He stared at her now with blank 
 astonishment. 
 
 " It would cost me my command," 
 he stammered. 
 
 She looked at him with a little con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " Your command, Monsieur de 
 Guyon would you buy that at such 
 a price ?" 
 
 "Mafoi!" said he; but you do 
 not know ; I am poor and without 
 friends ; the king trusts me in 
 this " 
 
 She laughed loudly. 
 
 " Well," said she, " you are but a 
 simpleton after all. Come, you have 
 eaten no breakfast. And since you 
 must remain with me some days, 1 
 must see that you preserve your ap- 
 petite. We will talk of this again. 
 Let us think of going homeward 
 now." 
 
 For a moment he sat looking into 
 her laughing eyes. He seemed about 
 to answer her, but minutes passed be- 
 68
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 fore the words came to his lips. At 
 last he said quite suddenly 
 
 " Madame de Vernet, there is no 
 need to talk of this again. I will 
 take your message." 
 
 " And resign hopes of a com- 
 mand ?" 
 
 "If it must be." 
 
 ' ' But you have said that it must be. ' ' 
 
 " Very well then, I will resign 
 hopes of a command." 
 
 " You are a brave man, Monsieur 
 de Guyon." 
 
 " But I have my reward," said he. 
 
 The look which he gave her be- 
 trayed all his admiration and growing 
 love. For the first time she was em- 
 barrassed in his presence, and made 
 haste to be put upon her horse. Nor 
 did she speak again while they rode 
 through glade and meadow to the 
 chateau, turning her head away from 
 him, and answering him with mono- 
 syllables. She had begun to believe 
 that de Guyon was a man after all. 
 And in this, her womanhood was con- 
 quering her. 
 
 69
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE ABBE GONDY WRITES A SERMON. 
 
 THE Abb6 Gondy sat in his study 
 on the morning of the Friday follow- 
 ing the coming of de Guyon. His 
 swollen feet were wrapped in woollen 
 slippers ; the violet girdle round his 
 waist was loosened for the morning 
 was hot, and thunder hung over the 
 forest. Before him on the great 
 carved oak table there were rough 
 notes of a sermon he was to preach 
 at the Mass on Sunday ; by his side, 
 a basin of Mocha coffee was steam- 
 ing. 
 
 " Brethren, love one another," 
 wrote the Abbe, and then he put his 
 pen down. " She is not going to the 
 palace," he thought, " because de 
 Guyon has bungled it. The man is 
 little better than a fool. I believe 
 70
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 he is in love with her himself. 
 Mother of God, if she were to marry 
 again I should have no room here. 
 That smooth-faced soldier would 
 take a pipe in his hand and go play- 
 ing to the sheep. But if she were at 
 the palace and like the others, she 
 would hardly return." 
 
 " Even as I have loved you," wrote 
 the Abbe, but again his thoughts 
 wandered. " This life is very pleas- 
 ant," he said to himself, " and I find 
 myself well in this air. There is 
 abundance for all, while in villages 
 and hamlets not ten leagues from 
 here, holy priests are starving. A 
 new master might come here with 
 other views. He might even deny 
 the faith ; be unprepared to tread 
 that narrow way to which I am lead- 
 ing my children. In any case, I 
 should have to give up these apart- 
 ments. But if she went to the palace 
 it might even be that I should remain 
 master to my death. There is virtue 
 in an 'if,' " thought the Abbe. 
 
 The reflection deepened the gloom 
 
 71
 
 The Little Huguenot" 
 
 of his depression. Since the death 
 of the Comte de Vernet, who had 
 been stricken down by small-pox five 
 weeks after his marriage to Gabrielle, 
 the Abb had lived in close commu- 
 nication with the young mistress of 
 the chateau ; had come to know her 
 well as a creature of noble if quick 
 impulses, of a belief in God at any 
 rate, of a strong will and of a warm 
 heart. Married while a mere child 
 to the count, life had not scattered 
 the bloom of her girlhood, nor awak- 
 ened in her those instincts which 
 might have been at once her safe- 
 guard and her peril. A wife but not 
 a mother, she had something of the 
 innocence of the maid and of the 
 mind of the woman. The Abbe said 
 to himself that no temptation could 
 be found sufficiently strong to taint 
 this innocence or break this will. 
 He was only an utterly selfish man. 
 The fall of Gabrielle de Vernet would 
 have been a deep sorrow to him. It 
 was just because he knew that she 
 was of mind enough to cope wilh 
 72
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 danger successfully that he wished 
 her at the palace. When a voice 
 whispered to him that the peril to her 
 honour was terrible, he said that the 
 devil spoke. He called to mind the 
 words of the apostle, that no soul 
 should be tempted beyond that which 
 it could bear. And at this, he drank 
 his coffee with relish. 
 
 " Brethren, to-day I would set be- 
 fore you some consideration of this 
 holy counsel, that we love one an- 
 other," wrote the Abbe quickly, and 
 with some fine flourishes of his goose 
 quill. He was well started now, and 
 he did not put his pen down until he 
 had filled four pages with closely- 
 written notes. Nevertheless was the 
 thought of de Guyon hovering about 
 his mind, and of a sudden it pre- 
 sented itself in an aspect so alarm- 
 ing that he sat back in his chair, and 
 let the wind scatter the treasured 
 pages upon the soft carpet at his feet. 
 
 " Dieu /" said he, " this man leaves 
 us to-morrow but what message is 
 he taking to the king ? What excuse 
 73
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 will he make for her ? Will he urge 
 that my counsels prevented her ? 
 Saints and angels ! that would send 
 me to the Bastille. And he would 
 be rewarded and return to marry her. 
 She is in love with his pretty face, if 
 I know anything of women. The 
 way she speaks of him, too a good 
 man to be snatched from wickedness 
 and made honest by example. Bah ! 
 a fop and a farceur to be reckoned 
 with. I must think of this. I have 
 an account to settle." 
 
 The Abbe thought of it, long and 
 earnestly. So absorbing was the 
 problem that twelve o'clock struck 
 and he forgot; to say the Angelus. 
 Far from it for he was then unlock- 
 ing a drawer in his bureau, and occu- 
 pying himself with an exquisite mini- 
 ature which he laid upon his table and 
 gazed at with affection. The man 
 was a fine judge of art, and the paint- 
 ing staring at him from the dainty 
 gold frame was art in her highest 
 perfection. It was the portrait of 
 Gabrielle de Vernet, painted on ivory 
 
 74
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 by Richard Cosway, when that mas- 
 ter was the guest of Claude Vernet 
 in Paris. The countess had given it 
 to the Abbe as an Easter gift just a 
 year ago, and it was with a bitter 
 struggle that he had made up his 
 mind to part with it. Only, in fact, 
 when he had convinced himself that 
 some bold step must be taken to save 
 his own skin, did he return it to its 
 case, and strike the gong at his 
 side. 
 
 " Dominique." 
 
 " Monsieur." 
 
 " Is the guide Pepin in the court- 
 yard ?" 
 
 " He is sleeping in the pavilion by 
 the lake, monsieur." 
 
 " Tell him I wish to see him." 
 
 The man left, and the Abbe turned 
 again to his desk, taking from it that 
 identical bag which he had held un- 
 der Pepin's nose three days before. 
 When the guide entered the room, 
 the first thing that he saw were the 
 ten gold pieces he had lusted for 
 spread out on the table. 
 
 75
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Bon jour, Monsieur 1'Abbe," said 
 Pepin gaily. 
 
 " Bon jour, Monsieur Pepin." 
 
 " You sent for me ?" 
 
 " Sit down, my son. I wish to talk 
 to you, since you leave us to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " To-morrow !" cried Pepin, cast- 
 ing his eyes about to see where the 
 Burgundy might be. 
 
 " Your master has not told you, 
 then?" 
 
 :< The devil he hasn't." 
 
 " You know that madame does not 
 accompany you ?" 
 
 " That's common gossip, my fa- 
 ther." 
 
 "Exactly. But what say the 
 men ?" 
 
 " Oh, they say anything. They 
 wag their tongues like cows' tails. 
 A shabby lot, on my word." 
 
 " Yes ; but when they wag their 
 tongues what do you hear ?" 
 
 "Anything everything. Some 
 say that when next they come back 
 they will leave yonder lieutenant 
 76
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 where light is dear and air costs 
 money in a cell, mon ptre. " 
 
 The Abbe reflected for a moment. 
 
 " Would you like a glass of wine, 
 Monsieur Pepin ?" 
 
 " Aye what wine it was !" mur- 
 mured Pepin, rolling his eyes and his 
 tongue. 
 
 The Abbe struck his gong again. 
 When the guide had gulped down a 
 great cup of the Burgundy, the priest 
 drew his chair nearer to him. 
 
 " My son," said he, " I find you to 
 be a man of large discernment." 
 
 " Aye, there you have it, my fa- 
 ther," cried Pepin ; " a man of large 
 discernment. Body of John ! there's 
 not a man of a larger between here 
 and the Invalides." At the same 
 time he said to himself, " What does 
 the old rogue want now ?" 
 
 " And a man to be trusted," urged 
 the Abbe. 
 
 " If there's one that doubts it, mon- 
 sieur, I shall know how to defend my 
 honour." 
 
 The Abbe smiled, remembering 
 
 77
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 that Pepin's weapon was a four-holed 
 flageolet. 
 
 "Undoubtedly, Monsieur Pepin," 
 said he ; " you are a man of courage. 
 See how I make you my confidant, 
 even going so far" and here the 
 Abbe bent over until his mouth was 
 almost at Pepin's ear " even going 
 so far as to ask you what part people 
 think I have played in bringing about 
 madame's refusal to go to the palace. ' ' 
 
 Pepin scratched his head. " The 
 Abbe is measuring his own neck," 
 said he ; "it will pay me to frighten 
 him." And then he gave his answer. 
 
 " Corbleu! Monsieur 1'Abbe", what's 
 the good of hiding things. All the 
 world knows why the king is refused. 
 Your holy words Mother of God ! 
 they moved even me." 
 
 The Abb6 winced, and raised his 
 hand in a gesture of dissent. 
 
 " No, no, Monsieur Pepin ; it does 
 not concern me at all. Heaven for- 
 bid that such a suspicion should come 
 upon a humble servant of his Maj- 
 esty." 
 
 73
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Eh ?" exclaimed Pepin ; " but 
 surely you would not have her 
 go?" 
 
 " I ? My son, I would not harm a 
 hair of her head. But the king's 
 command think of that !" 
 
 Pepin thought of it. His reply 
 was not a pretty one : sticking his 
 tongue in his cheek, he made a grim- 
 ace at the priest, and then pointed to 
 the coins on the table. 
 
 " What of those gold pieces, my 
 father?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 " They are for you, my friend." 
 
 Pepin stretched out his hand. The 
 Abbe covered the money with his 
 palms. 
 
 " If," he continued, " you are able 
 to do a service for me." 
 
 Pepin drew back his hand. 
 
 "By the Mass," said he, "you 
 know how to plague a man." 
 
 " Indeed, my son, that would be 
 an ill thing to do. But the labourer 
 must prove worthy of his hire ; and, 
 first, I would know if you ride with 
 de Guyon to-morrow ?" 
 
 79
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 "Dieuf he would fare ill without 
 me!" 
 
 " And at the palace you are to find 
 the king, alone, eh ?" 
 
 Pepin made another grimace. The 
 Abbe drew his chair still nearer. 
 
 " And his Majesty being alone, or 
 with very few attendants, it might be 
 possible to slip a packet and a letter 
 into his hand." 
 
 " As easy as a paternoster." 
 
 " For which service you are to have 
 ten pieces now, and ten more when 
 you shall prove to me that it has 
 been accomplished." 
 
 Pepin nodded his head in rhythm 
 with the Abbe's words. 
 
 " Ten more when it shall have been 
 accomplished. Holy saints, Mon- 
 sieur 1'Abbe, what a friend you are 
 buying." 
 
 " You will carry the packet care- 
 fully : it is of great worth. And the 
 letter !" 
 
 " I will carry them like the sacra- 
 ment." 
 
 The Abbe turned to his desk, and 
 80
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 wrote precisely seven words upon a 
 large sheet of paper. They were 
 these : " Let the king beware of his 
 ambassador." Then he folded the 
 paper and sealed it. 
 
 " Monsieur Pepin," said he, " there 
 is no name to this document ; but 
 should you be asked by his Majesty 
 whence it comes, you know how to 
 answer ?" 
 
 " Aye, that I do," said Pepin. " It 
 was given to me by a stranger on the 
 wayside." 
 
 "Fool!" said the Abbe testily. 
 " It was given to you by me. But 
 that is for the king's ear alone." 
 
 Pepin put the packet in the breast 
 of his jerkin, the money in his pouch. 
 
 " The devil of an Abbe !" said he, 
 when he was out in the courtyard. 
 
 But the Abbe was at his prayers. 
 
 8l
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MASKING IN THE WOODS. 
 
 WHILE the venerable Abbe was 
 writing his sermon upon love, de 
 Guyon was walking in the park of 
 the chateau waiting for the coming of 
 Gabrielle de Vernet. It was a feast 
 day, and a procession of white-robed 
 children, bearing flowers and banners 
 and lighted candles, had just passed 
 by the glistening lake, and so had 
 entered a wood in the heart of which 
 the chapel of the Virgin had been 
 built. De Guyon listened to the 
 notes of their hymn, dying away in 
 the groves and thickets, and then 
 walked slowly to the open lawns be- 
 fore the southern gate of the house 
 for tables were set here, and the vil- 
 lagers from many a mile round were 
 coming in to share the hospitality of 
 82
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 the woman they adored, and to hold 
 carnival in her park. It was good to 
 see the honest faces of the woodland- 
 ers in their liveries of green ; the red 
 cheeks and dark eyes of the country 
 girls, all ready for any play they 
 might hap upon ; eager to anticipate, 
 perhaps, that moment when the even- 
 ing would come and some of those 
 great fellows about them would have 
 burdens in their arms. And it was 
 no less good to behold the well-cov- 
 ered tables, the great casks of sound 
 wine, the piles of fruit, the sweet- 
 meats, the fantastic cakes, the fat 
 capons. 
 
 Everywhere, indeed, the usually 
 silent forest echoed the music of the 
 horns, the lighter note of laughter, 
 the merry voices of the girls, the 
 neighing of horses. Here and there, 
 beneath some great elm or oak, you 
 might come upon a wandering musi- 
 cian drawn to the chateau by rumour 
 of the feast, and now scraping his 
 fiddle or blowing his flute for the de- 
 lectation of the country wenches, all 
 
 83
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 eager for the merry dance. Horse- 
 men rode in from many an outlying 
 station ; priests were to be seen 
 among the people, and were wel- 
 comed by them. And when the an- 
 gry clouds, which at one time had 
 promised thunder, rolled away to the 
 east, and the sun shone upon the 
 sparkling lakes, and the breeze blew 
 fresh and sweet, it was a morning to 
 call even the dreamer to life. 
 
 De Guyon, standing beneath the 
 shade of a great oak tree, looked 
 upon the scene and found it power- 
 less to lift the gloom off his mind. 
 He could not but contrast the sim- 
 plicity, the freshness, the innocence 
 of it with the extravagance, the weari- 
 ness and the guilt of those feverish 
 masks he was so well accustomed to 
 at Versailles. The light laughter of 
 these country girls, the manly speech 
 of the men, the naivete of their pleas- 
 ures would have been a jest to him 
 a week ago. But that was before he 
 knew Gabrielle de Vernet. 
 
 "Dieuf said he, "she will make 
 84
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 a monk of me ;" and he laughed 
 aloud at the thought. Yet there was 
 something very sweet in the contem- 
 plation of that seclusion which would 
 keep him always at her side. For 
 some days now, he, the wit and fine 
 gentleman, had lived like a priest, 
 and fared little better than a reli- 
 gieux; had gone to Mass at dawn, had 
 been content to sit out vespers and 
 compline, had thought nothing of 
 clothes for his back or epigram for 
 his tongue. The silence, the sweet- 
 ness, the exhilaration of the forest 
 had entered into his life ; awakening 
 his mind to the knowledge of a con- 
 tent he had not hitherto known. He 
 was lifted up out of himself ; carried 
 to that high place of the spirit where- 
 from man may look down upon the 
 warfare of the passions, may hear the 
 crying of those in darkness. And lie 
 said to himself that surely it was a 
 vision come to cheat him, since the 
 morrow must bring the mists again. 
 
 Of the morrow, for a truth, he 
 could have little hope. He was to 
 85
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 leave at dawn for the chateau of 
 Francis and of Henry Quatre, bear- 
 ing a message which could bring him 
 no favour nor hope of reward. He 
 had set out to Fontainebleau, happy 
 in that he had come to play the hum- 
 ble part of a trusted intriguer ; he 
 would return to those that sent him, 
 pleading his own failure, despising 
 the intrigue. What the aftermath 
 might be he did not care, if only he 
 might return to the forest to the feet 
 of the little Huguenot who had 
 opened his eyes to such visions. 
 
 The crying of many voices in the 
 park, a new and louder note of mu- 
 sic, the galloping of horses called 
 him from dreamland to the scene be- 
 fore him. Gabrielle de Vernet had 
 now come down from the chapel, and 
 surrounded by a lusty body of green- 
 coated foresters, she made her way 
 to the high table. He said that it 
 was good thus to see her worshipped 
 by those to whom she had given her 
 life ; good to see her as a thing of 
 flesh and blood and warm human 
 86
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 sympathies, enlarged and not con- 
 fined by the discipline to which she 
 submitted. At no time could it have 
 been urged that the ascetic side of 
 her nature overweighed the womanly 
 instinct. She was born for love and 
 marriage not for the recluse's cell. 
 
 De Guyon took his seat at the high 
 table ; the Abbe waddled out of the 
 chateau and raised three fingers in 
 benediction of the multitude ; the 
 musicians scraped as they had not 
 scraped before ; the feast opened 
 with a flourish of trumpets and a 
 lively babble of tongues. The girl 
 who presided over it had a word and 
 a look for everyone ; the lieutenant 
 had a word and a look only for her ; 
 the Abbe only for his plate. When 
 the eating and drinking at length 
 were done with (and the foresters had 
 appetites which were to be measured 
 only by hours), the masqueraders be- 
 gan their play in the park, some 
 making believe to be fauns, some 
 sylphs, some spirits of the woods. 
 Warmed with the invigorating wine, 
 87
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 the village girls set themselves with 
 trembling heels to the dance ; the 
 fiddlers thrashed their fiddles in melo- 
 dious ecstasies ; the jesters raised 
 their shrill voices ; the woodmen 
 puckered up their lips in hope of 
 kisses ; the lovers broke away to the 
 woods to whisper vows in shady 
 glens. It was passing late in the 
 afternoon when at last de Guyon 
 found himself alone with Gabrielle, 
 and able to speak of the shadow 
 which the morrow would cast upon 
 his life, and, as he hoped, upon hers. 
 They had walked slowly from the 
 park and come into a little glen, in 
 the heart of which a brook was bub- 
 bling. There was the shadow of as- 
 pens here, the perfume of violets and 
 of wild roses ; the fitful song of the 
 reed-warbler and the wagtail. A 
 grassy bank, grown over with prim- 
 roses, served them well for seat ; and 
 here they rested, while from the dis- 
 tant park the hum of voices and the 
 light music of the dance came to 
 them on the waves of the wind. But
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 the spirit of the glen was one of si- 
 lence ; and minutes passed before 
 either of them spoke. 
 
 " Well, Monsieur de Guyon," said 
 she at last, " I don't find you very 
 witty to-day." 
 
 " Indeed," said he, seeking to look 
 straight into her eyes, " but I have 
 waited long for the opportunity." 
 
 She did not answer him at once, 
 but began to twist a posy of the prim- 
 roses. A glow of crimson suffused 
 her face. There was so much ten- 
 derness in his voice that she no longer 
 looked into his eyes and she had 
 ceased to smile. 
 
 " You must know," said she, break- 
 ing the embarrassing silence with an 
 effort, " that this is one of the great 
 days of my year " 
 
 " Henceforth it will be the greatest 
 day of mine," said he, feeling that 
 whatever might come of it, he would 
 not leave her with the word un- 
 spoken. 
 
 " To amuse is as much the duty of 
 those who rule as to educate," she 
 89
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 went on, making no reference to his 
 compliment. " Three times every 
 year my people keep holiday in the 
 park. I encourage them to feel that 
 they have some interest in the main- 
 tenance of my home that they have 
 a friend here. Friendship, after all, 
 is a creed, Monsieur de Guyon." 
 
 De Guyon had thought so little of 
 any religion at all, that he was quite 
 out of his depth when he tried to re- 
 ply to her. 
 
 " This life," said he, " this to-day 
 which is as yesterday, this to-morrow 
 which must be as to-day, does it 
 never weary you, never pall, never 
 set you longing for that other life be- 
 yond your gates ?" 
 
 She smiled at him now. 
 
 " When my life shall make me love 
 less, then will I think of yours." 
 
 "Of mine?" 
 
 " Surely, since you throw down the 
 glove for it. But tell me, mon ami, 
 what do they say of the Chateau aux 
 Loups at the palace ? Indeed, I am 
 very curious to know." 
 90
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 De Guyon sat thinking while a 
 minute passed. 
 
 " They call you ' the little Hugue- 
 not,' believing you to be in heart a 
 Protestant, as your husband was," 
 said he at length, and quite bluntly. 
 " They told me that you lived on 
 herbs and slept in a cell." 
 
 "And that was all?" 
 
 " Certainly it was not ; they said 
 also that you were well " 
 
 " Well, what, Monsieur de Guyon ? 
 How you love to pique my curiosity." 
 
 He hesitated to use the word ; but 
 remembering that she was, above all 
 else, a woman, he made bold at last 
 to venture it. 
 
 " Parbleu!" said he. "I will not 
 keep it from you. They spoke of your 
 beauty." 
 
 She looked up at him quickly. 
 
 " It was unkind of them to deceive 
 you." 
 
 " To deceive me ? Oh, madame !" 
 
 She was now almost lying upon 
 the grass, her head propped upon 
 her elbows, her piquant oval face 
 
 91
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 resting upon her hands. She had 
 dressed herself in white for the mask, 
 and the ribbons at her neck and upon 
 her breast gave her the air of a little 
 school-girl just come out of a con- 
 vent. It seemed odd to de Guyon 
 to call her " Madame," and when he 
 had uttered the words, he could not 
 help himself but must look into her 
 great laughing eyes and fall in with 
 her merry humour. 
 
 " del!" said he, lying so close to 
 her that their faces almost touched. 
 " I begin to feel like a father to you 
 madame." 
 
 " And to act like a cousin," she ex- 
 claimed, but without drawing away 
 from him. " Indeed, I shall think 
 that you wish to confess me." 
 
 " I could find no happier vocation ; 
 but it is I that should confess." 
 
 " I am all ears. What do you con- 
 fess, monsieur ?" 
 
 " The will that once would have 
 done you an injury." 
 
 " Of which guilt ?" 
 
 " I am duly penitent." 
 92
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " And for penance ?" 
 
 " I leave you at dawn." 
 
 She became serious in a moment, 
 casting down her eyes and playing 
 nervously with the flowers she had 
 picked. But he, longing for her with 
 an ardent passion the first guiltless 
 passion of his life pursued his ques- 
 tioning. 
 
 "You give me absolution?" he 
 asked in a low voice. 
 
 " I give you my friendship," she 
 replied, looking up, and with tender- 
 ness, into his eyes. 
 
 " Your friendship !" he exclaimed. 
 " Oh, I will treasure that ! Would 
 to God it were something more !" 
 
 The fervour of his words seemed to 
 trouble her. 
 
 " Friendship," she said, speaking 
 very earnestly, " is a woman's best 
 gift. She has nothing else." 
 
 " But her love ?" 
 
 " That she cannot give or hold. 
 The power is not hers. And friend- 
 ship, Monsieur de Guyon, is the gate- 
 way of love." 
 
 93
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " If it should be so for me, Ga- 
 brielle?" 
 
 " Dear friend," she answered, 
 while he could hear his own heart 
 beating, " what will be is known to 
 God alone. Let us lift up our hearts 
 to Him." 
 
 He took her hand and held it be- 
 tween both of his. 
 
 " I am not worthy to touch your 
 lips, Gabrielle. Oh, I would give 
 half my years if the yesterday of life 
 could be blotted out." 
 
 She knew that he wished to tell 
 her of the pain which the remem- 
 brance of other years loveless years 
 and years to be forgotten brought 
 upon him. There, in the silence of 
 the glen, pictures of his past went 
 whirling before his eyes, showing 
 him the scenes he would well have 
 shut out, the burning lips whose 
 kisses he had known, the dark places 
 he had trodden. The girl at his side 
 seemed unreal a vision from the 
 hills something beyond his touch or 
 hope. Could he have read her heart 
 94
 
 'The Little Huguenot." 
 
 he would have known that she was 
 helplessly following the path of her 
 emotions, making no effort to stem 
 the tide of her affection, saying only, 
 " I will lift him up, and in me he 
 shall find all else even the divine 
 life." 
 
 Thus always did the woman in her 
 conquer. 
 
 The pause was a long one. He 
 broke it in a sudden memory of the 
 morrow. 
 
 " I shall see the king at sunset," 
 he said. 
 
 She shuddered. 
 
 " And shall carry him your mes- 
 sage," he went on. 
 
 " And then ?" 
 
 " Ah ! God knows ; but in my 
 thoughts I shall be here." 
 
 His despondency reminded her 
 again of his danger. She began to 
 tremble for him, telling herself that 
 she had asked the sacrifice. 
 
 "You do not fear for yourself?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " When I have your friendship." 
 
 95
 
 "The Little Huguenot" 
 
 " But that cannot protect you ; 
 and the king may yet carry me to the 
 chateau." 
 
 It was his turn now to anticipate 
 the shadow upon their path. 
 
 " He will never carry you there 
 while I live," said he. 
 
 " Then you have little confidence. 
 Indeed, man ami, it seems to me that 
 I shall carry myself to his Majesty to 
 save you." 
 
 " God forbid that such a day 
 should be !" 
 
 She was about to answer him when 
 the leaves above them rustled, and a 
 dark figure stood out against the 
 foliage. Twilight had now come 
 down into the glen, and darkness al- 
 most hid the brook at their feet. So 
 startling was the apparition which 
 was gone in an instant that the girl 
 cried out, and instinctively clung to 
 her companion, who encircled her in 
 a moment with both his arms, and so 
 held her close to him. He himself 
 had seen nothing ; he had heard only 
 the breaking of the boughs. But to 
 96
 
 The Little Huguenot." 
 
 her the interruption seemed almost a 
 warning. 
 
 "Look," said she, "how late it 
 grows. They will be missing us." 
 
 " What matter," he cried, " since 
 I have you in my arms." 
 
 " I was frightened," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " But shall be frightened no more." 
 
 She resisted him no longer, and he 
 covered her lips with burning kisses, 
 dismantling her pretty hair so that it 
 was spread about in gold-brown curls 
 upon her shoulders, and holding her 
 so close to him that he could feel the 
 beating of her heart. 
 
 " God make me worthy of you," 
 he said and so he sealed a vow upon 
 her lips. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The vesper bell was ringing when 
 they came into the park again, and 
 the masquerade was done. But a 
 group of wise men and chattering 
 hags stood beneath a great gnarled 
 oak, discussing a question of grave 
 import. 
 
 97
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " God defend us from all evil !" 
 said one of the oracles, " for the spec- 
 tre monk is abroad in the forest this 
 night."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PEPIN MAKES A BARGAIN. 
 
 DE GUYON rode away from the 
 Chateau aux Loups at dawn on the 
 morning of the Saturday. It was not 
 until High Mass was done on the 
 Sunday that Gabrielle de Vernet had 
 news of him. At that hour, Pepin 
 the guide came galloping into the 
 courtyard of the chateau, crying 
 loudly to have audience of its mis- 
 tress, and of the venerable Abbe who 
 counselled her. 
 
 " Mass or no mass," said he to the 
 stableman, " I have a word for them 
 which will not wait, even though I 
 cry it from the pulpit. And hark ye, 
 friend, had'st thou a stoop of wine I 
 would love thee the better. Body of 
 Bacchus, I could drink a river." 
 
 The words had scarce left his lips 
 
 99
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 when the door of the chapel was 
 thrown open, and the deep trumpet- 
 like notes of the great organ filled 
 the courtyard. One by one, the men 
 and women of Gabrielle de Vernet's 
 household passed out to the park, 
 there to greet their neighbours, or to 
 form members of the little groups 
 which discussed this sudden coming 
 of the guide. A few of the older ser- 
 vants waited for their mistress at the 
 door of the church ; but she remained 
 some minutes engaged in silent pray- 
 er ; and when at length she appeared 
 among them, the Abbe Gondy was 
 at her side a Sabbath smile of gen- 
 erous benevolence upon his face, a 
 great hunger 'for the coming dinner 
 to be read in his watery eyes. 
 
 " Bon jour, Monsieur Pepin, " said 
 the Abbe" cheerily when he observed 
 the still-mounted guide, " we did not 
 look for you to-day." 
 
 " Nor I for myself, Monsieur 
 1'Abbe," said Pepin, coming down 
 clumsily from his horse ; " but what 
 is must be and that's logic any day.
 
 The Little Humienot." 
 
 I have letters for you, my father 
 and for my lady here." 
 
 The countess had said no word as 
 yet, but her face had lost the smile it 
 wore when she had quitted the chapel, 
 and she answered the buffoon with a 
 very stately but chilling inclination 
 of her pretty head. 
 
 " You left Monsieur de Guyon 
 well ?" asked the Abbe, looking 
 wearily at the sealed packet which 
 had come between him and his din- 
 ner. 
 
 " Corbleu! you jest, monsieur I 
 left him in a dungeon, as yonder letter 
 will tell." 
 
 Gabrielle uttered a little cry, but 
 smothered it on her lips ; the Abbe 
 raised his hands to heaven and rolled 
 his eyes as though a sharp pain had 
 cut him. 
 
 " God keep us all from harm," said 
 he, " what a thing to hear !" 
 
 " Aye, a sorry tale to come chatter- 
 ing to any house with," added Pepin 
 apologetically, " and like to be sor- 
 rier before the week's out. By the
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 toe of Peter, my poor lieutenant may 
 hear Mass in the Bastille next Sun- 
 day." 
 
 The girl's heart was beating very 
 fast while she listened to the news ; 
 tears strove for mastery with her, but 
 were conquered. She was not one to 
 wear her heart upon her sleeve ; 
 and it was with complete self-posses- 
 sion that she spoke to the guide. 
 
 " I thank you for your service in 
 this matter," said she, " it was good 
 of you to hasten here. You must 
 now think of dinner and of rest." 
 
 " While we find a way of helping 
 our poor friend," murmured the 
 priest. 
 
 Leaving Pe'pin and the Abb6 in 
 the court, Gabrielle entered her room, 
 and opened her letter with trembling 
 fingers. When she had read it, she 
 fell upon her knees before the little 
 altar in her oratory, and the tears 
 which she had erstwhile controlled 
 forced themselves through her fingers. 
 She began to reproach herself that 
 she had permitted de Guyon to leave 
 102
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 her ; she seemed to feel again his 
 burning kisses, but now they stung 
 her lips ; she prayed with wild, un- 
 chosen words that he might come to 
 her again ; she recalled that moment 
 in the park when she lay in his arms 
 it stood out as the sweetest mo- 
 ment of her life. In spirit she had 
 given herself wholly to the man since 
 that night in the glen. Why, then, 
 she asked bitterly, had she suffered 
 him to go ? 
 
 Meanwhile the Abbe had taken 
 Pepin to his apartments, and when 
 they were alone, had begun to plague 
 him with a hundred questions. 
 
 " You gave the king the packet ?" 
 he asked in a low voice. 
 
 "Am I then a knave?" pleaded 
 Pepin. 
 
 " And his Majesty said ?" 
 
 "Ah, it was good to hear. He 
 said, ' If that is the face of the little 
 Huguenot, I will ride a hundred 
 leagues to find her.' ' 
 
 " Merciful God !" cried the Abbe, 
 " he will come here to fetch her." 
 103
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 "It is very possible, my father. 
 That will be a good day for you." 
 
 " How for me ?" 
 
 " Why, did not I mention it ?" 
 ' You said nothing that's what I 
 complain of, you are a dull fellow." 
 
 " Patience, Monsieur 1'Abbe," said 
 Pepin, anxious to plan out his tale, 
 " let us first talk about those ten 
 pieces." 
 
 ' To the devil that is, you are a 
 greedy rascal." 
 
 The Abbe counted the money out 
 upon the table, and then continued 
 impatiently 
 
 " Well and what now ?" 
 
 " A cup of the wine of Burgundy, 
 my father." 
 
 The Abbe stamped his foot sav- 
 agely, but sent for the wine. 
 
 " Now," said he, with sarcastic de- 
 liberation, " if you do not speak 
 plainly, Monsieur Pepin, I will lay 
 my cudgel on your back." 
 
 " The saints forbid that a holy 
 priest should so forget himself. 
 Would you crack the cup to save the 
 104
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 wine, monsieur ? Parbleu, what 
 folly !" 
 
 " Then answer me as I wish." 
 
 " I am all attention." 
 
 " His Majesty referred to his hum- 
 ble servant ?" 
 
 " Certainly I have his words in 
 my mind now. ' I shall know how 
 to deal with my friend, the Abbe,' 
 he said ; what more would you 
 want ?" 
 
 " But that Holy Virgin, that may 
 mean anything. He would say the 
 same if he sent me to the Bastille." 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 " And he added nothing to it ?" 
 
 " The devil a word." 
 
 The Abbe groaned, sinking back 
 in his chair. Pepin continued to 
 quaff huge draughts of the luscious 
 wine, and to plume himself upon the 
 lies he was telling. " Ho, ho," 
 thought he, " the Abbe would cudgel 
 his servant, would he ? But we shall 
 see." 
 
 " Monsieur Pepin," said the Abbe 
 after a pause, " I am like to come to 
 105
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 trouble with the king, I fear. There 
 has been some bungling here. I 
 shall set out for the chateau this very 
 night, with you for my guide. A 
 word from me will make all straight." 
 
 "Aye, that it will." 
 
 " You are prepared to accompany 
 me?" 
 
 " My fee is ten crowns, holy fa- 
 ther." 
 
 The Abbe sighed. 
 
 "Very well, then," said he, "I 
 will order the horses for sunset." 
 
 106
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE WOMAN AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 GABRIELLE spent the afternoon of 
 her Sunday in prayer and thought. 
 Her young face was deep stained 
 with tears when the vesper bell rang 
 out over the forest ; and for the first 
 time since she had come to the cha- 
 teau, the villagers remarked that she 
 was not in church. But she had no 
 heart to appear among them ; and 
 when the sun began to sink over the 
 western woods, she was still pacing 
 her chamber ; at one moment chid- 
 ing herself for the evil which had be- 
 fallen ; at the next, taking courage 
 of her impulse to save her lover. 
 
 Child that she was, this conviction 
 
 that she alone could save de Guyon 
 
 gained strength every hour. It was 
 
 the one substantial conviction chosen 
 
 107
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 of all the confusing ideas which came 
 upon her. Until this time, perhaps, 
 she had scarce realised that she 
 loved ; but now passion broke the 
 bonds, and stood before her question- 
 ingly. A deep longing to kiss the 
 lips of her lover again, to stand with 
 him where he should stand, to suffer 
 with him when he should suffer, over- 
 whelmed her. A week ago she would 
 have laughed to scorn the suggestion 
 that any man thus should come be- 
 tween her and the path she had 
 chosen. But destiny was playing 
 with her ; it remained to be seen if it 
 would crush her. 
 
 Until the dusk fell, she warred with 
 the many devices which her brain 
 wrought rejecting this scheme, dal- 
 lying with that. Her earliest impulse 
 had been to write to the king, declar- 
 ing her love boldly ; concealing noth- 
 ing in the hope that sincerity would 
 prove the best of weapons. Anon, 
 the impossibility of stirring any gen- 
 erous emotions in the heart of the 
 " Well-Beloved" turned her to 
 108
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 thoughts of her cousin Claude and 
 of his influence. In any other case, 
 she said, that influence would help 
 her ; but what would be its worth 
 when pitted against the king's will ! 
 Nor had she other kinsman at the 
 Court, but must come back to the re- 
 membrance of her slight relationship 
 to the Marquis de Monnier, and to 
 the fact that he was then at Nancy. 
 The old President would befriend her 
 if she could gain his ear ; yet how 
 would de Guyon fare in the between- 
 while ? Had not Pepin said that he 
 would be in the Bastille before the 
 week was out ? 
 
 The vesper bell had ceased to boom 
 in the tower of the chapel ; the chant- 
 ing of the choir in court and cloister 
 was like the echo of some sweet celes- 
 tial hymn ; the cattle in the park 
 were going down to the waters ; the 
 birds were roosting, when at length 
 the mistress of the chateau made up 
 her mind. If she had been tempted 
 at one time to open her heart to the 
 Abbe, who posed as her governor, 
 109
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 she resolved when dusk had come 
 that she would seek other counsel. 
 The thought had come to her as an 
 inspiration while she had been listen- 
 ing at her window to the music of 
 the choir. In all the country round, 
 she remembered that she had only 
 one friend and he was an exile and 
 an outcast. But she would go to 
 him in her need, and in his words 
 would find consolation. 
 
 Nerved to the resolution by the 
 dominating love which had come so 
 swiftly, so stealthily into her life, she 
 resolved also that she would go alone. 
 Her girlhood shrank from any confi- 
 dences. If de Guyon were to be 
 saved, it would not be by proclaim- 
 ing urbi et orbi that she loved him. 
 Any sacrifice that she could make 
 she would offer cheerfully. There 
 were wild moments when she said 
 that she would even yield to the 
 king, if thereby she might help her 
 lover ; but this thought she was quick 
 to repent and to beat from her mind. 
 All her purity of soul revolted at it. 
 no
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 She knew that if once Louis's lips 
 touched her own, that never again 
 could she bear de Guyon's kisses, or 
 suffer his embrace. 
 
 It was dusk when she took her res- 
 olution ; it was nearly dark when at 
 last she quitted the chateau, hiding 
 her face in the folds of a black cloak, 
 and fleeing with light step to the dis- 
 tant woods. There was not a path 
 in all the forest round that was un- 
 familiar to her ; scarce a thicket she 
 had not penetrated ; a copse she had 
 not explored. Darkness could not 
 hinder her, nor the shades of night 
 deter. Like some fairy of the glens, 
 she passed now through unfrequented 
 meadows ; now through ravines hid 
 in the darkness ; now by black pools 
 and bubbling streamlets. Often she 
 would pause to listen to the snapping 
 of the twigs or the rustle of the 
 branches but her ear told her that 
 no human thing was near. She 
 walked alone a worthy child of the 
 forest she loved. 
 
 Once in her flight, she passed the
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 hut of some woodlanders who had 
 grouped themselves about a fire of 
 logs. They started up with oaths 
 upon their lips when they heard her 
 footstep ; but observing her young 
 face, they crossed themselves and 
 called upon the saints. Or, again, 
 she came of a sudden upon a rough 
 fellow, a worthy tenant of the Ca- 
 verne des Brigands, which she was ap- 
 proaching ; and for a moment a sav- 
 age thought possessed him, and he 
 made a step towards her. But she 
 looked him full in the face, and rec- 
 ognising her, he slunk away into the 
 bramble like a boy that has been 
 beaten. The little Huguenot was 
 not as other women to such a one ; 
 she was a child of mystery, a guard- 
 ian spirit breathing benevolence and 
 charity and love ; a creature of the 
 heavens sent to do battle with devils 
 stalking the forest. There was not a 
 woodlander about the precincts of 
 the chateau who did not in some way 
 associate her with the Blessed Vir-
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 gin. They called her sometimes a 
 " daughter of Mary." And this was 
 rather the outcome of their love than 
 of their ignorance. 
 
 At the distance of half-a-mile or 
 less from that dark place of the forest 
 known as the Cave of the Brigands, 
 Gabrielle began for the first time to 
 find trouble of the way. She was 
 now in the heart of an almost im- 
 penetrable wood, a wood where thorn 
 and briar were knitted about the ser- 
 ried trunks, and sweet-smelling creep- 
 ers twined ropes across her path. So 
 heavy was the canopy of branches, so 
 close did the bushes grow, that the 
 dark of a moonless night reigned in 
 all the grove. Even the cloudless 
 sky above was hidden by the leaves ; 
 no path trodden of man was to be 
 seen ; the only note upon the silence 
 was the ceaseless music of the night- 
 ingale, or the howling of the wolves. 
 And through this wood, onward to 
 its depths, the girl must pick her 
 steps ; often tearing her arms in the 
 "3
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 bramble, often feeling some beast or 
 bird stirring at her very feet, often 
 despairing of her mission. 
 
 In the heart of the grove, and when 
 Gabrielle had told herself that she 
 had mistaken the way and must re- 
 trace her steps, she came suddenly 
 upon a little lawn of grass, and at 
 this she cried aloud with pleasure. 
 Hid in the trees upon the opposite 
 side of the sward was a hut of logs, 
 from the open door of which an aure- 
 ole of light fell upon the grass, shin- 
 ing as a beacon of the wood warn- 
 ingly. And the girl's cry was heard 
 and answered ; scarce had it escaped 
 her lips when^he outcast Jesuit, who 
 had warned de Guyon as he went to 
 the chateau, stood in the doorway of 
 the hut asking, " Who goes ?" 
 
 " It is I, Gabrielle," she said, trem- 
 bling in spite of herself. 
 
 " Merciful God, you !" cried the 
 priest, holding his lantern high, that 
 its rays might fall upon her face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, recovering her 
 calm when she heard his voice ; " I 
 114
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 come to you for help you will not 
 refuse it to me ?" 
 
 " I, child what a thought !" 
 
 She followed him into the hut, 
 which contained little but his bed of 
 moss, his books of devotion, and his 
 crucifix. She knew nothing of the 
 devils tearing at the man's heart, of 
 the hours when her face had stood 
 between him and his prayers, when 
 he had wrestled with her haunting 
 image until the sweat stood upon his 
 brow. To her, he was one of God's 
 messengers a man between whose 
 soul and sin a great gulf was fixed. 
 And while she offered him this whole 
 worship of her trust, voices were cry- 
 ing in his ears and telling him that 
 he loved her. 
 
 But while all this was passing in 
 his mind he had found a log for her 
 to sit upon, and setting the lantern 
 between them, he fixed his question- 
 ing eyes upon her. 
 
 " My child," he said, " you are in 
 trouble?" 
 
 She answered him very simply, tell- 
 "5
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 ing him of the coming of the king's 
 messenger, and of his arrest. But of 
 her love, she had not as yet the cour- 
 age to speak. Nor did the priest 
 read her heart, as she looked for him 
 to do. 
 
 "Well," said he, when he had 
 thought long upon the matter, " and 
 what is all this to you ? The man 
 came here with lies upon his lips. 
 Why should you stand between him 
 and his intrigues ?" 
 
 " What he suffers, he suffers for 
 me," she pleaded. 
 
 " Nay ; what he suffers, he suffers 
 for his ambition." 
 
 " But he carried my message." 
 
 " Which you 'have no proof that he 
 delivered." 
 
 " I have his promise and I ask no 
 more. Oh, you do not know him as 
 I do!" 
 
 The priest raised his eyes quickly. 
 
 11 You come here as his friend, 
 then " 
 
 " I come here to save him." 
 
 " But why ? what is he to you ?" 
 116
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " He he is my lover." 
 
 She had not thought that it would 
 be so difficult to tell him, but now 
 when the word was spoken her heart- 
 strings were unloosed, and she con- 
 tinued passionately 
 
 " Judge me not hastily, my father 
 only pray for me. I am a woman 
 and I have a woman's heart. If I 
 love, it is because my heart bids me 
 to love. Indeed, it is not given us to 
 say yes or no. A week ago, I be- 
 lieved that I should live alone always 
 for Christ and His glory, but this has 
 come into my life as a gift of God. 
 Oh, I cannot turn from it, I cannot 
 make myself other than I am." 
 
 The priest's hands were clenched, 
 there was a strange buzzing in his 
 ears, his brain seemed to burn while 
 he listened to her words. He had 
 been in some way the master of him- 
 self so long as she lived the virgin's 
 life at the chateau ; but now that she 
 talked of love for another man, a 
 fierce, passionate envy came upon 
 him, and there was a moment when 
 117
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 his strength seemed to ebb so that he 
 could scarce wrestle longer with 
 temptation. 
 
 "You forsake, then," he said 
 sternly, " the faith to which Christ 
 has called you ; you thrust from you 
 the companionship of the saints ; 
 you close your ears to the heavenly 
 voices " 
 
 She fell upon her knees before him 
 sobbing. 
 
 " No, no !" she exclaimed ; "I 
 forsake nothing as God is my witness 
 I only love." 
 
 He raised her up with a gentle 
 hand. The generosity of his soul 
 was prevailing over his humanity. 
 
 " My child," he said, " who am I 
 to be your judge or to say this is 
 or this is not the will of God. May 
 His Holy Spirit guide you !" 
 
 With this word, he knelt at his 
 faldstool ; and while she believed 
 that he was offering a prayer for her, 
 he warred anew with the impulses 
 which possessed him, suffered all the 
 agony of a soul in bondage. When 
 118
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 he rose up at last, his eyes were full 
 of kindness for her, and the touch of 
 her hand no longer thrilled him. 
 
 " Come," said he, " you have not 
 yet told me how I am to help you." 
 
 She looked up into his face and 
 answered him frankly 
 
 " Bring my lover to me." 
 
 She believed that he was all-power- 
 ful, a man above men, whose word 
 was a command, whose will might 
 work miracles. And he, knowing his 
 weakness, was yet vain of her confi- 
 dence. 
 
 " I child," said he, " for whose 
 body there is a ransom ; I, whom the 
 king would tear limb from limb ; 
 how shall I bring your lover back to 
 you ?" 
 
 " I cannot answer you. I have no 
 other friend I trust you. You will 
 not let me suffer." 
 
 He was standing at the door of his 
 hut now, and before he spoke again, 
 he paced the grassy knoll which was 
 his garden. The moon had risen 
 above the forest while they talked, 
 119
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 and all the woods were lit with the 
 silver beams. There was exhilaration 
 in the night-air ; a breath of courage 
 and of strength. 
 
 " Gabrielle," said the priest, wak- 
 ing suddenly from the spell which 
 the beauties of the night had cast 
 upon him, " is the king at his cha- 
 teau ?" 
 
 " He was there at dawn." 
 
 " Who brought the news ?" 
 
 " Pepin, the guide. " 
 
 " He carried a letter for the 
 Abbe?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 He stood for a moment erect, the 
 moon shining upon his black hair, his 
 eyes looking fondly upon the girl at 
 his side. 
 
 " Child," said he, " there is but 
 one way out of your difficulty you 
 must see the king." 
 
 " See him !" 
 
 " As I say, you must leave here at 
 dawn and go straight to the chateau 
 of Francis." 
 
 120
 
 " The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " But oh my father you know 
 that he has sent for me." 
 
 " I know all ; that is why I wish 
 you to see him." 
 
 " And when I am there ?" 
 
 " When you are there, I shall be 
 there too." 
 
 " You but they would kill you." 
 
 The Jesuit laughed a little bitterly. 
 
 ' ' They have long asked my death, ' ' 
 said he, " and yet I live. Fear noth- 
 ing for me." 
 
 Selfishness is often the dominating 
 note of love. Gabrielle heard in the 
 priest's words only the promise that 
 he would save de Guyon. And so 
 great was her trust in this man's 
 strength, that all her trouble seemed 
 over when he bade her follow him to 
 her home. She did not know, as she 
 watched him striding along with the 
 lantern's light dancing on their path, 
 that he was thinking of Damiens, 
 who had been torn limb from limb 
 by wild horses. So also would they 
 do to him when the king's men laid 
 hands upon him. 
 
 121
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ABBE AND THE TREE. 
 
 WHILE the Jesuit was guiding Ga- 
 brielle through the labyrinthine way 
 of the woods, Pepin was reckoning 
 with himself on a hill-top in that part 
 of the forest known as the desert. 
 
 " God deliver me from all abbes !" 
 said he ruefully ; and then with unc- 
 tion in his voice he began to cry 
 loudly 
 
 " This way, Monsieur 1'Abbe, this 
 way. Guardian angels keep your 
 holy feet out of yonder bog. Dieu > 
 I thought that I had lost you." 
 
 Now the Abbe's feet were not holy ; 
 they were only swollen with the 
 gout ; Pepin knew well enough that 
 the venerable man was not lost. The 
 truth was that the artful guide found 
 himself in such a pretty net, that he 
 122
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 had led the priest three good leagues 
 out of his way, while he himself re- 
 considered his position. " For," 
 said he, " if I carry this Abbe" to the 
 palace, the king will learn that I have 
 been lying ; or again, if I carry him 
 back to the chateau, he will want his 
 ten crowns of me. Corbleu ! I must 
 think of it." 
 
 The Abbe's mule came labouring 
 up the hill, and presently the corpu- 
 lent body of the Churchman was to 
 be observed in the moonlight. His 
 face was scarlet with passion, and 
 with the wounds which the thorns 
 had cut in his skin. 
 
 " Fool and knave," cried he to Pe- 
 pin, " that makes pretence to be a 
 guide, and yet cannot lead me six 
 leagues through the forest. By the 
 God above me, I will crack my staff 
 upon your back if you do not find 
 the path this instant." 
 
 Pepin shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Look you, my father," said he, 
 " what an ill thing that would be 
 for the instant is already gone, and 
 123
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 we are not come to the path. Did 
 you crack your staff, there would be 
 one good cudgel less in the world, 
 and, like enough, no master for it 
 when the morning came. Oh, we 
 are in a pretty place ! Body of Paul, 
 I am near to being lost as ever I 
 was." 
 
 " Lost !" gasped the Abbe, " then 
 the Lord help us. Do you dare to 
 tell me that you know nothing of this 
 road ?" 
 
 Pepin scratched his head. 
 
 " Yonder." said he, " lies the brig- 
 ands' den, as full of cut-throats as a 
 nest of eggs. Yonder again" and 
 here he swept his arm round bravely, 
 indicating the wood they were about 
 to enter " is the very tree upon 
 which they hanged the body of the 
 Chevalier Geoffrin after they had 
 robbed him of his purse and cut off 
 his hands. Turn where you will, my 
 father, you may pick up assassins like 
 pebbles in a river's bed. Aye, it is a 
 pretty place a place for prayer and 
 not for jest." 
 
 124
 
 "The Little Huguenot" 
 
 Beads of perspiration gathered 
 thick upon the Abbe's brow ; his 
 hands trembled so that he could not 
 finger his rosary. 
 
 " Good Pepin, " said he, " you are 
 my friend ; I have confidence in you, 
 Pepin ; you will lead me out of 
 this." 
 
 "Aye, though Beelzebub himself 
 stood in the path. Courage, Mon- 
 sieur 1'Abbe, do you hear the wolves 
 Dieu, what throats they have !" 
 
 Pepin had more than a suspicion 
 that " the wolves" were only watch- 
 dogs howling at the moon, but he 
 saw no reason to enlighten the now 
 trembling Abbe. For the matter of 
 that, he had little stomach himself 
 for the ugly copse which they were 
 entering ; and would have given a 
 half of his wage to have been in his 
 bed again. He had spoken no more 
 than the truth when he said that the 
 near woods were a haven for cut- 
 throats and brigands ; and guide that 
 he was, he would not willingly have 
 fallen into their hands. Truly, this 
 125
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 lumbering Abbe was a burden to 
 him ; nor could he at the first think 
 of any plan by which he might rid 
 himself of his company. And still 
 thinking upon it, he plunged into 
 the darkness of the copse. 
 
 " Oh blessed Thaddeus, Linus, 
 Cletus, Clement, Xystus, Cornelius, 
 pray for me this night !" murmured 
 the Abbe", while his mule stumbled 
 in the dark place, and the hoofs of 
 th,e beast squelched in the mud of 
 the bog. " Merciful Heaven, that I 
 should have left my bed for this !" 
 
 " Aye, that's it," chimed in Pepin, 
 " if we had not left our beds ! God 
 knows where ( we shall next stretch 
 ourselves in yonder bog, perchance, 
 if your saints are sleeping. And we 
 shall have company too, my father. 
 Did you hear that cry ? Put me in 
 the pillory if that was the night 
 bird's voice." 
 
 " Then what was it, Pepin ?" 
 
 "Corbleu! what was it? Some 
 devil of the woods abroad for all I 
 know. Oh, it is a pretty place." 
 126
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 The Abbe's teeth were chattering 
 audibly ; the cold had chilled his 
 very marrow ; the mud was thick 
 upon his cassock ; his face was blue 
 and bleeding. 
 
 " Pepin," said he at last in his des- 
 peration, " lead me to some house. 
 I can go no further. I care not 
 where it is, or in whose company I 
 lie. Take me where you will. I 
 must sleep." 
 
 He spoke in a voice pitiful enough 
 to have drawn tears from the rock ; 
 but the cunning guide had no heart 
 for his situation. Pepin heard only 
 an appeal which gave him an excuse 
 for turning once more from the way ; 
 and the opportunity fell in well with 
 his plans. 
 
 " To a house, my father ! Oh, 
 you could ask me nothing that I 
 would do so gladly. To a house ! 
 Mother of God, I know an honest fel- 
 low not half a league from here who 
 will answer to our knock with a bed 
 of moss and a cup of wine which a 
 prince bishop might drink. Courage, 
 127
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 monsieur, courage ! You are at the 
 end of your troubles. Once past 
 yonder copse, wherein there may lie 
 perhaps a hundred rogues, to say 
 nothing of the wolves, I will venture 
 my head on your safety. Only have 
 a little patience." 
 
 He turned his horse quickly at the 
 saying, but so clumsy was the move- 
 ment that his lantern was extin- 
 guished by it ; and there was now 
 but one light remaining. The wood 
 to which they had come was like a 
 patch of virgin forest, a maze of 
 climbing plant and creeper, of black- 
 thorn and briar, of bog and bramble. 
 So thick was the undergrowth that 
 man might have been treading it for 
 the first time ; so black were the 
 pools that they seemed to be the 
 waste waters of Styx-like rivers, hid- 
 den in the caverns below the hills. 
 Game swarmed here ; boars crashed 
 through the branches ; foxes sneaked 
 across the bridle-path ; birds, dis- 
 turbed at roost, rose up with hissing 
 cries and loud flapping of their wings. 
 128
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 Over all was the intense darkness of 
 the forest, night at her zenith, the 
 supremity of solitude and of nature. 
 
 Any other man but Pepin would 
 have been lost beyond hope in this 
 labyrinth ; but the guide knew the 
 forest as he knew his own face. The 
 very darkness of the way inspired 
 him. He turned gaily from the path 
 he had struck at the first, and riding 
 as it were straight towards a gloomy 
 bog whose shallow waters caught a 
 leaden glow of the moon's beams, he 
 encouraged the bewildered Abbe to 
 new efforts. 
 
 " Well done, monsieur, well done," 
 he cried ; "a half a league ridden 
 like that and you shall smack your 
 lips over a wine-cup. Oh, was there 
 ever such an idea ! That you should 
 ask me to lead you to a house ! 
 Blood of the martyrs, you bear your- 
 self bravely." 
 
 " Is it very far, Pepin ?" asked the 
 Abbe, in a very weak voice. 
 
 " The matter of a league and a 
 half, as I told you, my father." 
 129
 
 The Little Huguenot." 
 
 "You said half-a-league, rascal," 
 cried the Abbe. 
 
 " What, do you think that I lie ?" 
 exclaimed Pepin, stopping his horse 
 suddenly. 
 
 " The good God forbid," stam- 
 mered the Abbe ; " only take me to a 
 house, and I will forgive you all." 
 
 Pepin was not to be appeased so 
 easily. 
 
 " Hark ye, Monsieur 1'Abbe," said 
 he, " another word like that and 
 I leave you to pace the three 
 leagues " 
 
 " Three leagues, del!" 
 
 " As I said three leagues. If you 
 know the road so well, my father, I 
 will even follow the path at your 
 mule's tail." 
 
 The Abbe shivered at the idea. 
 
 " Saints and angels soften the 
 heart of this guide," he muttered. 
 
 They had now come to the slope of 
 the wood upon the border of the 
 dirty bog. Pepin's horse, which had 
 trodden the path often, went down 
 fearlessly to the water, but the Abbe's 
 130
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 mule was in no mood for the venture, 
 jibbing at it and sliding down at 
 length with his forefeet set out as an 
 advance guard. 
 
 " This way, Monsieur 1'Abbe, this 
 way," cried Pepin ; "oh, what a 
 beast to carry the body of a holy 
 priest. I would not hire him for a 
 German mountebank. The ford is 
 here, my father. Oh, have a 
 care !" 
 
 The warning was well meant, but 
 too late to be of any service to the 
 Abbe, whose mule tripped suddenly 
 upon the edge of the black ditch and 
 shot its rider far out into the stream. 
 For one long minute the Abbe floun- 
 dered wildly in the mud. Then he 
 snatched at the low branch of an over- 
 hanging oak and so drew himself 
 up, all bedraggled and half-suffo- 
 cated, to a haven of refuge among 
 the boughs. 
 
 " Pepin, Pepin !" he gasped ; 
 " oh, help me ! I am dying, Pepin ! 
 Dieu, what cold, what suffering !" 
 
 But Pepin was already riding away 
 131
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 through the wood on the opposite 
 bank. 
 
 " Patience, a little patience, holy 
 father," cried he, " I go to get help ; 
 the good God guard you until I re- 
 turn." 
 
 " May all the devils of hell go with 
 you !" shouted the Abbe. 
 
 And thus it was that when dawn 
 came, a forester observed the strange 
 spectacle of a venerable Abbe saying 
 his prayers in the bough of a tree. 
 
 132
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DE GUYON HEARS THE NEWS. 
 
 THE king had been at the chateau 
 of Francis two days without making 
 up his mind about de Guyon. It 
 was the evening of Monday, and he 
 had put the lieutenant under arrest 
 at midnight on Saturday ; being then 
 much troubled at the letter which the 
 Abbe Gondy had sent to him, and 
 not at all sure what lay behind the 
 musketeer's duplicity. "Fie!" said 
 he, " I will bring this little witch to 
 the palace though I carry her, as she 
 asks ; and as for this booby, if he has 
 been making love to her, I will hang 
 him." 
 
 Worn by thirty years of uninter- 
 rupted debauchery, grown feeble, 
 seeking new pleasures for a jaded ap- 
 petite, easily provoked to anger or to
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 suspicion, roundly hated in all France, 
 the " Well-Beloved" was in no mood 
 to bear with any patience the affront 
 which had been put upon him. For 
 more than a year now, the strange 
 creed, in some part Protestant, in 
 some part Republican, in some part 
 ascetic, which Gabrielle de Vernet 
 had preached at the Chateau aux 
 Loups had been a by-word and a jest 
 among the wits of the Court. The 
 amiable Madame de Boufflers had 
 risen to her finest flights of humour 
 when discussing it ; Madame Doublet 
 de Persan had died with a lie about 
 it on her lips. While, on the one 
 hand, the evil-minded shrugged their 
 shoulders, evilly implying that some- 
 thing more than mere spirituality lay 
 behind the asceticism of the little 
 Huguenot ; on the other hand were 
 many to whisper in the king's ear 
 tales of the fascination which she ex- 
 ercised upon those about her, and of 
 the indisputable beauty of which she 
 was the possessor. Goaded by the 
 incessant chatter to the point of ac-
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 tive curiosity, Louis had determined 
 to see the girl for himself, and to 
 hear from her own lips that apo- 
 calypse with which the people cred- 
 ited her. No doubt he contemplated 
 with content the subjection of so 
 much morality and vaunted right- 
 eousness to the perils of the Court ; 
 no doubt his real purpose was deep, 
 and linked closely to his lust. In 
 any case, it boded no good to her 
 most concerned, nor was it made 
 weaker by her obstinacy. " I will 
 send a troop of horse for her, and 
 burn her chapel about her ears," he 
 cried once in a rage. Sixty years of 
 life had not taught him patience. 
 
 In truth, it was Gabrielle de Ver- 
 net's refusal that set the fires of 
 smouldering passion aflame. He 
 said that she should boast of her 
 righteousness no longer ; should be- 
 come the sport of those very men and 
 \vomen at whom she had pointed her 
 finger. And if she had thoughts of 
 the lieutenant who had so bungled 
 his duty, he would know how 7 to con-
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 duct the affair to a pretty conclusion. 
 In which spirit, he kept de Guyon a 
 prisoner in a sunless room near the 
 Cour Ovale, and denied to him even 
 an account of that crime which had 
 robbed him in a moment of his sword 
 and of his love-dreams. 
 
 On the morning of the Monday, 
 Louis rode abroad in the forest in 
 the company of the Grand Falconer, 
 the Comte de Vaudreuil, and of the 
 Grand Louvetier, the Comte d'Haus- 
 sonville. He had come to the palace 
 quite privately, consoling himself 
 with the hope that the little Hugue- 
 not would be there to amuse him ; 
 and in her absence he found that 
 time was his enemy. Indeed, he 
 spoke of returning to Versailles on 
 the following morning, saying to 
 himself that Gabrielle de Vernet 
 should be brought there publicly as a 
 part of her punishment. At the 
 same time, he would sign the lettre de 
 cachet which should send his amorous 
 lieutenant to For-1'Eveque, where he 
 would have the leisure to consider 
 136
 
 'The Little Huguenot." 
 
 what sort of a bargain he had made 
 for himself. 
 
 Early in the afternoon, the king 
 dined privately, discarding here any 
 of that publicity which he observed 
 unfailingly at Versailles. He went 
 afterwards to the orangery, and to 
 the park, remaining abroad nearly 
 until sunset. Meanwhile, de Guyon 
 paced the dingy room in the Cour 
 Ovale ; now permitting himself to 
 hope, now abandoning himself to the 
 gloomy possibilities which crowded 
 upon his mind. Nor could the hon- 
 est fellow, his servant Antoine, in 
 any way lead him to that sensible dis- 
 cussion of his position which alone 
 might lead to his liberation. It 
 seemed to him that fate had opened 
 his eyes to the sweet vision of Ga- 
 brielle but to plague him ; had permit- 
 ted him to dream, that the awakening 
 might be more bitter. In the soli- 
 tude of confinement, he recalled her 
 words, her humours, her angers, her 
 prettiness. He remembered that the 
 touch of her hand had sent fire leap-
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 ing through his veins ; he dwelt on 
 that moment when he had held her 
 in his arms and had known the su- 
 preme ecstasy of life. Yet all this 
 was of the past. What the morrow 
 would be, God alone could tell. 
 
 Towards evening, when the old 
 oaks were casting lengthening shad- 
 ows upon the lawns by the lake, and 
 the fish-pond shone like a burnished 
 mirror, and all the statues seemed to 
 sleep, a sudden palaver and commo- 
 tion in the court without recalled 
 him from his visions to the realities 
 in the Chateau de Fontainebleau. 
 He thought at the first that they had 
 come to take him to For-1'Eveque or 
 even to the Pastille, and thus to end 
 for many years the hopes which he 
 treasured so diligently. He knew 
 that the king gave short shrift to 
 those who stood between him and his 
 pleasures. He had seen many an 
 honest man snatched from life by 
 the " Well-Beloved's" caprice ; had 
 watched the quick degradation of 
 many a woman who had withstood 
 138
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 his desires. And he had begun to 
 believe that Louis had never set him- 
 self to any purpose with more deter- 
 mination than to his ensnarement of 
 Gabrielle de Vernet. 
 
 From the narrow windows of his 
 room in the White Tower, he could 
 see nothing of that which was hap- 
 pening in the courtyard of the cha- 
 teau. But he heard the clatter of 
 hoofs upon the stone pavement, and 
 his servant, Antoine, came in pres- 
 ently looking like one who has ne\vs 
 upon his tongue. Scarce had he 
 passed the door when de Guyon be- 
 gan to question him. 
 
 " Has the king returned, Antoine ?" 
 " Ma foi, no," replied the other. 
 "He is still riding, then?" 
 " He is in the orangery with the 
 Comte de Buffon." 
 
 " Then whose horses do I hear ?" 
 Antoine, who loved the lieutenant 
 and guessed how things stood with 
 him, avoided the question. 
 
 " There is talk of his Majesty rid- 
 ing away to-morrow," said he.
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Ah .'" exclaimed de Guyon. 
 " Then I shall know to-morrow what 
 he has in store for me." 
 
 " A month in For-1'Eveque at the 
 most, mon maitre at least, that is 
 the gossip of the gallery." 
 
 De Guyon shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " And after that, Antoine ?" 
 
 " Your sword and, perhaps, a com- 
 mand. The king has not a long 
 memory, monsieur !" 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 " I have no doubt of it ; and now 
 that madame has come here, he will 
 soon wish her at the chateau again." 
 
 " Madame ! to whom do you re- 
 fer ?" 
 
 " Then you have not heard. Ma- 
 dame de Vernet rode into the court- 
 yard half-an-hour ago." 
 
 De Guyon swung round upon his 
 heel, and faced his servant. 
 
 " Antoine," cried he, " what tale 
 is this ?" 
 
 ;< Tale, mon maitre ?" 
 
 " Certainly, as I say what does it 
 mean ?" 
 
 140
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " It is no tale ; madame arrived at 
 the chateau as I came by the Salle 
 des Gardes." 
 
 " You do not jest with me ?" 
 
 "I jest? God forbid !" 
 
 " Then she is here ?" 
 
 " Without doubt she is." 
 
 " And the king knows of her com- 
 ing ?" 
 
 " They say that he will sup with 
 her to-night." 
 
 " They lie ! I will prevent her." 
 
 " You ! Oh, but you forget ; there 
 is a guard at your door." 
 
 De Guyon sank upon a bench and 
 buried his face in his hands. The 
 idol he had raised up seemed to come 
 crashing headlong to the ground. 
 It were as if Gabrielle had been torn 
 from his arms in that moment ; had 
 been snatched from him while her 
 kisses were still warm upon his lips. 
 When Antoine spoke to him again, 
 there were tears in his eyes. 
 
 " Courage, my master ; these Hu- 
 guenots are all alike," cried the hon- 
 est fellow ; " their virtue would not 
 141
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 fill a nut. Diable ! They have the 
 clothes of a nun and the heart of a 
 grisette ! What a pity that you 
 should trouble yourself with their 
 affairs." 
 
 De Guyon did not answer him. 
 He was wrestling silently with his 
 overwhelming despair contrasting 
 the Gabrielle of the Chateau aux 
 Loups with the woman who of her 
 own will had come to sup with the 
 king at Fontainebleau. There was a 
 time when he had said that he was 
 not worthy to raise her hand to his 
 lips. What a fool he had been to be- 
 lieve in her pretty platitudes ! She 
 was as the others not better, no 
 worse. And yet the memory of that 
 moment when he had held her in his 
 arms was not to be blotted out. He 
 would have given half the years re- 
 maining to him to know that the 
 news which Antoine brought was 
 false. There were even prayers upon 
 his lips for her by whom he had been 
 taught to pray. 
 
 142
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE APPARITION. 
 
 THE news that Gabrielle de Vernet 
 had presented herself at the palace 
 was brought to the king when he was 
 with Buffon in the orangery. He 
 heard it with a laugh that was half a 
 sneer ; and yet with no little satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " Ha !" said he, " so we shall not 
 have to carry the little witch through 
 the forest. That booby of a lieuten- 
 ant has been lying to me. I shall 
 know how to settle his affair." 
 
 The reflection was pleasing to him. 
 Of all hurts, Louis resented most any 
 hurt to his dignity, and he could but 
 regard this sudden face about as a 
 direct act of homage from a pretty 
 woman. 
 
 ' You have conducted madame to 
 her apartment ?" he asked.
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " She is lodged above the Porte 
 Doree, sire." 
 
 " That is well done, we shall sup 
 there let the orders for to-morrow 
 be cancelled. We shall rest here 
 some days." 
 
 The man withdrew, and the " Well- 
 Beloved" returned to his apartments 
 in the Salle des Chasses. The com- 
 ing of the little Huguenot had altered 
 all his plans, and blotted from his 
 mind that resentment he felt towards 
 her. She would amuse him, at any 
 rate, he said, and it would be a new 
 thing to make love to a woman who 
 had professed piety and a certain 
 vague but polite republicanism. He 
 could find in' the fact of her arrival 
 nothing but the surrender of herself 
 to his wish, the abnegation of that 
 creed which had made the Chateau 
 aux Loups so fine a theme of mockery 
 at the palace. And being beyond all 
 things a vain man, his vanity was fed 
 by this conquest of scruples, as it had 
 never been fed by all the debaucheries 
 of an infamous life. 
 144
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 It was full dusk when Gabrielle 
 found herself at last in her chamber 
 above the Porte Doree. She had 
 been lodged in the suite of rooms 
 which adjoined the apartments at one 
 time occupied by Madame de Main- 
 tenon ; and to these she came when 
 the last shimmer of the sun had van- 
 ished from the lake, and the first 
 breath of night stirred the great oaks 
 in the park. Though she bore her- 
 self bravely, wearing that happy 
 smile which was the fairest emblem 
 of her girlhood, none the less did her 
 courage often fail her as she realised 
 her environment and the unspeakable 
 dangers into which she had plunged. 
 There were moments when she re- 
 proached herself in that she had lis- 
 tened to the Jesuit, and had staked 
 all upon this throw ; other moments 
 when she asked if such a love as she 
 felt for de Guyon was not in itself an 
 unholy thing, a concession to the hu- 
 manity in her, and a negation to those 
 high spiritual ideals she had served. 
 She feared in some vague way that 
 
 i45
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 her presence at Fontainebleau would 
 make her unworthy of the man for 
 whom she had dared so much ; she 
 shuddered when she remembered 
 that she must meet the king pres- 
 ently, and that she was alone. She 
 had seen nothing of the Jesuit since 
 he had left her at the gates of her 
 own home. She had come to Fon- 
 tainebleau with her old servant, 
 Dominique, and four lusty yeomen 
 for escort. But these were now 
 lodged in another court of the pal- 
 ace ; the rooms she occupied were 
 full of gaudy splendours, yet of sug- 
 gestions of isolation and of loneliness. 
 Her quick imagination peopled them 
 with spectres of the past with the 
 shapes of the men and women who 
 had enjoyed here their brief hours 
 of indulgence and of pleasure. She 
 heard in fancy the laughter of the 
 dead ; the cries of those who had 
 suffered haunted her ; turn where 
 she would the air seemed full of 
 warnings. 
 
 With such fancies was her brain 
 146
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 busy ; but to Dominique, observing 
 her closely and troubled by many ap- 
 prehensions, she betrayed none of 
 her fears. Watch her as he would, 
 he was confronted only by the Ga- 
 brielle of the chateau, by the Ga- 
 brielle of the masks and fetes, of the 
 hard rides and the merry picnics in 
 the woods. It may have been that 
 he would have seen her rather as the 
 Gabrielle of the chapel and the de- 
 vout retreat ; but it was something 
 to know that she had lost nothing of 
 her courage, that the mistress of the 
 Chateau aux Loups would carry her- 
 self well, even before the king. With 
 which thought, the old man lit the 
 candles in the great gilt scones, and 
 began to draw the curtains over the 
 long windows. He felt that he alone 
 was there to protect her, and he 
 would do his duty. 
 
 " My lady will wish to rest until 
 supper is served ?" he asked. 
 
 " Indeed, no, Dominique, my lady 
 would very much like to know where 
 she is first." 
 
 i47
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Is she not in the Chateau de Fon- 
 tainebleau ?" 
 
 " Assuredly, she is in the Chateau 
 de Fontainebleau, though when that 
 is said, she is still very ignorant 
 Look you, Dominique, was there ever 
 a passage with so many doors, or a 
 room so dark ? I am sure this must 
 be the place where Monaldeschi died. 
 There are ghosts in the air." 
 
 She shuddered visibly. The old man 
 crossed himself, and drew the curtains. 
 
 " We are on a strange errand," 
 said he ; " God send us home again 
 without hurt." 
 
 Gabrielle said nothing. She was 
 thinking how full of gloom the room 
 was, now that it was lit by the flicker- 
 ing light of tapers. 
 
 " Dominique," cried she, after a 
 pause, " you gave them my message, 
 that I would be served here only by 
 you ?" 
 
 " Certainly, my lady." 
 
 " And they said 
 
 " That your wish was the king's 
 while you were in the chateau." 
 148
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 She laughed a little ironically ; and 
 standing by one of the curtains he 
 had drawn, she began to play with 
 the tassel of it. The next question 
 that she set the old man was put in 
 hesitation 
 
 "Dominique,'' she asked, "have 
 you heard of my friend Monsieur de 
 Guyon ?" 
 
 " Truly, I have ; he is the king's 
 guest in an apartment not a hundred 
 paces from here." 
 
 " And they do not speak of the 
 king's intention to send him away ?" 
 
 " The talk is that he leaves at 
 daybreak for a lodging in For-l'Ev- 
 eque." 
 
 " We have come in time. Think 
 you, Dominique, that it would be 
 strange if the king changed his 
 mind ?" 
 
 He raised his eyes quickly to hers. 
 
 " He will change it if madame 
 wills." 
 
 " And I am going to do so." 
 
 Dominique shook his head. 
 
 " She is blind, and she is a child," 
 149
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 he said to himself ; " may God help 
 us this night." 
 
 " You have learnt nothing of Pere 
 Cavaignac since you have been 
 here?" continued the girl after an- 
 other pause in which the old man 
 kept his eyes steadily upon her. 
 
 " Ma foi ! of Pere Cavaignac. Do 
 you not know that it would be death 
 to him to show his face ?" 
 
 " Yet he will come." 
 
 "He will come! Dieu ! you be- 
 lieve that ?" 
 
 " As I believe that you are talking 
 to me." 
 
 " And you are relying on his 
 help?" 
 
 " Entirely he is my only friend." 
 
 Dominique turned on his heel with 
 an abruptness foreign to his usual 
 deference. " This craze of hers has 
 made her mad," said he ; " God for- 
 give me for setting out on such an 
 affair." 
 
 Craze or no craze, Gabrielle con- 
 tinued to believe that the Jesuit 
 would come to her help. Whence, 
 150
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 or by what means or at what mo- 
 ment, she knew not ; none the less 
 did she hope. Never in her life had 
 she appealed to him in vain ; never 
 had she heard of one whom he had 
 refused to befriend. Almost her 
 earliest memories were those of the 
 glades of the forest which this strange 
 mystic used to roam. She remem- 
 bered his surpassing love for chil- 
 dren, his gentleness, his unceasing 
 devotion. When she was a child, 
 she had accounted it a great day if 
 she might spend the hours in his 
 company ; when she had come to 
 womanhood she was uplifted by his 
 word and his example, made strong 
 in his strength. There had been no 
 trouble of hers which he had not 
 shared ; no joy at which he had not 
 rejoiced. And he had not rebuked 
 now when this new love had come 
 into her life, this quick conquering 
 passion for one of whom she knew 
 nothing but that she loved him. 
 Nay, he had bidden her go to the 
 palace, had told her that where she
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 was there would he be also. She be- 
 lieved his word and this was well, 
 since upon it alone was her hope 
 built. To no other at Fontainebleau 
 could she appeal ; never was a wom- 
 an more utterly alone. 
 
 This sense of loneliness was, in 
 truth, her despair as the minutes 
 passed and the moment for the king's 
 coming approached. Though she 
 had regarded Louis's intention to 
 sup with her as an adventure which 
 should provoke laughter rather than 
 alarm, the presence of lackeys, who 
 began to set the table for the repast, 
 recalled to her the reality of it all, 
 and perhaps, the danger. If the 
 Jesuit was not to fail her, at any rate 
 he had long deferred his coming. It 
 was then half-past seven, and the 
 king was to sup with her at eight ; 
 she began to contemplate the possi- 
 bility of having to bear the whole 
 brunt of his company ; of having to 
 defend herself in an encounter which 
 many an older woman might have 
 152
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 dreaded. The thought of de Guyon 
 alone nerved her to the idea. She 
 had come to Fontainebleau for love 
 of him for love of him would she 
 combat all the shame that might be 
 put upon her. 
 
 Soon after her arrival at the palace, 
 she had changed her riding-dress of 
 green for a black gown, decked out 
 with lace at the throat and arms, but 
 sombre when contrasted with the 
 gaudy splendours about her. Her 
 only ornament was a little diamond 
 cross upon her breast ; but her beauty 
 was enhanced by the simplicity, and 
 it stood out radiantly when she ap- 
 pealed to Dominique at a quarter to 
 eight, the smile still about her lips, 
 but her hands trembling beyond con- 
 cealment. 
 
 "You have no news of Pere Ca- 
 vaignac yet ?" she asked. 
 
 " You still believe that he will 
 come, my lady ?" 
 
 She had begun to doubt, but of her 
 doubts she would not speak. 
 153
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Of course he will come !" she 
 said in a low voice. " Has he not 
 promised me ?" 
 
 ' ' Parbleu ! and you think that he 
 would show his face in the king's 
 palace. Ma foi, what an idea !" 
 
 " I have no doubt that he will find 
 a way. He knows this chateau as no 
 other man knows it. There is not a 
 room of which he has not the secrets. 
 Oh, I am sure that he will find a 
 way, Dominique." 
 
 "And if he does?" 
 
 " I shall have a friend." 
 
 " Whom the guard will seize so 
 soon as he opens his lips to declare 
 himself. A pretty friend, my lady." 
 
 She had not thought of this of the 
 weakness of the priest wearing the 
 mantle of strength in her presence, 
 because of that child-like belief of 
 which she was the victim. But when 
 the old servant spoke of it, the scales 
 fell from her eyes, and for the first 
 time she became conscious of her 
 own helplessness. 
 
 " Dominique !" she exclaimed,
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " I have done wrong in coming 
 here." 
 
 "As I said upon the way, ma- 
 dame." 
 
 If he had offered to her any sym- 
 pathy, or had spoken a comforting 
 word, perchance her courage would 
 have stood strong to the encounter ; 
 but he remembered only that an 
 unreasoning impulse had brought 
 her to the palace, and that she must 
 pay the penalty. In which mood he 
 fell to his work again, and she was 
 left in the great room, with her lone- 
 liness and her fears for company. 
 Then, for the first time, there were 
 tears in her eyes, and she fell upon 
 her knees in the dark alcove of the 
 window, to pray that strength might 
 be given to her. 
 
 Though the neighbouring room 
 was lit by the light of a hundred 
 tapers, and the mirrors caught up 
 and scattered the bountiful rays, her 
 o\vn apartment had been left almost 
 in darkness. She heard no longer 
 the buzz of lackeys' voices or the 
 
 155
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 ringing of glasses ; yet she could 
 smell the perfume of the roses upon 
 the table, and she knew that supper 
 was served, and that any minute 
 might bring her face to face with the 
 man who was moved by no impulse 
 but the impulse of his pleasure ; who 
 had never spoken a noble word, or 
 done an unselfish deed. The reality 
 fed the fears which now possessed 
 her ; she could have cried aloud for 
 pity and for help ; she thought even 
 of flight, yet remembered her lover 
 and prayed the more. And her an- 
 guish was at the zenith when the an- 
 swer came. 
 
 Swift and sudden the apparition 
 was, coming like a phantom out of 
 the shadows of the room. She heard 
 no step ; no door turned upon its 
 hinges ; no footfall broke the silence ; 
 yet was she conscious that one stood 
 beside her, that his eyes were watch- 
 ing her, that her faith was justified. 
 Without a word, she turned to him ; 
 the tears she had conquered gushed 
 forth again and fell upon his out- 
 156
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 stretched hand ; she clung to him 
 
 like a child that has found a father. 
 " I knew you would come to me," 
 
 she cried at last. 
 
 " And I am here, my child." 
 
 " You will not leave me now ?" 
 
 " Leave you God forbid !" 
 
 " And you will help my lover ?" 
 
 " I come to set him free." 
 
 She would have thanked him, but 
 
 he raised his hand warningly, while 
 
 in the court without a bell began to 
 
 strike the hour. 
 
 " Hark !" said he, " that is eight 
 
 o'clock. There is no time for words. 
 
 Do only that which I bid you." 
 He stepped to the oaken wall upon 
 
 the opposite side of the room, and 
 
 pressing his hand upon the glass of a 
 
 small mirror, he opened a panel in 
 
 the wainscoting, and beckoned to 
 
 her. 
 
 " Three doors from here to the 
 
 right is the chapel of St. Louis. 
 
 Wait there until you are summoned." 
 The girl saw nothing but a dark 
 
 and gloomy passage, but she went 
 157
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 readily at his words, and when the 
 echo of her steps had died away he 
 closed the panel. At the same mo- 
 ment, the door in the second cham- 
 ber was shut gently. 
 
 The " Well-Beloved" had come to 
 sup. 
 
 158
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE KING SUPS. 
 
 THE Jesuit wore his cassock, and a 
 black cape about his shoulders. His 
 step was like the step of a cat, as he 
 crossed the room and stooped in the 
 shadow of an angle, wherefrom he 
 could observe the king. Never in 
 his life had he embarked upon a ven- 
 ture of which the outcome was so 
 doubtful ; never had he more need 
 of his mind and of his courage. One 
 cry uttered by Louis, one false step 
 of his own, and the end would be 
 swift. He stood alone to fight the 
 battle of the woman ; and even while 
 he waited he remembered that the 
 flesh of Damiens had been torn with 
 red-hot pincers, that the body of 
 Ravaillac had been burst asunder to 
 make a Parisian holiday. 
 
 159
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 Motionless, his body bent forward, 
 his right hand raised, his left hand 
 closed upon the hilt of a dagger, the 
 priest watched the king. The 
 " Well-Beloved," uncertain as he 
 may have been of the welcome which 
 Gabrielle de Vernet would give to 
 him, had determined that there 
 should be no spectator of it. His 
 few attendants had left him at the 
 end of the gallery which gave access 
 to the Salles des Chasses. The lack- 
 eys had done their work when they 
 had spread the table. There was 
 only the old man Dominique in the 
 chamber, and he was dismissed with 
 a word. Louis thought himself to 
 be quite alone, and in this expecta- 
 tion he entered the supper-room with 
 a brisk step. 
 
 He had expected to find Gabrielle 
 de Vernet waiting there to receive 
 him, and when he beheld the empty 
 room, he stood for a moment uncer- 
 tain how to act. Old as he was and 
 wildly as he had lived, he yet pre- 
 served that superb dignity of bearing 
 1 60
 
 "The Little Huguenot" 
 
 which had been his one merit for 
 more than twenty years. It was pos- 
 sible still to speak of him as a hand- 
 some man ; and now when the light 
 fell full upon his coat of white and 
 silver, and the jewels upon his vest 
 gave back radiating beams, there was 
 an air of kingship and of grace about 
 him which was an ill contrast to the 
 purpose of his coming. 
 
 Standing for a spell by the bril- 
 liantly-lighted table, the king listened 
 for any sound or sign of the woman 
 from whom he had expected greet- 
 ing. When none was given to him, a 
 curious smile began to play upon his 
 face, and he crossed to the door of 
 the inner room, peering into the 
 gloom of it. 
 
 " The little witch is pleased to play 
 with me," he muttered ; " well, the 
 game is amusing, and we shall see." 
 
 The smile left his face, and he 
 puckered up his lips, biting them 
 while he debated upon the situation. 
 So close to the priest was he then 
 that he could have touched him with 
 161
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 his hand ; but he had eyes only for 
 the aureole of light in the centre of 
 the apartment, and at that he gazed 
 while a minute passed. At the end 
 of that time he snapped his fingers as 
 though an idea had come to him, and 
 began to cross the room. The priest 
 stepped noiselessly from the angle 
 and followed him. 
 
 Quite convinced now that if he 
 would sup with Gabrielle de Vernet 
 he must carry her to the table, as she 
 had asked, the king crossed the sec- 
 ond of the rooms with quick steps, 
 and began to knock upon the panel. 
 He was answered almost at the first 
 rap, but it was the mocking voice of 
 Pere Cavaignac which he heard. 
 
 " Enter, sire," said the priest. 
 
 Louis turned upon his heel at the 
 words, and faced the Jesuit. A flush 
 of passion was upon his face, an oath 
 upon his lips. 
 
 " Blood of the Sacrament, who are 
 you ?" he asked. 
 
 The priest opened his cape and 
 stepped into the light. 
 162
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " I am the servant of Jesus, Fran- 
 ois Cavaignac, at one time known 
 to your Majesty." 
 
 There were few of the Bourbons 
 that lacked courage, and the " Well- 
 Beloved" was not among their num- 
 ber. Though the presence of the 
 Jesuit had already struck him chill 
 with a fear he could not define, he be- 
 trayed himself in no way. 
 
 " Well," said he with a fine smile 
 of irony, " and what does the servant 
 of Jesus, Fran9ois Cavaignac, want 
 with me ?" 
 
 The priest advanced a step. 
 
 " The liberty of a prisoner, sire." 
 
 Louis retreated as the other ad- 
 vanced until, when he answered, his 
 back was against the door upon 
 which he had knocked. 
 
 " Ha !" he cried, " the liberty of A 
 prisoner. And his name is ?" 
 
 " A lieutenant of your Majesty's 
 Musketeers, Paul de Guyon." 
 
 The king's face flushed with pas- 
 sion ; the hand of the other was 
 trembling beneath his robe. 
 163
 
 "The Little Huguenot" 
 
 " Dog of a priest," snarled Louis, 
 " I will have you hanged upon the 
 nearest tree." 
 
 " Possibly," said the priest in a 
 cold, clear voice, " but your Majesty 
 would be the first to die." 
 
 " How you threaten me?" 
 
 " Decidedly since you compel it." 
 
 The king sank into a chair with 
 great drops of perspiration upon his 
 face. The priest stood immovable, 
 motionless. There was silence be- 
 tween them for many minutes, but 
 Louis was the first to speak again. 
 
 "Come," said he, "you are a 
 pretty jester, friend. Do you know 
 that I can have you torn limb from 
 limb by a word spoken from those 
 windows ?" 
 
 " You will never speak it, sire." 
 
 " Indeed, but it shall be spoken 
 now." 
 
 He rose from his chair, but had not 
 made a step when the hand of the ec- 
 clesiastic closed upon his arm with an 
 iron grip. 
 
 ' ' Your Majesty wishes still to live ?' ' 
 164
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Then do not call the guard." 
 
 " What you proclaim yourself to 
 be an assassin ?" 
 
 " As you please I say, do not 
 call the guard to find your body 
 here." 
 
 The king sank back into the chair 
 trembling in all his limbs ; but the 
 priest went on with his words. 
 
 " Sire," said he, " if you fear, you 
 fear because of yourself. Give me 
 this man's freedom, and you shall 
 never see my face again." 
 
 " How can I give you his freedom 
 since you threaten me ?" 
 
 " That is easily done there are 
 pens and ink ; a line from your Maj- 
 esty ' ' 
 
 " Which you will carry to the pris- 
 oner." 
 
 " Nay, but which my servant shall 
 carry." 
 
 ' ' Your servant ! You are not alone, 
 then." 
 
 " The servants of Jesus are nevef 
 alone, sire." 
 
 165
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " And if I pardon this man what 
 then ?" 
 
 " Your clemency for my mistress, 
 Gabrielle de Vernet." 
 
 " What you are a friend to Hu- 
 guenots ?" 
 
 " I am a friend to Huguenots such 
 as she is." 
 
 " DieUj man ami, you risk much for 
 your friends." 
 
 "What matter, since I befriend 
 them. Your Majesty will sign the 
 paper." 
 
 Louis took the pen in his hand. 
 He trembled no longer. He was 
 thinking that when the door was 
 opened, he would cry for help. Once 
 he had made his voice heard, he 
 would have this priest flayed alive. 
 Never should such a vengeance have 
 been known. The idea pleased 
 him. He wrote a few lines upon the 
 paper, and handed them to Cavaig- 
 nac. 
 
 " Well," said he, " bring me your 
 messenger." 
 
 The priest read the paper through. 
 166
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Your Majesty has forgotten my 
 mistress," said he. 
 
 "Ha! and what of her ?" 
 
 " That she may leave the chateau 
 immediately." 
 
 The king's hand trembled ; he half 
 raised it to strike the motionless fig- 
 ure before him. Then he remem- 
 bered his idea, and wrote the order. 
 
 " Come," said he, " where is your 
 servant ?" 
 
 " He is here, sire." 
 
 The door of the inner room opened 
 as the Jesuit spoke, and a man in the 
 scarlet uniform of the musketeers sa- 
 luted the " Well-Beloved." So sud- 
 den was his coming, that the king 
 had not even time to rise from his 
 chair before the door was shut again. 
 
 " See," said the priest, "the ser- 
 vants of Jesus are never alone, sire." 
 
 Louis stared at the musketeer as at 
 an apparition. 
 
 "What!" said he, "a musketeer, 
 too ; by the mass, I am well served." 
 
 " Your Majesty sent for me," cried 
 the trooper, saluting again. 
 167
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " To carry this order for the release 
 of the Lieutenant de Guyon, and for 
 the horses of Madame de Vernet, 
 who is leaving the chateau immedi- 
 ately," cried Cavaignac, as another 
 oath sprang from the king's lips. 
 
 The trooper took the paper, to 
 which the priest added three words 
 of his own, and vanished as he had 
 come. 
 
 " Well," said the king, " and what 
 now?" 
 
 " That your Majesty will be pleased 
 to sit until my mistress shall have 
 reached the forest." 
 
 " That my arm may not reach 
 her. ' ' 
 
 " Exactly, sire." 
 
 "And then ?" 
 
 " I shall have the honour to kiss 
 your hand for the last time." 
 
 Louis laughed ironically. 
 
 " To-morrow, I shall settle with 
 you," said he. 
 
 " As your Majesty wills." 
 
 The voice was the voice of a man 
 who knew no emotions, of a man of 
 168
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 iron. Yet could Louis have searched 
 the heart of the Jesuit, courage would 
 have rushed upon him like a fresh- 
 et. Apprehension, racking fear, the 
 thought of Gabrielle soon to lie in de 
 Guyon's arms, an imagination de- 
 picting every phase of torture and of 
 suffering that might be his all these 
 were contesting victory with the out- 
 ward calm which the Jesuit displayed. 
 Yet he did not move a hand while 
 minutes passed ; the great clock of the 
 chateau struck nine, and still he stood 
 like some ghostly shape of the night. 
 As the hour struck, the king, who 
 had warred long with his passion, 
 found himself able to subdue it no 
 longer. Determined that he would 
 stake all upon the hazard, he sprang 
 of a sudden from his chair and ran to 
 the window of the room. The court 
 without echoed his alarm ; the whole 
 palace seemed to awake from sleep. 
 Armed men burst into the room where 
 the Jesuit had been ; attendants, offi- 
 cials, valets pressed one upon another 
 in the gallery. 
 
 I6q
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " The priest the priest death to 
 the assassin seize the priest !" 
 
 A hundred voices took up the cry. 
 It rang through court and cloister. 
 It seemed to fill the palace. 
 
 But when the search was made, 
 there was no man that could put 
 hands upon the Jesuit. 
 
 He had vanished like a phantom. 
 
 170
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 EXODUS. 
 
 JUNE was waxing old, and the ripe- 
 ness of the summer was upon the 
 brown-burnt forest. Pools had be- 
 come pits for lack of the rains ; rich 
 grasses and rare blossoms were to be 
 gathered in their beds. The sward 
 had lost its green, and the shimmer 
 of the relaxing heat searched mead- 
 ows and glens alike. Even the 
 streams flowed drowsily, and the 
 deer herded in the cool of the dor- 
 mant glades. Night had no gift of 
 her breezes ; dawn no freshness of 
 her sleep. The woodlanders dreamed 
 through the long days ; desolation 
 had come down upon the hamlets. 
 
 Towards the hour of sunset on the 
 last Sunday of the month, Pere Ca- 
 vaignac stood upon a spur of the hill-
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 land above the Chateau aux Loups. 
 The kine in the meadows were then 
 turning to the water, there was a 
 certain awakening of brute life in all 
 the park about the chateau. But 
 while it was the hour for vespers and 
 for the coming of village folk, the 
 voice of man was not to be heard. A 
 great silence reigned in all the gar- 
 dens of the house. No smoke rose 
 from its chimneys ; the gates of the 
 courtyard were shut ; the bells in the 
 tower no longer called to prayer ; the 
 name of its mistress was a word for 
 whispers in all the country round. 
 The home of " the little Huguenot" 
 was a home to her no more. She had 
 gone out of the lives of the people 
 like a sun that had set. And no man 
 was so bold that he lifted his voice to 
 mourn for her. 
 
 The priest stood in the shelter of 
 the thicket and looked down to the 
 belt of trees girdling about the cha- 
 teau. There were moments when he 
 thought that he saw the flash of scar- 
 let against the riper green of the 
 172
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 avenues ; other moments when he 
 heard the blast of a horn and beheld 
 a musketeer riding forth from the 
 gates. The man struck the highway 
 to Paris, and was lost quickly in a 
 cloud of powdering dust. Then the 
 desolation was supreme once more ; 
 and all the gardens seemed to sleep. 
 
 Though it was plain that nothing 
 was to be observed from the place 
 upon the hill's brow, the Jesuit con- 
 tinued at his post until the church 
 bells in the distant village were chim- 
 ing eight., and the dusk had come 
 down more plenteously. He appear- 
 ed to be awaiting some turn of events 
 at the chateau ; and when the half of 
 an hour had passed, he was justified. 
 Again the gates of the courtyard were 
 opened ; again a horseman rode forth. 
 He was Pepin, the guide, and at his 
 heels there followed the Abbe Gondy 
 upon his mule, and the old servant, 
 Dominique, upon his feet, leading 
 another mule that carried the bag- 
 gage. In this order the little caval- 
 cade struck the hill-path, and came
 
 "The Little Huguenot.' 
 
 on towards that very thicket in which 
 the priest was watching. 
 
 It was near to being dark when at 
 last the three arrived at the hill road. 
 A gloomier company never set foot 
 in the forest, nor one so melancholy. 
 Gone was the fat from the cheeks of 
 the Abbe, gone was the smile from 
 the face of Pepin. The old servant 
 walked with downcast eyes and trem- 
 bling lips. He looked back often at 
 the home he loved it was no home 
 to him now. He remembered that 
 every brick of it, every path, every 
 tree, every glade was like a friend to 
 be lost. And never again would he 
 behold them. 
 
 " Saints and angels defend us !" 
 cried the Abbe as his mule entered 
 the glade of the woods ; but Pepin 
 said 
 
 " Blood of Bartholomew ! there's 
 a man that lurks amid the trees. He 
 has eyes for your pack, my father." 
 
 " Little has the good God left to 
 me," said the Abbe mournfully. 
 " Have you your cudgel ready ?"
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Aye, surely, I have. But by the 
 mass, Monsieur 1'Abbe, I would 
 sooner sing a dirge than cross a blade 
 this night. Body of Paul ! I have 
 the plague at my knees." 
 
 " Wouldst that thou had it at thy 
 throat for a brawling rogue," mut- 
 tered the Abbe. 
 
 They rode for a space into the 
 heart of the wood, and the figure in 
 the thicket vanished as it had come. 
 
 But at the cross of the path it ap- 
 peared again, and stood out in the 
 waning light. 
 
 " Gratias agamus /" exclaimed the 
 Abbe, " it is no robber, but my friend 
 Cavaignac. Oh, blessed be God that 
 he has come !" 
 
 " What," cried Pepin, " the dog of 
 a Jesuit ! Do you not know, my fa- 
 ther, there are a thousand gold pieces 
 upon his head ?" 
 
 "Fool," said the Abbe, "would 
 you hang from yonder tree ?" 
 
 " It is thou that art the fool, want- 
 ing the courage of a hen," muttered 
 Pepin, between his teeth ; but when
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 the Jesuit came up to them, he cried 
 to him for a blessing. 
 
 Cavaignac had few words to utter, 
 and those he spoke quickly. 
 
 " So you leave the chateau, my 
 friend," said he to the Abb6. 
 
 " How ! You have not heard ? 
 The king's musketeers sleep in our 
 house like swine. Oh, cursed day 
 that has robbed me of board and 
 bed!" 
 
 The Jesuit looked at him with hard 
 contempt. 
 
 " And madame ?" he asked. 
 
 " Has crossed the Rhine," said the 
 old man Dominique. " Dieu, what a 
 night that was ! Is there one that 
 rides as she rides ? Surely it was her 
 courage that saved him from the 
 king's men like a deer dragged from 
 the dogs. And now she is with him 
 where no king may harm her. Bless- 
 ed be the God she served !" 
 
 For a spell the Jesuit was silent. 
 When he spoke again, it was to the 
 Abbe. 
 
 " Whither go you now ?" he asked. 
 176
 
 "The Little Huguenot." 
 
 " Aye, whither go we now ?" chim- 
 ed in Pepin ; "to the devil, so it 
 would appear." 
 
 " If, perchance, you could lead me 
 to any shelter," stammered the Abbe, 
 " to any house of your holy Order 
 where I can be sure of a cup of wine 
 and a dish of meat, with what thanks 
 will my heart be filled ! Well am I 
 punished for my sins. But the good 
 God may yet permit me to repent. 
 Oh, that I should have no pillow for 
 my head, no drink for my lips ! You 
 pity me, my friend ?" 
 
 "Nay," said the Jesuit suddenly, 
 "why should I pity you? Are you 
 weary, then take a pillow of the 
 grass ; do you thirst, there is the 
 stream for your lips ; if you hunger, 
 gather fruit as you go. But, above 
 all things, give thanks to God in that 
 he has permitted you still to sleep, 
 still to thirst, still to hunger." 
 
 He turned away with the words and 
 the night hid him from their view. 
 
 " Surely the man has a devil," said 
 the Abbe.
 
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