rs*g 
 
 
 .
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 S/c &M>
 
 AGNES SOREL, 
 
 fty JffefoKqi ^oh)^K)ce. 
 
 BY G P. R. JAMES, ESQ., 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE FATE," "THE WOODMAN," "REVENGE 
 "THE FORGERY," " PEQUINILLO," &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, 
 
 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 1853.
 
 PR 
 4f 
 
 Z( 
 
 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 CHAPTEB I. 
 
 Human weaknesses and human follies, human 
 vices and human crimes, are undoubtedly very 
 excellent and beneficial things. It may seem 
 paradoxical to say that the fact of one man 
 cutting another man's threat, or of another 
 mining a friend's peace, robbing him of his 
 fortune, or depriving him of his honor, can 
 have any beneficial result whatsoever; or that the 
 cunning, the selfishness, the credulity, the igno- 
 rance, the fanaticism, the prejudice, the vanity, 
 vol. n. B 
 
 1407520
 
 2 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 the absurdity, or the passion, of the many mil- 
 lions who, at various times, have exhibited them- 
 eelves with sueh appendages about them, 
 should have conferred boons upon the whole or 
 any part of society. Yet, dearly beloved 
 reader, I am not at all sure that, considering 
 man's nature as man's nature is, and looking at 
 society as I see it constituted around me — I am 
 not at all sure, I say, that the very greatest 
 crimes that ever were committed, have not 
 produced a larger sum of enjoyment, and 
 what people vulgarly term happiness, than 
 they have inflicted pain or discomfort — that is 
 to say, as far as this world is concerned : I don't 
 speak of another. 
 
 Not very fond am I of painting disagreeable 
 pictures of human nature. Yet one cannot shut 
 cue's eyes ; and, if it has been our misfortune 
 to be in any spot or neighbourhood where 
 something very wicked has been perpetrated, 
 the sums of pleasure and of pain produced arc 
 forced into the two scales, where we may weigh 
 them both together, if we choose but to raise
 
 AGNES S0REL. 3 
 
 the balance. Take the worst ease that can 
 be known — a murder, which has deprived a 
 happy family — four young children, and an 
 amiable wife — of a father and a husband. 
 Poor things ! they must have suffered sadly, 
 and the father not a little, while his biains 
 were being knocked out. ? Tis a great amount 
 of evil, doubtless. 
 
 But now let us look at the other side of the 
 account. While the sufferers are weeping, one 
 near neighbour is telling the whole tragedy to, 
 another near neighbour, and both are in that high 
 state of ecstasy which is called " a terrible ex- 
 citement." They are horrified, very true ; but, 
 say what they will, they are enjoying it exceed- 
 ingly. It has stirred for them the dull pond of 
 life, and broken up the duck-weed on the top. Nor 
 is the enjoyment confined to them. Every man, 
 woman, and child in the village has his share 
 of it. Not only that, but, wider and wider, 
 through enlarging circles, newspapers thrive 
 on it, tea-tables exidt in it, and multitudes 
 b 2
 
 1 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 rejoice, in the " Barbarous Murder !" that has 
 lately been committed. I say nothing of the 
 Lawyers, the constables, the magistrates, the 
 coroner. I say nothing of the augmented 
 emoluments of the one, or the increased im- 
 portance of the other, nor of the thousands who 
 grin and gape with delight at the execution : 
 I speak merely of the pleasure afforded to 
 multitudes by the act itself, and the report 
 thereof. 
 
 Nor is tins merely a circle spreading round 
 on one plane, such as is produced by a stone 
 dropped into the water, but it is as an aug- 
 menting globe, the increment of which is in- 
 finite The act of the criminal is chronicled 
 for all time, affords enjoyment to remote 
 posterity, and benefits a multitude of the un- 
 born generation. The newspaper has it first: 
 the romance writer takes it next : it is a sub- 
 
 i 
 
 : for the poet; a field for the philosopher; 
 and adds a leaf to the garland of the tragic 
 dramatist. 
 
 What would the world have done if Mac-
 
 AGNES SOREL. 5 
 
 beth had not murdered Duncan, or iEdipus had 
 not committed a great many things too disagree- 
 able to mention ? 
 
 This is a wicked world, undoubtedly ; but, 
 nevertheless, the most virtuous enjoy its 
 wickedness very much, in some shape or 
 another. 
 
 The above is my short excuse for deviating 
 from my usual course, as I am about to do, and 
 betraying, as I must, some of the little secret 
 tricks of a science of great gravity, practised 
 in former days by bearded men, but now fallen 
 into the hands of old women and Egyptians. 
 
 Jean Charost, in issuing forth from the Duke 
 of Burgundy's presence, foimd Martin Grille 
 in a deplorable state of anxiety concerning him ; 
 and, to say the truth, not without cause. It was 
 in vain, however, that the poor man endea- 
 voured to draw his master into some secret 
 corner to confer with him apart. The whole 
 house was occupied by the attendants of the 
 Duke of Burgundy, or of Madame de Giac :
 
 G AGNES SOREL. 
 
 and, although the young secretary felt some 
 need of thought and counsel, he soon saw that 
 the only plan open to him was to mount his 
 horse as speedily as possible, and quit the inn. 
 Armand Chauvin, the courier or chevaucheur of 
 the Duke of Orleans, was sitting in the wide 
 hall of the inn, with a pot of wine before him, 
 apparently taking note of nothing, but in 
 reality listening to, and remarking, everything 
 that passed. Towards him Jean Charost ad- 
 vanced, after having spoken a single word to 
 Martin Grille. 
 
 " The horses must be rested by this time, 
 Armand," said Jean, aloud. " You had better 
 get them ready, and let us go on." 
 
 il Certainly, sir," replied the man, rising at 
 once; and then, cpiiekly passing by the young 
 gentleman, he added, in a whisper : " They 
 arc saddled and bridled — follow quick. The 
 horee l".ys are paid." 
 
 Jean Charost paused for a moment, spoke 
 a word or two in a quiet tone to Martin Grille,
 
 AGNES S0REL. 7 
 
 with the eyes of a dozen men in all sorts of 
 dresses npon them, and then sauntered out to 
 the door of the inn. 
 
 The stable was soon reached, the horses were 
 soon mounted, and, in less than five minutes 
 after he had quitted the presence of the Duke 
 of Burgundy, Jean Charost was once more 
 upon the road to Blois. 
 
 Twice the secretary looked back up the street 
 in the clear moonlight. Nobody was seen fol- 
 lowing ; but he could hear some loud calls, as 
 if from the stables of the inn ; when, turning 
 to the courier, he said : 
 
 " I fear our horses are not in fit case to ride 
 a race to-night." 
 
 " I think not, sir," replied the man, briefly. 
 " We had better get out of the town, and then 
 turn into a wood." 
 
 " I know a wiser plan than that," cried 
 Martin Grille. " Let us turn down here by the 
 back of the town, and take shelter in the 
 house of the astrologer. He will give us refuge
 
 8 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 for the night, and the Duke departs by sun- 
 rise to-morrow." 
 
 "Do you know him?" demanded Jean 
 Charost. ki I thought you had never been in 
 Pithiviers before." 
 
 " Nor have I," replied the man. " But I'll 
 tell you all about it by-and-byc. He will give 
 us lodging, I will answer for it — hide us in his 
 cabinet of the spheres, amongst his other 
 curiosities ; and those who Beek will seek for 
 us in vain. But there is no time to be lost . 
 Mine is the best plan, depend upon it." 
 
 " Perhaps it is," rejoined Jean Charost, turn- 
 ing his horse's head. " We might be over- 
 taken ere we eould reach any other place of 
 concealment. My horse moves as if Iris joints 
 were frozen. Come on, Monsieur Chauvin. Do 
 you know the house, Martin ?" 
 
 " "Well, sir — right well," replied the valet. 
 " Hark ! I hear horses stamping." 
 
 Kiding on down a side street, he turned 
 back towards the east, passing along between
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 9 
 
 the old decayed wall and the houses of the 
 suburb. 
 
 Little was said as they rode ; for every ear 
 was on the alert to catch any sounds from the 
 main street, lest mayhap their course should be 
 traced, and they should be followed. 
 
 It is hardly possible for any one in the present 
 day — at least, for any dweller in the more 
 civilized parts of earth, where order is the rule, 
 and disorder the exception — to form any cor- 
 rect idea of those times in France, when order 
 was the exception, and disorder the rule; when 
 no man set out upon a journey without being 
 prepared for attack and defence; when the 
 streets of a great city were in themselves peril- 
 ous places; when one's own house might, in- 
 deed, be a castle, but required to be as care- 
 fully watched and guarded as a fortress, and 
 when the life of every day Avas full of open 
 and apparent danger; when, in short, there 
 was no such thing as peace on earth, or good 
 will among men. Yet it is wonderful how 
 b 5
 
 10 AGNES SOIiEL. 
 
 calmly people bore it, how mueli they looked 
 upon it as a matter of course, how little 
 anxiety or annoyance it occasioned them. Just 
 as an undertaker becomes familiar with images 
 of death, and, strangely intimate with the 
 corpses which he lays out and buries, jokes 
 with his assistant in the awful presence of the 
 dead, and takes his pot of beer or glass of 
 Bpirits seated on the coffin, with the link oi 
 association entirely cut by habit, and no re- 
 ference of the mind between his late and the 
 fate of him whom he inters ; so men, by the 
 effect of custom, went through hourlyperils in 
 those times, siw every sort of misery, sorrow, 
 and injustice inflicted on others, and very often 
 endured them themselves, merely as a matter 
 <-f course, a part of the business of the day. 
 
 I do not, and 1 will not, pretend, therefore, 
 that Jean Charost felt half the annoyance or 
 apprehension that any one of modern days 
 would i xperienoe, could he he carried back 
 .-•me Pour or five centuries ; but he <7ec? feel con- 
 siderable anxiety, not so much lest his own
 
 AGNES SOREL. 11 
 
 throat should be cut, though that was quite 
 within the probabilities of the case, as lest he 
 should be seized, and the letters of the Duke 
 of Orleans, which he bore, taken from hini. 
 That anxiety was considerably aggravated, as he 
 rode along, by hearing a good deal of noise 
 from the streets on the right, orders and direc- 
 tions delivered in loud tones, the jingle of arms, 
 and the dull beat of horses' hoofs upon ground 
 covered by hardened snow. 
 
 For a moment or two, it was doubtful whether 
 the pursuers — if pursuers they were — would 
 discover that he had quitted the highway, and 
 follow on his track ; but, at length, Armand 
 Chauvin, who had hardly spoken a word, said. 
 in a tone of some relief : 
 
 " They have passed by the tinning. They 
 will have a long ride for their pains. Heaven 
 bless them with a snow shower, and freeze them 
 to the saddle !" 
 
 " There's the house, sir — there's the house !'" 
 exclaimed Martin Grille, pointing to a building of 
 considerable size, the back of which stood out
 
 I 2 AGXES SOREL. 
 
 towards the dilapidated wall somewhat beyond 
 the rest, with a stone tower in the extreme 
 rear, and a light burning in one of the 
 windows. 
 
 " I shonld like to hear how yon know all 
 about this place, Martin," said his master, 
 
 aid whether you really can insure me a good 
 reception." 
 
 " That I'll answer for — that Til answer 
 for," cried Martin Grille, gaily. " Oh, yon 
 men of battle and equitation can't do every- 
 thing. We people of peace and policy some- 
 times have our share in the affairs of life. Tins 
 way, sir — this way. The back door into the 
 court is the best. On my life, ii" I wore to 
 turn Astrologer anywhere, it should be at l'ithi- 
 viers. They nourish him gaily, don't they? 
 Every man from sixty downwards, and every 
 woman from sixteen upwards, must have his or 
 her horoscope drawn three times a day to keep 
 our tVii ml of the Astrolabe in such style as 
 thi>. ,? 
 
 As he spoke, ho rode up to a pair of large
 
 AGNES SOREL. 13 
 
 wooden gates in the wall, and, dismounting from 
 his horse, pushed them open. Bending then- 
 heads a little, for the arch was not very high, 
 Jean Charost and the chevauchcur rode into a 
 very handsome court-yard, siuTOunded on thive 
 sides by buildings, and having at one comer 
 the tower which they had before observed. 
 Martin Grille followed, carefullv closed the 
 gates, and fastened them with a wooden bar 
 which lay near, to prevent any one obtaining as 
 easy access as himself. Then, advancing to a 
 small back door, he knocked gently with his 
 hand, and almost immediately a pretty servant- 
 girl appeared with a light. 
 
 " Ah, my charming demoiselle ! Here I am 
 again, and have brought this noble young 
 gentleman to consult the learned Doctor,'" said 
 Martin Grille, as soon as he saw her. " Is 
 he at home, now ?" 
 
 " No, kind sir," answered the girl, giving 
 a coquettish glance at Jean Charost and his com- 
 panion. " Two rude men came, and dragged
 
 14 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 lii m away from his supper almost by force ; but 
 I dare say he will not be long gone' 1 
 
 " Then we will come in and wait," said 
 Martin Grille. " Where can we put our horses 
 this cold night ?" 
 
 The girl seemed to hesitate ; although her 
 own words hud certainly led the way to Martin's 
 proposal. 
 
 " I don't know where to put you or your 
 horses either," she said, at length ; " for there 
 is a gentleman waiting, and it is not every one 
 who comes to consult the Doctor that wishes to 
 be seen. Pedro, the Moor, too, is out getting 
 information about the town ; so that I have no 
 one to ask what to do." 
 
 " Well, we don't want to be Been eith< i ."' 
 observed Martin Grille ; " so we will just put 
 our horses under that shed, and go into the 
 little room where the Doctor casts his nativi- 
 ties." 
 
 "Bui lie's in there — lie's in there," ejaculated 
 the girl. " I mean the tall, meagre man with the
 
 AGNES S0REL. 15 
 
 wild look. I put him iu there because there's 
 nothing he could hurt. No, no ; you fasten up 
 your horses, and then come into the great hall. 
 I think the man is as mad as a March hare. 
 You can hear quite plain in the hall- — never still 
 for a moment." 
 
 The girl's plan was of course followed; and, 
 passing through a low and narrow door, arched 
 with stone according to the fashion of those 
 days, Jean Charost and his two companions 
 were ushered into a large room, from the end of 
 which two other doors led to different parts of 
 the building. 
 
 The maid left the lamp which she carried, 
 to give the strangers some light ; but the 
 greater part of the room remained in obscurity : 
 nor probably would it have exhibited anything 
 very interesting to the eyes of Jean Charost ; 
 for all the walls seemed to be covered with 
 illuminated pieces of vellum, each figuring the 
 horoscope of some distinguished man long dead. 
 Those of Charlemagne, Pope Benedict the 
 Eighth, Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great,
 
 10 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Homer, and Duns Scotus, were all within the 
 rays of tin 1 lamp; and the young secretary 
 looked no farther, but, turning to Martin Grille, 
 asked eagerly, though in a low tone, how he 
 happened to have made himself acquainted so 
 thoroughly with the Astrologer's house and 
 habits. 
 
 "Why, bless 'you, sir !" replied the lacquey, 
 " when I saw you earned off by a man whom I 
 knew nothing about, and found myself in an inn 
 where not even the landlord would tell who his 
 guests were, I got frightened; and, it being part 
 of my business to know everything that may 
 be of service to yen, T bethoughl me how I 
 might best gel information. As every town in 
 France lias its Astrologer, either official or ac- 
 cidental, I determined 1 would find him out ; 
 and I seduced one of the marmitons to show me 
 
 the way hither for a bribe of two sous. Very 
 little had I in my pocket to consult an Astro- 
 loger with; hut we Parisians have a way of 
 bartering one piece of news tor another; and, as 
 information regarding everybody and every-
 
 AGNES SOREL. 17 
 
 thing is what an Astrologer is always in search 
 of, I trucked the tidings of your arrival at the 
 auberge for the name of the great man whose 
 servants had possession of the inn. That 
 frightened me still more ; but the learned doc- 
 tor bought an account of all that had happened 
 to us on the road with a leather bottle of the 
 finest wine that was ever squeezed out of the 
 grape; and added, over and above, that Madame 
 de Giac, the Duke's mistress, was expected 
 at the inn, and had sent her husband 
 away to Blois. That frightened me more than 
 ever." 
 
 "Why so?" asked Jean Charost. "Why 
 should you be frightened by any of these things 
 you heard? Their Highnesses of Burgundy 
 and Orleans are now in perfect amity, I under- 
 stood ; and Madame de Giac, when I saw her 
 before, seemed anything but ill-disposed 
 towards my royal master." 
 
 "Ah, sir," replied Martin Grille. "The 
 amity of princes is a ticklish tiling to trust to ; 
 and the friendship of a lady of many loves, is
 
 18 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 somewhat like the affection of a spider. God 
 send that the Duke of Burgundy be as well dis- 
 posed to the Royal Duke as you think, and 
 that Madame de Giac work no mischief between 
 them ; for the one, I think, is as sincere as the 
 other, and I would not trust my little finger in 
 the power of cither, if it seiwed then purposes 
 to cut it off." 
 
 "Nay," answered Jean Charost, " I certainly 
 do not now think that the Duke of Burgundy 
 is well disposed to his Ilighness of Orleans ; 
 for I have had good reason to believe the con- 
 trary." 
 
 " Xo one believes he is, but the Duke him- 
 self," said Armand Chauvin. " His Iliglun 
 is too frank. Ho rides out in a furred gown to 
 meet a man armed with all pieces. But hark ! 
 how that man is walking about ! lie must be 
 troubled with some unquiet spirit." 
 
 All listened iii silence for a mmuteortwo; and 
 a slow, heavy fool tall was heard pacing back- 
 wards and forwards in the adjoining room, from 
 which the hall was only separated by one of the
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 19 
 
 doors that lias been mentioned. Jean Charost 
 thought that he heard a groan too ; and, there 
 was something in the dull and solemn, tread, un- 
 ceasing and unvaried as it was, that had a 
 gloomy and oppressive effect. 
 
 No one spoke for several minutes, and the 
 time of the Astrologer's return seemed long. 
 At length, the steps in the adjoining room 
 ceased, the door was thrown open, and a low, 
 deep voice exclaimed — 
 
 " If you have returned, why do you keep me 
 waiting ? Ha, strangers all !" 
 
 The speaker who had taken one step into the 
 room, was, as the maid had described him, a 
 tall, thin, gaunt man of the middle age, with a 
 stern, wild, impetuous expression of counte- 
 nance. His grey hah' and his grey beard 
 seemed not to have been trimmed for weeks ; 
 and his apparel, though costly, was negligently 
 cast on. There was a wrinkle between his 
 brows, so deep that one might have laid a fin- 
 ger in it, fixed and immoveable, as if it had 
 grown there for years, deepening with time.
 
 20 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 But the brow, with its heavy frown, seemed the 
 only feature that remained at rest ; for the eve 
 Hashed and wandered, the lip quivered, and the 
 nostrils expanded as if an infinite multitude of 
 emotions were passing ever through the heart, 
 and writing their transient traces on the coun- 
 tenance as they went. 
 
 He paused for a single moment almost in the 
 door- way, holding a lamp high in his hand, 
 and glancing his eyes from the face of Martin 
 Grille, who was next to him, to that of Armand 
 Chauvin, and then to the countenance of Jean 
 ( 'harost. As he gazed at the latter, however, 
 a look of doubt, and then of recognition, came 
 upon his countenance ; and, taking another step 
 forward, he exclaimed — 
 
 "Ha, youngman ! Is that you? Something 
 strange links our destiny together. I came 
 hither to enquire of Fate concerning you ; and 
 here you are to meet me." 
 
 " I am glad to sec you without your late 
 companions, sir," replied Jean Charost. "I 
 feared you might be in some peril.' 1 '
 
 AGXES SOEEL. 21 
 
 " No danger — no danger," declared the 
 other. " They were ruffians — but what am 
 I? Xot a man there but had fought under 
 my pennon on fields of honorable warfare. 
 Wrong, injustice, baseness, ingratitude, had 
 made gallant soldiers low marauders. What 
 have the same evils made me ? A demon, with 
 hell in my heart, with hell behind me, and 
 hell before !" 
 
 He paused for an instant, and pressed his 
 hand hard upon his brow ; then, raising his 
 eyes again to the face of Jean Charost, he 
 said, in a tone more calm, but stem and com- 
 manding — 
 
 " Come with me, youth. I would speak 
 with you alone." And he returned to the other 
 chamber. 
 
 " For the Blessed Virgin's sake, don't go 
 with him, sir," exclaimed Martin Grille. 
 
 " You had better not, Monsieur de Brecy," 
 said Armand Chauvin. " The man seems 
 mad."
 
 22 AGXES SOKBL. 
 
 "No fear, no fear," answered Jean Oharost, 
 walking towards the door. 
 
 " Well, give one halloo, and yon shall have 
 help," said Chanvin. 
 
 The secretary passed out, and closed the door 
 bi 'hind him.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 23 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Martin Grille looked at Armaud Chauvin, and 
 Armaiid Chauvin at Martin Grille ; but neither 
 spoke ; for Armand was by nature somewhat 
 taciturn, and the other, though he did not ven- 
 ture in the presence of the chevaucJiear to put 
 Ins ear or his eye to the key-hole, remained 
 listening as near the door as possible, with a 
 good deal of apprehension it is true, but still 
 more curiosity. The conversation, however, 
 between Jean Charost and the stranger com- 
 menced in a low tone, and gave nothing to the 
 hall but an indistinct murmur of voices. Very 
 speedily, however, the tones began to be raised. 
 Jean Charost himself spoke angrily ; but 
 another voice almost drowned his, pouring forth 
 a torrent of invectives, though not upon him, it 
 would seem ; for the only sentence completely 
 heard showed that some other person was re- 
 ferred to.
 
 2 ! AGXES S0REL. 
 
 " There is every sort of villain in the world," 
 cried the voice; " and lie is a villain of the 
 damndest and the blackest dye. The cut- 
 throat and the thief, the swindler, the traitor, 
 arc all scoundrels of their kind ; but what is he 
 who—" 
 
 The voice fell again ; and Martin Grille, 
 turning to his companion, grasped Ids arm, 
 savins : 
 
 " Go in — go in. lie will do him some mis- 
 chief, I am very much afraid." 
 
 u I am not so much accustomed to be afraid, 
 cither for myself or for other people," answered 
 Chauvin. "The young gentleman will call 
 out if be wants me." 
 
 AJmosI at the same moment, without the 
 sound of any opening door from the street, the 
 Astrologer entered the room with a hurried 
 step and disturbed look. 
 
 •• Sal my friend," he said, as his eyes fell on 
 Martin Grille. "Where is your young 
 master ?" 
 
 •• Wit li in there," replied Martin, " with
 
 AGNES SOREL. 25 
 
 that other devil of a man. Don't yon hear how 
 loud they are talking ?" 
 
 Without reply or ceremony, the Astrologer 
 opened the door leading into the other room, 
 entered, and closed it again ; but, during the 
 brief moment of his passing in, both Martin 
 and Chauvin caught a sight of the figures 
 within. Jean Charost was standing with his 
 arms crossed upon his chest, in an attitude of 
 stern and manly dignity which neither of them 
 had ever before seen his youthful figure assume ; 
 while the stranger, as if exhausted by the 
 burst of passion to which he had given way, 
 was cast negligently on a scat, his arms resting 
 on a table, and his head bowed down, with the 
 grey locks falling loose upon his forehead. 
 Martin Grille felt sure he perceived large tear- 
 drops rolling over his cheeks ; but the door was 
 closed in an instant, and he saw no more, 
 
 From the moment of the Astrologer's en- 
 trance, the conversation was carried on in a 
 low tone ; but it lasted nearly three quarters of 
 
 vol. it. c
 
 26 AGNES SQEEL. 
 
 ;l ii hour ; and at the end of that time the door 
 again opened, and the three who were in the 
 inner chamber came out into the hall. 
 
 •• Now I am ready to go," said Jean Charost. 
 •• Unfasten the horses, Martin Grille." 
 
 ■• I thought we were to stay here all night, 
 sir," replied Chauvin ; "and I think, sir, you 
 had hotter consider what you do. I may tell 
 \(»u aow,wha1 T did not mention before, that the 
 bearing on my cap very soon betrayed that I 
 belonged to the Duke of Orleans ; and I hoard 
 bets made among the Burgundy people that we 
 should not go five miles before we were brought 
 back. There was a greal deal of talk about it. 
 that I don't remember, as to whether his High- 
 ins- wnnld keep you, or let you go; but all 
 agreed that if he did let yougo, you would nol 
 go far without being stopped and searched. 1 
 took i!" notice, and pretended not to hear ; but I 
 clipped out quietly, and saddled the horses." 
 
 •• Ymii did well, Chauvin," said the young 
 secretary. " Bui 1 must not delay when there 
 is a possibility of going forward. This gentle-
 
 AGXES SOEEL. 27 
 
 ■ 
 
 man agrees to show us a less dangerous way 
 than the high road; and I am determined to put 
 myself under his guidance. The responsibility 
 be upon my head." 
 
 " Well, sir ; I have nothing to do but obey," 
 replied the chevaucheur, and took a step towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Stay a moment," said the Astrologer. " I 
 have ordered you some refreshment, and I have 
 two words, Monsieur de Brecy, to write to the 
 noble Duke. Tell him I am his faithful servant 
 ever, and that I greatly regret to have to warn 
 him of such impending danger.'" 
 
 " I beseech you, my good friend," replied 
 Jean Charost, " send your warning by some 
 other messenger : firstly, because I may be long 
 upon the way, and tidings of such importance 
 should reach his Highness scon ; secondly, be- 
 cause I would fain not be a bird of evil omen. 
 Great men love not those who bring them bad 
 tidings. But the first reason is the best. I 
 will take your letter, however unwillingly ; but 
 c 2
 
 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 eight-and-forty hours must elapse; ere I can 
 reach Blois. I shall there have to wait the 
 pleasure of the Duchess, and then return, pro- 
 bably by slow journeys: valuable time will be 
 lost, and your intelligence may come too 
 late." 
 
 "So be it,"' said the Astrologer, " al- 
 though — " 
 
 But before he could finish tin; sentence, a 
 tawny-colored man, dressed somewhat fantasti- 
 eally, in a white tunic and large turban, en- 
 tered the room, bearing bottles and silver 
 cups. 
 
 " You have seldom tasted such wine as this," 
 said the Astrologer, offering the firsl cup he 
 poured out to the tall, gaunt stranger. 
 "Take it, my lord. You are my early friend 
 md patron ; and you must not depart without 
 drinking wine in my house. It will do you 
 good, and raise your spirits." 
 
 " I would not have them raised," returned 
 the stranger, putting aside the cup. "False 
 happiness is nol what 1 desire. I have had too
 
 i-GXES SOREL. 29 
 
 » 
 
 much of that already. My misery is pure, if' it 
 be bitter. I would not mingle it with a fouler 
 
 thing." 
 
 Those were the only words he spoke from 
 that moment till the whole party reached the 
 neighbourhood of Chilleurs aux Eois. 
 
 Martin Grille drank his cup of wine, and 
 hastened to bring out the horses. Armand 
 Chauvin drank likewise, and followed him in 
 silence ; and when the Astrologer, accompanied 
 his two nobler guests to the court- yard, they 
 found a tall, powerful grey horse held ready 
 by the Moor. 
 
 Jean Charost took leave of his host with a 
 few courteous words ; but the stranger mounted 
 in silence, rode out as soon as the gates were 
 open, and, turning at once to the right, led the 
 way quite round the town, crossed a small 
 stream, and then, by paths with which he 
 seemed perfectly well acquainted, dashed on at 
 a quick pace to the westward, leaving the 
 others to come on as best they could, much to 
 the inconvenience, be it said, of poor Martin
 
 30 AGNES SOKEL. 
 
 Grille; whose horse stumbled continually, as 
 horses will do -with bad riders. 
 
 Jean Charost "kept generally by the stranger's 
 side, and once or twice spoke a few words to 
 him. But lie received no answer; and through 
 the long night they rode on, even after the 
 moon had gone down, without drawing a rein, 
 till, just at the grey of the morning, they dis- 
 tinguished a church steeple, at the distance of 
 about half-a-mile on the right. There the 
 stranger pulled up his horse suddenly, and 
 said — 
 
 " (liillours aux Rois." 
 
 u Here I suppose we arc safe," remarked 
 Jean Charost. 
 
 kW Quito sale," was the brief reply. "Fare 
 you well ! — "Remember !" 
 
 " I always remember my given word," re- 
 joined Jean Charost. " Where can I see or hear 
 from yon in case of need?** 
 
 The stranger gazed at him with a grim, 
 ilark smile ; turned his horse's head, and gal- 
 lopped away.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 31 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 The curiosity of Martin Grille was greatly ex- 
 cited. The curiosity of Martin Grille could 
 not rest. He had no idea of a master having 
 a secret from a valet. What were valets made 
 for '? he asked himself. What could they do 
 in the world, if there was any such thing as 
 a secret kept from them ? He determined he 
 would find out that of his master ; and he used 
 every effort, trusting to Jean Charost's inex- 
 perience, to lead him into any admission — into 
 any slip of the tongue — which would give one 
 simple fact regarding the stranger whom they 
 had met at Pithiviers, relying on his own in- 
 genuity to combine it with what he had already 
 observed, so as to make some progress on the 
 way to knowledge. But Jean Charost foiled 
 all his efforts, and afforded him not the slight-
 
 32 agxi;s sorel. 
 
 est hint of any kind, greatly raising his intel- 
 lect in the opinion of his worthy valet, hut 
 irritating Martin's curiosity still farther. 
 
 " If there be not some important secret," 
 thought the man, " why should he be so 
 anxious to conceal it ?" 
 
 So he set to work to bring Araiand Chauvin 
 into a League and confederacy for the purpose 
 of discovering the hidden treasure. 
 
 Armancl, however, not only rejected all his 
 overtures, but reproved him for his curiosity. 
 
 " I know not what is the business of valets, 
 Master Martin," he said; "but I know my 
 own business. The chccaucheur should be him- 
 self as secret as the grave ; should know 
 nothing, si o nothing, hear nothing, except 
 what he is told, his way, and his business. If 
 a seeret messagfi is given him to Convey, he 
 should forget it altogether till he sees the 
 person to whom it is to be delivered, and then 
 forgel it again as soon as it is given, Take my 
 advioe, Master Martin, and do not meddle with 
 your ma rets. Many a man finds his
 
 AGNES SOREL. 33 
 
 own too heavy to bear ; and many a man has 
 been hanged for having those of other peo- 
 ple." 
 
 Martin Grille did not at all like the idea of 
 
 being hanged ; and the warning qnieted him, 
 
 from Orleans, where it was given, to the good 
 
 town of Blois ; still he resolved to watch 
 
 narrowly in after days, and to see whether, by 
 
 putting piece and piece together, he could not 
 
 pluck out the heart of Jean Charost's mystery. 
 
 The three horsemen rode into the town of 
 
 Blois at eventide, just as the sun was setting; 
 
 and, according to the directions he had received, 
 
 Jean Charost proceeded straight to the ancient 
 
 Chateau, which, though somewhat altered from 
 
 its then existing form, was destined to be the 
 
 scene of many tragic events in French 
 
 histoiy. 
 
 Though the face of the world has remained 
 
 the same, though mountain and valley stand 
 
 where mountain and valley stood, though 
 
 towns and fortresses are still to be found where 
 
 c 5
 
 • S! AGNES SOREL. 
 
 towns and fodresscs then existed, the changes 
 of society have been so great, the relations 
 bet wven rn;m and man, and between man and 
 all external things, have been so much altered, 
 that it is with diifieulty we bring our mind to 
 comprehend how certain things, all positive 
 facts, existed in other days, and perceive the 
 various relations — to us all strange and anoma- 
 lous — which thus arose. 
 
 It is probable that the Duke of Orleans did 
 not possess a foot of land in the town of Blois, 
 besides 'he old Chateau; and he did not hold 
 . thai in pure, possession, lather as ap- 
 panage 01 f'oof, he held great territories in the 
 central or south-western parts of Franco, which 
 
 Ided him considerable revenue in the shape 
 of due-, toils, and taxes, gave him the command 
 of many important towns, and placed in his 
 hamK during life, a number of magnificent 
 
 idencos, kept up almost entirely by serviced 
 of vassals or other feudal inferiors. Shortly 
 
 >re this time, the Duchy of Aijuitaine had 
 1 een thus coi b< ded to him ; and Orleans, Blois,
 
 AGNES SOREL. 35 
 
 and a number of small cities had been long in 
 his possession. Thus the chateau of Blois was 
 at this time held by him, if not in pure pro- 
 perty, yet in full possession, and afforded a 
 quiet retreat, if not exactly a happy residence, 
 to a wife whom he sincerely loved, without 
 passion, and esteemed even while he neglected. 
 
 Removed from the scenes of contention 
 which were daily taking place near the capital 
 — contention often dignified by the name of 
 war, but more deserving that of anarchy — the 
 town of Blois had enjoyed for many years a 
 peaceful, and even sluggish, calm ; for the dis- 
 orders iu many others parts of France of course 
 put a stop to enterprise in any direction, either 
 mental or physical. There seemed no energy in 
 the place ; and the little court there held 1 1 y 
 the Duchess of Orleans, as well as the number 
 of persons who usually resided in the town as 
 a place of security, afforded the only inducement 
 to active industry. 
 
 As Jean Charost and his companions rode 
 through the streets, they observed shops which
 
 30 AONKs 30BHL. 
 
 might be considered gay, as the world then 
 wen!. Persona of good means and bright 
 clothing, were sauntering about J and a number 
 of the inferior class were taking an hour's exer- 
 cise before the dose of day. ]iut there was 
 none of tlie eager bustle of a busy, thrifty city : 
 and the amusement-loving people of France 
 seemed Bolely occupied with amusement in the 
 town of Blois. 
 
 At the gates of the old castle, the draw-bridge 
 was found down, and the portcullis raised; and 
 two lazy guards were pitching pieces of stone 
 into a hole dug in the middle of tin* way, and 
 wrangling with each other about their game. 
 
 Both started up, however, as the three horse- 
 men came slowly over the bridge ; and one 
 thrusi himself in the way with an air of mili- 
 tary fierceness, aa he saw the face of a stranger 
 in the Leader of the party. The nexl moment, 
 however, he exclaimed — 
 
 •• Ah, pardi .' Ghauvin, is that yon? WTio 
 is this young gentleman ?" 
 
 " 1 am secretary to hifl Highness the Duke
 
 AGNES SOREL. 37 
 
 of Orleans," replied Jean Charost ; " and I 
 bear a letter to the Duchess to deliver into her 
 own hands." 
 
 Admission was not difficult to obtain ; and 
 Jean Charost was passed from hand to hand, till 
 he found himself in the interior of that gloomy 
 building which always seems to the visitor of 
 modern times redolent of bloody and mysteri- 
 ous deeds. 
 
 A grave and respectable-looking man at 
 length shewed Jean Charost into a handsomely- 
 furnished room in one of the towers, which 
 looked out in the direction of Toms ; and, seat- 
 ing himself upon a large window-seat, forming 
 a coffer for fire-wood, he gazed out upon the 
 scene below, and saw the sun set over the 
 world of trees beneath him. Darkness came 
 on rapidly. Still he was suffered to remain 
 alone; and silence brooded over the whole place, 
 unbroken even by a passing foot-fall. All was 
 so still that he could have fancied some 
 one was dead in the place, and the rest were 
 silent mourners.
 
 38 AGXES SOREL. 
 
 At length, a slow, quiet foot-fall in the dis- 
 tance met his car, coming along with easy, 
 almost drowsy, pace, till the same old man ap- 
 peared, and conducted liim tlirough many 
 passages and vacant rooms to the presence of 
 the Duchess of Orleans. 
 
 She was seated in a large arm-chair, with a 
 table by her side, and was dressed almost alto- 
 gether in black ; hut, to the eyes of Jean 
 Chnrost, she seemed exceedingly beautiful, 
 with finely shaped features, bright eyes, and 
 an expression of melancholy which suited well 
 the peculiar cast of her countenance. She 
 gazed earnestly at Jean Charosl as lie advanced 
 towards her; and said, as soon as she thought 
 him near enough — 
 
 •• You conic from his Royal Highness, I am 
 told. HOW is my dear husband ?" 
 
 •• Not -n well as I could wish, Madam/* re- 
 plied Jean Charost; " but this letter, which 
 I have the honour to present, will tell you 
 more." 
 
 Tin' Duchess held out her lair hand for the
 
 AGNES SOREL. 39 
 
 epistle; but it trembled greatly as she took it. 
 The young secretary would not venture to 
 look in her face as she was reading ; for he 
 knew that she would be greatly agitated. She 
 was so, indeed ; but she recovered herself 
 speedily, and, speaking still with a slightly 
 foreign accent, demanded farther details. 
 
 " He says only that he is ill," she observed. 
 " Tell me, sir — tell me how he really is. Did 
 you see him ? Yes, you must have seen him ; 
 for he says you are his secretary. Has he con- 
 cealed anything in this letter ? Is it necessary 
 that I should set out tins night ? I am quite 
 ready. He must be very ill," she added in a 
 low and melancholy tone, " or he would not 
 have sent for meP 
 
 " His Highness is ill, Madam," replied Jean 
 Charost, " seriously ill, I fear ; but I trust not 
 dangerously so. The contentions in which he 
 has lately been engaged with the Duke of 
 Burgundy, but which are now happily over — " 
 
 " Oh, that house of Burgundy — that house
 
 40 AOM> soKEL. 
 
 of Burgundy I" exclaimed the Duchess, in a 
 low, sad tome, 
 
 u These, and many other anxieties," con- 
 tinued Jean I'harost, " together with much 
 fatigue, have produced what I should suppose to 
 be some sort of fever, and a great depression of 
 mind — a melancholy — which probably makes 
 his Highness imagine his illness oven greater 
 than it is. I should think, however, Madam, 
 that by setting out this night you would not 
 greatly accelerate your journey. The roads 
 arc difficult, and somewhat dangerous." 
 
 " Nevertheless, 1 will go," replied the 
 
 I hiehess. 
 
 And, putting her hand before her eyes, she 
 -. iemed to l'all into thought lor u Jew moments. 
 Jean Charosl saw some tear-drops trickle 
 through her lingers; and the y«>ung man, inex- 
 perienced as ho was, t'olt how many emotions 
 might mingle with those tears. He withdrew 
 his eyes, and fixed them on the ground ; and 
 at Length the Duchess said —
 
 AGNES S0EE1. 41 
 
 u Will you call my attendants, sir, from the 
 ante-room ? I must make preparation." 
 
 She pointed, as she spoke, to a different door 
 to that by which the secretary had been in- 
 troduced; and Jean Charost walked towards 
 it, bowing to the Princess as if taking leave. 
 She stopped him, however, to bid him return in 
 a few minutes, saying, with a sad smile — 
 
 "My thoughts are too busy, Monsieur de 
 Brecy, to attend to courtesy; but I beseech 
 you take care of yourself, as if you were an in- 
 mate of the house. My hushand seems to 
 have much confidence in you, and desires that 
 you should accompany me. If you are too 
 much fatigued to do so to-night, you can follow 
 me to-morrow, and will doubtless overtake me 
 in time." 
 
 " Not too much fatigued myself, Madam," 
 replied Jean Charost. " But I fear my horses 
 could not go far. If there be time, I will pro- 
 vide others." 
 
 " Oh, that will be easily arranged," she an-
 
 4 'J AGNES SOREL. 
 
 swered. ''There are always horses; and enough, 
 here. I will see that you are mounted." 
 
 De Brecy then proceeded to the ante- 
 room, where he found a bevy of fair girls, 
 each seated demurely at her embroidery-frame 
 under the eye of an elder lady. Gay glances 
 were shut at liim from every side ; but he 
 contented himself with simply announcing the 
 Duohess's commands, and then proceeded in 
 search of his companions of the road, lie found 
 thai Arnnind Chauvin was completely at home 
 in the Chateau of Blois, and had made Martin 
 (irille quite familiar with the place already. 
 
 Nor did Jeau himself fool any of that shy 
 timidity which he had experienced when, as a 
 strafiger, unknown to all around him, he had 
 Bret taken up his abode in the Hotel d'Orlcans. 
 There was a subdued and quiet tone, too, 
 iiImuiI the court of the Duchess, very different 
 from the gay and somewhat insolent demeanor 
 of her husband's younger attendants ; and the 
 secretary, now known as such, was treated
 
 AGNES SOREL. 43 
 
 with all courtesy, and obtained everything he 
 could desire for the refreshment of himself and 
 his horses. 
 
 Gradually, however, the bustle of prepara- 
 tion spread from the apartments of the Duchess 
 through the rest of the house, accompanied by 
 the report of her being about to set out that 
 very night to join her husband at Beaute. All 
 were eager to know the cause and thG particu- 
 lars ; and an old major-domo ventured ±o come 
 into the hall where Jean Charost was seated 
 with some wine and meat before him, to ex- 
 tract every information he could upon the sub- 
 ject. He received very cautious answers, 
 however ; and before he had carried his ques- 
 tions far, he was interrupted by the entrance 
 of the chevaucheur, in some haste and apparent 
 alarm. 
 
 " They tell me, Monsieur de Brecy," he said, 
 in his abrupt manner, " that the Duchess sets 
 forth to-night." 
 
 Jean Charost nodded his head. 
 
 " Have you told her," asked Chauvin, "tha
 
 44 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 the Duke of Burgundy is on the road between 
 this and the Seine '.■' ,, 
 
 iw No," answered Jean Charost, starting up, 
 his mind seizing at once the vague idea of 
 danger. " Surely he would not — " 
 
 M llumph !" interrupted Armand Chauvin. 
 u There is no knowing what he would not." 
 
 " Indeed there is not," said the old major- 
 dorao ; " and methinks the Duchess should 
 send out a party of piqueura to bring him in, or 
 clear the way of him." 
 
 " I had better tell her," said Jean Charost, 
 thoughtfully. "If there be danger, she will 
 judge of it better than I can." 
 
 " I will show you the way, sir — I will show 
 you the way," said the old major-domo, with 
 officious civility. "This way, if you please — 
 this way." 
 
 When again admitted to the presence of the 
 Duchess, Jean Charosl informed her that lie 
 had met with the Duke of Burgundy at 
 Pithiviers, but excused liis not haying men- 
 tioned the fact before on the ground of not ap-
 
 AGNES SOBEL. 45 
 
 prehending any danger in consequence of the 
 recent reconciliation of the honses of Burgundy 
 and Orleans. It soon became evident to him, 
 however, that all the friends and attendants of 
 the Duke of Orleans, although he himself had 
 seemed perfectly confident of his cousin's good 
 faith, looked upon the late reconciliation as but 
 a hollow deceit, which would be set at nought 
 by the Duke of Burgundy as soon as it suited 
 his convenience. The Duchess evidently shared 
 in this general feeling ; but still she determined 
 to pursue her first intention, and merely took 
 the precaution of ordering her escort to be 
 doubled. 
 
 " I believe," she said, " that not a man who 
 goes with me will not shed the last drop of 
 his blood in my defence. And you, too, 
 Monsieur de Brecy, will do the same, out of 
 love for my dear husband." 
 
 "Eight willingly, Madam," replied Jean 
 Charost ; " but I trust you may escape all 
 peril." 
 
 The Duchess soon dismissed him again, tell-
 
 1 1 . AGNES SOREL. 
 
 ing him tliat there would bo ample time for him 
 to take some repose, for that their prepara- 
 tions would not be complete till nearly mid- 
 night ; hut Jean ( 'barest contented himself 
 with a short sleep in a large arm-chair in the 
 hall, and then started up from the blessed, 
 dreamless slumber of youth, refreshed and 
 ready for new exertion. 
 
 About an hour after, the midnight march 
 began. The litter of the Princess, containing 
 herself and her youngest son, was drawn by 
 lour white mules ; but iu advance were eight 
 or ten men-at-arms, cased in plate armour, and 
 lance iu hand. A larger body followed i 
 litter; and on cither side of it rode several of 
 the noble retainers of the house of Orleans 
 more lightly armed, amougst whom Mas Jean 
 Charost. The moon shone out brightly; and, 
 as her pair lays fell upon the Duchess's lit ter, 
 with its white curtains, and upon another, 
 containing some of her female attendants, 
 and glistened upon the steel casques and 
 corslets of the men-at-arms as they wound
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 
 
 47 
 
 in and ont along the banks of the river, the 
 whole formed a scene strangely exciting to the 
 imagination of Jean Charost, who had seen 
 little, form any years, of anything like military 
 display. 
 
 The march passed quietly enough, and for 
 the first three or four days no incident of any 
 kind occurred which is worthy of detail. On 
 many occasions, the young secretary had the 
 opportunity of conversing with the Duchess ; 
 and her quiet gentleness, the strong, unshaken, 
 uncomplaining affection which she showed to- 
 wards her husband, with all his faults, to- 
 gether with native graces unhardened, and 
 personal beauty scarcely touched by time, made 
 Jean Charost marvel greatly at the wayward 
 heart of man, and ask himself, with doubt, and 
 almost fear, if ever he himself could be brought 
 to sport with or neglect the affections of a being 
 such as that. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Pithiviers it was 
 ascertained that the Duke of Burgundy had 
 retired from that part of the country two days
 
 48 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 before, turning his steps towards Paris; and 
 the Duchess of Orleans, freed from all appre- 
 hensions, sent baek the military part of her 
 escort to Blois, remarking with a smile to Jean 
 ( 'liarost — 
 
 •• I must not, except in case of need, go to 
 my husband with such a body of armed men, 
 as if 1 came to take his castle by storm." 
 
 " I can assure you, Madam,' 1 replied the 
 young secretary, Laying some emphasis on the 
 words, " you will find that it is surrendered to 
 you at discretion." 
 
 At their next halting-place, the litter stopped 
 about an hour before sunset. There were few 
 attendants around; the old major-domo was 
 somewhat slow in dismounting; and Jean 
 Charost, who was sooner on foot, drew back 
 the curtains to permit the Duchess to alight. 
 She had hardly set her foot to the ground, 
 however, when a hard, powerful hand was laid 
 upon the young secretary's shoulder, and a 
 hollow voice said, aloud — 
 
 "Young man. God will bless you. I find
 
 AGNES SOREL. 49 
 
 you are faithful and true amidst the false and 
 the deceitful." 
 
 Both the Duchess and Jean Charost turned 
 suddenly to look at the speaker. The latter re- 
 cognized hiin at once as the stranger whom he 
 had seen at Pithiviers, and on one occasion be- 
 fore ; but the Duchess drew a little back, mur- 
 niuring, with a look of alarm — 
 
 " Who is that person ?'' 
 
 " Strange to say, Madam," replied Jean ; "I 
 cannot tell your Highness. I have seen him 
 once or twice in somewhat singular circum- 
 stances ; but his name I do not know." 
 
 As soon as he had uttered the words above 
 mentioned, the stranger had crossed his arms 
 upon his breast, and moved away, hardly 
 noticed bv the attendants in the bustle of ar- 
 
 ml 
 
 rival ; but the Duchess followed him still with 
 her eyes ; and as she walked on, she repeated, 
 twice, the stranger's words — 
 
 " You are faithful and true amidst the false 
 and deceitful." 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 50 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Then, looking earnestly in Jean Charost's 
 face, she added — 
 
 " Will you be faithful and true to me, also, 
 young gentleman?" 
 
 "lam sure he will, mother," said her young 
 son, who was holding her hand. 
 
 Jean Charost replied — 
 
 " To all who trust me, I will be so, Madam. 
 When I am not, I pray God that I may die."
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 
 
 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 When within a few miles of the Chateau of 
 Beaute, Armand Chauvin was sent forward to 
 announce the near approach of the Duchess ; 
 and she herself, though the weather was still 
 intensely cold, notwithstanding the brightness 
 of the sunshine, ordered the curtains of the 
 litter to be looped up, in order that she might 
 see the castle before she actually reached it. 
 Her anxiety evidently increased as they came 
 nearer and nearer the dwelling of her husband ; 
 and who is there, after being long absent from 
 those they love, who does not, on approaching 
 the place of their abode, feel a strange, thril- 
 ling anxiety in regard to all that time may 
 have done ? It is at that moment, that the 
 uncertainty of human fate, the hourly peril of 
 d 2
 
 -Vj AGNES S0REL. 
 
 every happiness, the dark possibilities of every 
 moment of existence, seem to rush upon the 
 mind at once. I have often thought that, if 
 man could but know the giddy pinnacle upon 
 which his fortunes ever stand, the precipices 
 thai surround him on eveijy side, the perils 
 above, below, around, life would be intolerable. 
 But lie is placid in the midst of friendly mists 
 that conceal the abysses from his eye, and is 
 led on by a hand — in these mists equally un- 
 seen — which guides his steps aright, and 
 brings him heme at length. It is only the in- 
 tense anxiety of affection for those we love, 
 that ever wafts the vapors away, even for a 
 moment, and gives us a brief sight of the 
 dangers that surround OUT mortal being, while 
 the hand of the Almighty Guide remains eon- 
 i calcd, and but too often untrusted. 
 
 While still at some miles' distance l'rom the 
 Castle, the towers and pinnacles were seen 
 
 peeping over the shoulder of a wooded hill, 
 and then they were losl again, and seen, and 
 losl once mere. The Duchess beckoned up
 
 AGNES SOREL. -53 
 
 Jean Charost to the side of her litter, con- 
 versed with him some time, and asked him 
 many questions ; how long he had been with 
 the Duke, who commended him to her husband's 
 service, what was his family and his native 
 place. She asked, too, more particulars re- 
 garding her husband's health, and whether his 
 illness had been sudden, or announced by any 
 previous symptoms of declining health ; but 
 she asked not one question regarding his con- 
 duct, his habits, or any of his acts. She did 
 not need to ask, indeed ; but even if she had 
 not known too well, still she would have ab- 
 stained. 
 
 At length the hill was climbed, the wood 
 was passed, the gate of the Chateau of Beaute 
 was in view, with attendants already marshalled 
 on each side of the draw-bridge to honor the 
 Duchess's reception. As soon as the head of 
 her little escort appeared upon the road, a page 
 ran into the ward-room of the gate-tower, and, 
 the next instant, another figure came forth 
 with that of the boy, and advanced along the
 
 54 A«,M> SOREL. 
 
 bridge. Greatly to Jean Gharost'a joy and 
 satisfaction, he recognised tho fi^uv of the 
 Duke; and when he looked towards the 
 Duchess, he saw a blight and grateful (bop 
 sparkling in her eyes, which, in spite of a 
 struggle to repress it, rolled over and moistened 
 her cheek. 
 
 Another moment, and the Duke stood 
 beside the litter: the mules stopped; and, 
 bending forward, he cast his amis around his 
 wife. She Leaned her head upon his shoulder, 
 and there must have been tears ; but they Were 
 soon h;m is} icd, and all parties bore a look of 
 joy. -loan Charost could not help remarking, 
 however, that the Duke was very pale, and 
 looked older by some years than when he had 
 last seen him. Still one thing was very satis- 
 factory in his aspect to the eyes of the young 
 man. There was a gladness, a lightness of ex- 
 pression, an affectionate earnestness in his 
 greeting of the Duchess, which, from all he 
 
 had heard and knew, lie had not expected. 
 
 Great satisfaction, too, was manifested on the
 
 AGNES SOREL. 55 
 
 faces of all the elder attendants. Lomelini 
 looked quite radiant; and even Monsieur 
 Blaize forgot his ancient formality, and suffered 
 his face to overrun with well-pleased smiles. 
 He laid a friendly grasp, too, upon Jean 
 Charost's arm as the Duke and Duchess passed 
 into the Chateau ; and he walked on with him 
 across the court, saying, in a low voice — 
 
 " You have done a good service, my young 
 Mend, in bringing that lady back to this house; 
 a service which might well atone for a great 
 number of faults. She has not been here 
 for four years." 
 
 " I hope I have not accumulated many faults 
 to atone for, good sir," answered Jean Charost, 
 smilhig. "If I have, I am unconscious of 
 them." 
 
 " Oh, of course that is between you and 
 your own conscience," returned Monsieur 
 Blaize, in an off-hand kind of way. " It is no 
 business of mine." 
 
 "lam glad to hear, at least, that it is not 
 you I have offended," observed Jean Charost.
 
 5G AGNES SOIIEL. 
 
 u You were my first friend in the household, 
 Monsieur Ulaizej audi should be very sorry 
 to give you any cause for reproach." 
 
 " Oh, no, no," rejoined the old ecvyer. 
 " You have done nothing against me at all. 
 Dal as to the .Duchess ; how has she passed the 
 journey? Did she meet with any difficulty or 
 misadventure by the way ?" 
 
 " None whatever," answered the young 
 secretary. u None were apprehended, I pre- 
 sume." Then, judging Monsieur Blaize more 
 olear-sightedly than might have been expected 
 in so young a man, he added, " Had there been 
 any danger, of course the Duke- would have 
 sent yourself or some gentleman of military 
 experience." 
 
 Monsieur Blaize was evidently well satisfied 
 with the reply ; but still he rejoined — 
 
 "Perhaps, I could not well be spared from 
 this place, during his Highness's illness. We 
 were in great consternation here, I can tell 
 you, my young friend."
 
 AGNES SOREL. 57 
 
 " Has he been very ill, then ?" asked the 
 secretary. 
 
 " For two days after you were gone," replied 
 Monsieur Blarze, "no one thought to see him 
 rise from his bed again, and he himself 
 evidently thought his last hours were coming. 
 He sent for notaries, made his will, and was 
 driven at length to get a leech from Paris — a 
 very skilful man, indeed, who consulted the 
 moon, and the aspect of the stars, chose the 
 auspicious moment, gave him benzoin and 
 honey, besides a fever chink, and some drops, 
 of which he would not tell the secret, but 
 which we all believed to be potable gold. It 
 is wonderful the effect they had. He announced 
 boldly that, at the change of the moon on the 
 third day, the Duke would be better; and so 
 it proved. His Highness watched anxiously 
 for the minute, and, immediately the clock 
 struck, he declared that he felt relieved, to 
 our very great joy. Since that time, he has 
 continued to improve ; but he cannot be called 
 d 5
 
 58 AGNES >OREL. 
 
 well yet. And now, if you will take my ad- 
 vice, you will go and order yourself something 
 to eat at the buttery, and then lie down and 
 rest ; for you look as haggard and worn as an 
 old courtier. It was too heavy a task to put 
 upon a boy like you." 
 
 Jean Charost, during the whole of this con- 
 versation, had been carrying on in his own 
 mind, as we SO continually do, a separate train 
 or under-current of thought as to what could 
 he the faults which good Monsieur Blaixe 
 seemed to impute to him and he came very 
 naturally to conclusions which proved not Par 
 from the truth. There was but one point in his 
 whole history in regard to which there was 
 anything like mystery ; and he judged rightly, 
 
 t if men were inclined to attribute to hint 
 any evil act, they must fix upon that point as 
 a basis. lb' was determined to Learn more, if 
 possible, however; and, in reply to Monsieur 
 Blaize's advice to get i ; ><>d and rest, he said, 
 Laughingly — 
 
 " ( Mi, no, Monsieur Blaize. Before I either
 
 AGNES SOREL. 59 
 
 eat or sleep, I must go down to the hamlet, to 
 see my baby." 
 
 " Well, you speak of it coolly enough," ob- 
 served Monsieur Blaize. 
 
 " Why should I not ?" retorted Jean 
 Charost, quickly ; but the elder gentleman sud- 
 denly turned away and left him; and Jean 
 Charost was at once convinced that some 
 calumny had been circulated amongst the 
 household in regard to the child which had been 
 so strangely thrown upon his hands. By early 
 misfortunes and difficulties he had been taught 
 to decide rapidly and energetically ; and his 
 mind was soon made up on the present occasion, 
 to seek the first opportunity of telling his own 
 story to the Duke of Orleans, and explaining 
 everything, as far as it was in his power to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 In the meanwhile, however, as soon as he 
 had given some directions to Martin Grille, he 
 strolled to the hamlet, and sought out the house 
 of Madame Moulinet. He knocked first with 
 his hand, and, there being no answer, though
 
 CO AGNES SOItEL. 
 
 he thought he heard the voices of persons 
 within, he opened the door, and entered at once 
 into the kitchen. Madame Moulinet was Beated 
 (lure, with the child upon her knee ; but the 
 door on the opposite side of the room was 
 closing, just us Jean Charost went in, and he 
 (•audit a glance of a black velvet mantle before 
 it was actually shut. 
 
 "Howthrives tin 1 child, Madame Moulinet ?" 
 asked Jean Charost, looking down upon the 
 infant with a glance of interest, but with 
 none of that peculiar admiration which grown 
 women feel, and grown men often affect for a 
 very young baby. 
 
 The good woman assured him that the child 
 
 was doing marvellously; and Jean Charost then 
 
 proceeded to ask whether any one, during 
 
 absence, had been to visit or enquire after 
 
 it. 
 
 " Oh, a quantity of people from the castle, 
 sir," answered the good dame: "that saucy 
 young fellow De Royans amongst iho rest, and 
 old Monsieur Blaize, and the chaplain/ and the
 
 AGNES SOBEL. 61 
 
 fool, God wot. But besides those — " and she 
 dropped her voice to a lower tone — " one even- 
 ing, just as we were going to bed, there came a 
 strange, wild-looking gentleman, with long, 
 gray hair, who seemed so mad, he frightened 
 botli me and my husband. He asked a number 
 of questions. Then he stared at the child for 
 Ml five minutes, and cried out, at length — 
 ' Ay ! she doubtless looked once like that ;' 
 and then he threw down a purse upon the table, 
 with fifty gold crowns in it. So the little maid 
 has got her little fortune already." 
 
 " Did you not know him ?" asked Jean 
 Charost. 
 
 " I never saw him in my life before," replied 
 the woman; "and in truth I did not know 
 how to answer any one who asked me about 
 the child, as you were gone, and had not told 
 me what to say ; so all I could tell them was, 
 that you had brought her here, had paid well 
 for nursing her, and had commanded me to 
 take good care of her, in the name of my 
 father's old lord."
 
 G2 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 " And was Unit wild-looking man not your 
 lather's old loord?" asked Jean Charost, in a 
 tone of much surprise. 
 
 "Lord bless your heart, no, sir," replied 
 Madame Moulinet. " A hand's breadth taller, 
 and not half as stout — quite a different sort of 
 man altogether." 
 
 Jean ( 'harost mused in silence ; but he 
 asked no further questions, and shortly alter 
 returned to the Chateau. 
 
 In passing through the court-yard, the firs! 
 person the secretary encountered was Seigneur 
 Andre, the fool, who at once began upon the 
 subject of the child with a good deal of male- 
 volence. 
 
 " All, ha, Mr. Secretary," he said, kk I want 
 to roam the forests with you, and find out the 
 baby tree, that bears living acorns. On my 
 faith, the Duke ought to knight you with his 
 own hand, being the guide of ladies, and the 
 protector of orphans, the defender of women 
 and ehildivn."' 
 
 " My good friend,'' replied Jean Charost, " I
 
 AGNES SOREL. 63 
 
 think he ought to promote you also. I have 
 heard of a good many gentlemen of your pro- 
 fession ; but all the rest are mere pretenders, 
 compared with you. The others only call 
 themselves fools : you are one in reality." 
 
 With these tart words, excited as much per- 
 haps by some new feeling of doubt and per- 
 plexity in his own mind, as by the jester's evi- 
 dent ill-will towards him, he walked on and 
 sought his own chamber. 
 
 The rest of the day passed without any in- 
 cident worthy of notice, except some little 
 annoyance which the young secretary had to 
 endure from a very general feeling of ill-will 
 towards him amongst those who had been 
 longer in the service of the Duke of Orleans 
 than himself. He was unconscious, indeed, of 
 deserving it; but one of the painful lessons of the 
 world was being learned— namely, that success and 
 favor make bitter enemies ; and he had already 
 made some progress in the study. He took no 
 notice, therefore, of hints, jests, and insinua- 
 tions, but sought his own room as soon as sup-
 
 C4 AGNES SOliEL. 
 
 per was over, and remained reading for nearly 
 an hour. 
 
 At the end of that time, one of the Duke's 
 principal attendants entered, saying briefly — 
 
 " Monsieur de Brccy, his Highness has asked 
 to sec you in his toilet-chamber/' 
 
 Jean Charost followed immediately, and 
 found the Dnke seated in his furred dressing- 
 gown, as if prepared to retire to rest. His 
 face was -line, and there was a certain degree 
 of sternness about it, which Jean Charost had 
 never remarked there before. He spoke 
 kindly, however, and bade the young gentle- 
 man be seated. 
 
 "Ihearrrom the Duchess, my friend," he 
 said, " that you have well and earnestly exe- 
 cuted tli«' 'ask I gave yen to perform; and I 
 thank you. I wish, however, to hear some 
 more particular account of your journey from 
 your <»wn lip-. You arrived, it seems, at Blois 
 sooner than I imagined you could have accom- 
 plished the journey, You must have ridden 
 hard."
 
 AGNES S0REL. 65 
 
 " I lost no time, your Highness," answered 
 Jean Charost ; " but an event happened on the 
 road, which made me ride one whole night 
 without stopping, although the horses were 
 very tired. It is absolutely necessary, when 
 you have leisure, that I should relate to your 
 Highness all the particulars of that night's 
 adventure, as they may be of importance, the 
 extent of which I cannot judge." 
 
 The Duke smiled, with a well-pleased look. 
 
 " Tell me all about it now," he said. " I 
 shall not go to bed for an hour ; so we shall 
 have time enough." 
 
 Succinctly, but as clearly and minutely as 
 possible, Jean Charost related to the Prince all 
 that had occurred between himself and the 
 Duke of Burgundy, and took especial care to 
 mention his visit to the house of the Astrolo- 
 ger, and his having been guided by a stranger 
 on the way to Blois. The Duke listened, with 
 a countenance varying a good deal, sometimes 
 assuming an expression of deep, grave thought,
 
 GO agnes sorel. 
 
 and, at others, of gay, almost sarcastic, merri- 
 ment. At length he laughed outright. 
 
 " See what handles," he said, " men will 
 make of very little things ! But truth and 
 honesty will put down all. I am glad you 
 have frankly told me this, de Brecy." 
 
 Then he paused again for a minute or two, 
 and added abruptly — 
 
 " My good cousin of Burgundy — he was 
 always the most curious and inquisitive of men. 
 I do believe this was all curiosity, my friend. 
 I do not think he meant you any evil, or me 
 either. lie wanted to know all ; for he is a 
 very suspicious man." 
 
 " I think, sir, he is one of the most disa- 
 greeable men I ever saw," remarked Jean Cha- 
 rost. " Even his condescension had something 
 scornful in it." 
 
 " And yet, de Brecy," replied the Duke, 
 "out of this very simple affair of your meeting 
 with John of Burgundy, there be people who 
 would fain have manufactured a charge against 
 you."
 
 AGNES S0REL. 67 
 
 Jean Charost gazed in the Duke's face with 
 some surprise, never having dreamed that the 
 intelligence of what had occurred on the road 
 could have reached him so soon. 
 
 " I am surprised that Armand should at- 
 tribute any evil to me, sir," he said ; " for he 
 must have seen how eager I was to escape." 
 
 " Acquit poor Amiand," said the Duke. 
 " He had nothing to do with the affair ; but 
 you have enemies in this house, de Brecy, 
 who will find that their master understands 
 courts and courtiers, and will never shake my 
 good opinion of you so long as you are honest 
 and frank with me. They set on that mali- 
 cious fool Andre to pick out some mischief from 
 Armand Chauvin. He got him to relate all 
 that had happened ; and then, when I sent for 
 the fool to divert me for half-an-hour, he told 
 me, with his wise air, that you had had a secret 
 interview with the Duke of Burgundy which 
 lasted several hours. It is strange, how near 
 half a truth sometimes comes to a whole lie ! 
 They have not been wanting in censoriousness
 
 08 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 during your absence. Nevertheless, I doubt 
 uot you could explain all their tales as 
 easily as you have done this. Even if you 
 have committed some slight indiscretion, I have 
 no right to tax you. Well, well ; good night ! 
 Some day I will say something more ; as your 
 friend — as one who has more experience — as 
 one who has suffered, if he has sinned." 
 
 " I thank your Highness," replied Jean Cha- 
 rost, "and will not presume to intrude upon 
 you farther to-night; but there is one matter 
 of much importance to myself — none to your 
 Highness — which I would fain communicate to 
 you, for counsel and direction in my inexperi- 
 ence, when you can give me a few minutes' 
 audience." 
 
 "Ha !" said the Duke; but, as he spoke, the 
 clock of the castle struck eleven ; and saying, 
 "To-morrow morning — to-morrow morning, I 
 will send for you," he Buffered the young 
 secretary to retire.
 
 AGNES S0REL. 69 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 In the court-yard of the Chateau of Beaute — a 
 long but rather narrow paralellogram — were 
 assembled most of the male members of the 
 Duke of Orleans' household, two days after the 
 return of Jean Charost from Blois. Some were 
 on horseback, and some on foot ; nine or ten of 
 the younger men were armed with a long ash- 
 staff shaped somewhat like a lance ; while the 
 rest of the party were in their ordinary riding- 
 dresses, with no arms but the customary sword 
 and dagger. All these were gathered together 
 at one end of the court, while a trumpeter, 
 holding his trumpet, with its bell-shaped mouth 
 leaning on his hip, was placed a little in ad- 
 vance. 
 
 At the other end of the court stood a tall 
 column of wood — perhaps six feet in height —
 
 70 AGXES SOREL, 
 
 surmounted by a grotesque-looking carved 
 image, representing the upper part of a man, 
 with both arms extended, and a long heavy, 
 cudgel in each hand. After a moment's pause, 
 and a consultation amongst the elder heads, one 
 of the inferior servants was sent forward for 
 purposes that will speedily be shown, to act as 
 what was called Master of the Quintain ; but 
 he took care to place himself beyond the sweep 
 of the cudgel in tho hand of the imago so 
 called. 
 
 The sport about to begin was of veiy ancient 
 date, and had been generally superseded by 
 more graceful exercises. But the Duke of 
 Orleans was very fond of old customs, and had 
 revived many chivalrous sports which had fallen 
 out of use. 
 
 At a signal from Monsieur Blaize, who was 
 on foot, the trumpeter put his instrument of 
 noise to his lips, and blew a blast, which, 
 well understood, ranged the young cavaliers 
 instantly in line, and then, after a moment's 
 pause, sounded a charge. One of the party
 
 AGNES S0REL. 71 
 
 instantly sprang forward, lance in rest, towards 
 the Quintain, aiming directly at the centre of 
 the head of the figure. He was quite a young 
 lad, and his arm not very steady ; so that he 
 somewhat missed his mark, and struck the 
 figure on the cheek. Moying on a pivot, the 
 Quintain whirled roimd under the blow, with 
 the arms still extended ; and, as the horse car- 
 ried the youth on, he must have received a tre- 
 mendous stroke from the wooden cudgel on his 
 back had he not bent down to his horse's neck, 
 so that the blow passed over him. Some 
 laughed ; but Juvenel de Eoyans, who was the 
 next but one to follow, exclaimed aloud — 
 
 " That's not fail-." 
 
 " Quite fair, I think,'' replied Jean Charost, 
 who was near. 
 
 " What do you know about it ?" cried the 
 other, impetuously. " Keep yourself to pens 
 and things you understand." 
 
 " I may, perhaps, understand it better than 
 you, Monsieur de Eoyans," replied Jean Cha-
 
 72 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 rost, quite calmly. "It is the favorite game 
 at Bourgcs, and we consider that the next best 
 point to liitting the Quintain straight, is to 
 avoid the oIoav." 
 
 " That's the coward's point, I suppose," 
 said Juvcnel de Royans. 
 
 " Hush, hush !" cried Monsieur Blaize. 
 u Silence, sir ! Sound again, trumpet !" 
 
 Another ran his course, struck the Quintain 
 better, but did not dismount it. De Royans 
 succeeded, striking the figure right in the 
 middle of the forehead, and shaking the whole 
 post, but still leaving the wooden image stand- 
 in^ 
 
 The great Peal of the game was, not only to 
 aim the spear so fair as to avoid turning the 
 figure in the Least, but so low that the least 
 raising of the point at the same time threw it 
 backward from its pivot. But this Avas a some- 
 what dangerous manoeuvre ; for the chest of 
 the image being quite flat, and unmarked by 
 any central point, the least deviation to the
 
 AGNES SOREL. 73 
 
 right or left swung round one of the cudgels 
 with tremendous force ; and de Eoyans did not 
 venture to attempt it. 
 
 Jean Charost, however, who as a mere boy 
 had been trained to the exercise by his father, 
 aimed right at the breast ; but he paid for his 
 temerity by a severe blow which called forth a 
 shout of laughter from de Eoyans and his com- 
 panions. Others followed, who fared as badly 
 without daring as much. 
 
 Every time the Quintain was moved, the ser- 
 vant, who had been sent forward, re-adjusted it 
 with the greatest care ; and when each of the 
 young men had run his course, the troop com- 
 menced again. The rivalry between de Eoyans 
 and de Brecy was by this time a well under- 
 stood thing in the Chateau ; and little heed was 
 paid to the running till it came to the turn of 
 the former. He then, with a sort of mock 
 courtesy, besought Jean Charost to take his turn, 
 saying— 
 
 "You are the superior officer, sir; and, to 
 
 VOL. i. e
 
 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 Bay truth, I would fain learn that dexterous 
 trick of yours, if you venture upon it again." 
 
 " I certainly shall," retorted Jean Charost ; 
 " and I shall be happy to teach you that, or 
 better things. I will run first. The figure is 
 not straight," he continued, calling to the 
 Master of the Quintain. "Advance the right 
 arm an inch." 
 
 There was some little dispute as to whether 
 the figure was straight or not ; but, in the end, 
 the trumpet again sounded. Jean ( "harost, 
 with a better aim, hit the figure in the middle 
 of the chest, and, raising his arm lightly at the 
 same instant, threw it back upon the ground. 
 Then, wheeling Ins horse, while the servant re- 
 placed the Quintain^ ho returned to his post. 
 
 lint no one said "Well done!" except 
 Monsieur Blaize ; Juvenel do Royans bit his 
 lip, and a rod spot was on his cheek. 
 
 Rash, confident, and angry, he took no pains 
 t,, soo that the figure was exactly straight, bnl 
 dashed forward when the trumpet sounded, re- 
 solved not to be outdone, and aiming directly at
 
 AGNES SOREI. 75 
 
 the chest. Whether his horse swerved, or the 
 figure was not well adjusted, I do not know ; 
 but he hit it considerably to the right of the 
 centre ; and, as he was carried forward, the 
 merciless cudgel struck him a blow on the back 
 of the neck, which hurled him out of the sad- 
 dle to the ground. 
 
 Jean Charost did not laugh ; but he could 
 not refrain from a smile, which caught de 
 Royans's eyes as he led his horse back again. 
 The latter was dizzy and confused, however ; 
 and, for a moment after he had given his horse 
 to a servant, he stood gnawing his lip, without 
 uttering a word to any one. At length, 
 as the others were running their courses, he 
 walked up to the horse of Jean Charost, who 
 was now a little apart from the rest ; and some 
 quick words and meaning glances were seen to 
 pass between them. Their voices grew louder; 
 de Eoyans touched the hilt of his sword, and 
 Jean Charost nodded his head, saying something 
 in a low tone. 
 
 e 2
 
 76 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 " For shanie ! for shame !" ejaculated Mon- 
 sieur Blaize, approaching; but, ere he could 
 add more, a casement just above their heads 
 was opened, and the voice of the Duke of Or- 
 leans was heard. 
 
 " Juvenel de Royans," he said, " have 
 you any inclination for a dungeon ? There are 
 cells to fit you under the castle ; and, as I live, 
 you shall enjoy one if you broil in my house- 
 hold. I know you, sir ; so be warned. De 
 Brecy, come up here ; I want you." 
 
 Jean Charost immediately dismounted, gave 
 his horse to Martin Grille, and ascended to the 
 gallery from which the Duke of Orleans had 
 been watching the sports of the morning. It 
 was a large room, communicating by a door in 
 the midst, and a small vestibule, with that 
 famous picture-gallery which has been already 
 i Mentioned. Voices were heard talking beyond ; 
 luil the Duke, after his secretary's ar- 
 rival, continued, for a few minutes, walking up 
 and doAvn the same chamber in which Jean
 
 AGNES SOREL. 77 
 
 Charost found him, leaning lightly upon his 
 arm. 
 
 " I know not how it is, my young Mend," 
 he said, in a sort of musing tone ; " but the 
 people here are clearly [not very fond of you. 
 However, I must insist that you take no notice 
 whatever of that peevish boy, de Koyans." 
 
 "lam most willing, sir," said Jean Charost, 
 " to live at peace with him and every one else, 
 provided he and they will leave me at peace 
 likewise. I have given neither him nor them 
 any matter for offence ; and yet I will ac- 
 knowledge, that, since my first entrance into 
 your Highness's household, I have met with 
 .little but emnity from any but good Monsieur 
 Blaize, and Signor Lomelini, who are both, I 
 believe, my friends." 
 
 The Duke mused very gravely, and then re- 
 plied, 
 
 " I know not how it is. To me it seems that 
 there is nothing in your demeanour and conduct 
 but that which should inspire kindness, and even 
 respect. And yet," he continued, after a
 
 78 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 moment's pause, his face brightening with a 
 gay, intelligent smile, not uncommon upon it 
 when that acnteness, which formed one point in 
 his very varied character, was aroused from the 
 slumber into which it sometimes fell, by some 
 accidental circumstance, " and yet I am a fool 
 to say I do not know how it is. I do know 
 right well, my young friend. Men of power 
 and station do not enough consider that all who 
 surround them are more or less engaged in a 
 race where rivalry necessarily deviates into 
 enmity ; and their favor, wherever it is given, 
 is followed by the ill-will of many towards 
 the single possessor. The more just and the 
 more generous of the competitors content 
 themselves with what they can obtain, or, at 
 all events, do not deny some portion of merit 
 ton more fortunate rival; but the baser and 
 the meaner spirits, and they are the most 
 numerous, not only envy but hate, not only hate 
 but calumniate." 
 
 " I am most grateful, sir, for all your kind- 
 ness towards me," returned Jean Charost ; u but
 
 AGNES SOREL. 79 
 
 I cannot at all attribute the enmity of Monsieur 
 de Koyans, or any of the rest, to jealousy of 
 your favor; for, from the moment I entered 
 your household, it was the same." 
 
 "Oil and water do not easily mix," an- 
 swered the Duke. " The qualities for whicli 
 I esteem you, make them hate you. Not that 
 your character and mine are at all alike — very, 
 very different. But there be some substances, 
 which, though most opposite to others, easily 
 mingle with them : others which, with more 
 apparent similarity, are totally repugnant. 
 Your feelings are not my feelings, your 
 thoughts not my thoughts; yet I can com- 
 prehend and appreciate you. These men can- 
 not." 
 
 " I am afraid, sir," observed Jean Charost, 
 "that I owe your good opinion more to a 
 prepossession in my favor than to any merito- 
 rious acts of my own — for indeed I have had 
 no opportunity of serving you." 
 
 " Yes, you have greatly served me," returned 
 the Duke. " Not perhaps by acts, but by
 
 80 AGXES SOREL. 
 
 words, which prove often the greatest service. 
 He who influences a man's mind, affects him 
 more than he who influences his more earthly 
 fortunes. I have often thought," he continued, 
 in a musing tone, " that we are never suffi- 
 ciently grateful to those by whose writings, by 
 whose example, by whose speech, our hearts, our 
 feelings, and our reason, have been formed and 
 perfected. The mind has a fortune as well as 
 the body, and the latter is inferior to the former. 
 — But set your mind at rest. Your detractors 
 cannot affect my opinion towards you. There is 
 but one thing which has puzzled mc a little — this 
 child which they tell me has been placed by 
 you at one of the cottages hard by. I would 
 fain know who are its parents." 
 
 " On that subject I can tell your Highness 
 nothing," replied Jean Charost; " but the whole 
 history, as far as I can give it, I will give." 
 
 "Hush!" exclaimed the Duke, looking to- 
 wards the picture gallery, the door from which 
 was opened by the Duchess at that moment. 
 
 " There is nothing, sir, that I am afraid, or
 
 AGXES SOREL. 81 
 
 ashamed, to tell before the Duchess," asserted 
 Jean Charost. " The case may be strange, but, 
 as far as it affects me, it is a very simple one." 
 
 " Well, then," said the Duke, turning 
 towards the Duchess, who was advancing slowly 
 and somewhat timidly, " you shall speak on, 
 and your narrative shall be our morning's amuse- 
 ment." 
 
 His whole air changed in a moment, and, 
 with a gay and sparkling look, he said to the 
 Duchess : 
 
 " Come hither, my sweet wife, and assist at 
 the trial of this young offender. He is charged 
 before me of preaching rather than practising — 
 of frowning like a Franciscan on all the light 
 offences of love ; and yet, what think you ? I 
 am told he has a fair young lady who has fol- 
 lowed him hither, and is boarded by him in one 
 of the cottages just below the Castle, when, I 
 do believe that, were I but to give a glance at 
 any pretty maiden, I should have as sour a look 
 as antique abbess ever gave to wavering nun." 
 e 5
 
 82 A (INKS SOREL. 
 
 The Duchess looked in Jean GharOst's face 
 for an instant, and then said: 
 
 " I'll be his surety, sir, that the tale is 
 
 lalsc./' 
 
 " Not so, indeed, your Highness," interposed 
 Jean Charost. " The tale is mostly true ; but 
 the Duke should have added that this fail- maid 
 < annot be three months old." 
 
 " Worse and worse!" cried the Duke. " You 
 cannot escape penance for one sin, my friend, 
 by pleading a still greater one. But tell us how 
 all tin's happened, Let us hear your defence." 
 
 " It is a plain and true one, sir," persisted 
 Jean Charost. " The very morning after oiu 
 arrival here, I rode out for exercise, accom- 
 panied only hy my? lacquey, Martin Grille. In 
 a wood, perhaps four miles distant, we saw the 
 smoke of a fire rising up, not far from the road. 
 My man is city-born, and full of city fears. He 
 fancied thai every tree concealed a plunderer ; 
 and though lie did not infect me with his ap- 
 prehensions, lie excited my curiosity about this 
 fire. So — "
 
 AGNES SOREL. 83 
 
 " Judging that a fire must have some one to 
 light it," interrupted the Duke, "you went to see. 
 That much has been told in every nook of the 
 house, from the garret to the guest-chamber. 
 What happened next ?" 
 
 " I tracked the mark of horses," continued 
 Jean Charost, "from the road through the wood, 
 some hundred yards amongst the bushes, catch- 
 ing the smoke still rising blue amongst the 
 dark brown trees, and of course appearing 
 nearer as I went. I heard people talking loud, 
 too, and therefore fancied that I could get still 
 nearer without being seen. But suddenly two 
 men, who were lying hidden hard by the path 
 I had taken, started out and seized me, crying : 
 1 Here is a spy, a spy !' A number of others 
 rushed up, shouting and swearing, and I was 
 soon dragged on to the spot where the fire was 
 lighted, which was a small open space beneath 
 an old beech tree. There I found some three 
 or four others lying on the snow, all fully 
 armed but one. Horses were standing tied 
 around. A lance was here and there leaning
 
 84 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 acainst the trees, and battle-axes and maces 
 were at many a saddle-bow ; but I must say 
 that the harness was somewhat rusty, and the 
 faces of my new acquaintances were not very clean 
 or trimmed. The one who was without weapons, 
 and who I supposed was a prisoner like myself, 
 stood before the fire with his arms crossed on his 
 chest. He was a tall man of middle age ; Ins 
 hair was grey ; he was somewhat plainly dressed, 
 but had an air of stern, grave dignity not 
 easily forgotten." 
 
 " Had he no arms at all ?" asked the Duke. 
 
 " None whatever, sir," replied Jean Charost. 
 " Not even sword or dagger. One large, bulky 
 man, lying as quietly on the snow as if it had 
 been a bed of down, had his feet to the fire, 
 and resting between them I saw, to my sur- 
 prise, a young child, well wrapped up, with 
 nothing but the face peeping out, and sleeping 
 soundly on a bed of pine branches. I should 
 weary your Highness with all that happened. At 
 first, it seemed that they would take my life, 
 vowing that 1 had come to spy out their move-
 
 AGNES SOKEL. 85 
 
 ments. Then they would have had me go 
 with them, and make one of their band, giving 
 me the choice of that or death. As I chose 
 the latter, they were about to inflict it with- 
 out much ceremony, when the unarmed man 
 interfered in a tone of authority I had not ex- 
 pected to hear him use. He commanded them, 
 in short, to desist ; and, after whispering for 
 a moment or two with the bulky man I have 
 mentioned, he pointed to the child, and told 
 me that if I would swear most solemnly to 
 guard and protect her, to be a father to her, 
 and to see that she was nourished and educated 
 in innocence and truth, thev would let me 
 
 " Did you know the man ?" asked the Duke 
 of Orleans, with a look of more interest than 
 he had before displayed. 
 
 " Xo, sir," replied the young secretary. "A 
 faint, very faint recollection of having somewhere 
 seen a face like his, I assuredly did feel ; but 
 he certainly seemed to know me, spoke of me 
 as one attached to your Highness, and asked
 
 80 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 how long I had left Paris. His words were 
 wild and whirling, indeed: a few sentences 
 lie would speak connectedly enough ; but they 
 seemed forced from him as if with pain, while 
 lie strained his eye upon the fire, or upon the 
 ground. As soon as they were uttered, he re- 
 lapsed into silence." 
 
 " lie was some merchant, perhaps," said 
 the Duke. " Some one who has dealings with 
 our friend Jacques Cceur." 
 
 " He was no merchant, sir," answered Jean 
 Charost; "but, T think, if over I did sec 1 him 
 before, it must have been with Jacques (Vur ; 
 for he had dealings with many men of high 
 degree-; and I doubt not that this person, hew- 
 ever plain his garb, and strange his demeanour, 
 is a man of noble blood, and a high name." 
 
 The JTOUng man paused, as if there were 
 more to lie said, which he hesitated to utter ; 
 and then, after giving a rather anxious 
 glance towards the Duchess, he added — 
 
 "I may remember more incidents hereafter, 
 sir, which I will not fail to tell you."
 
 AGNES S0REL. 87 
 
 " Did he give vou no sign or token with this 
 child," asked the Duke, " by which one may 
 trace her family and history ? Did he tell you 
 nothing of her parents ?" 
 
 "He said he was not her father," replied 
 Jean Charost, gravely; "but that was all the 
 information he afforded. He gave me this ring, 
 too," continued the young man, producing one, 
 " and a purse of gold-pieces to pay for her 
 nourishment." 
 
 The Duke took the ring, and examined it 
 carefully ; but it was merely a plain gold circle 
 without any distinctive mark. ^Nevertheless, 
 Jean Charost thought his master's hand shook 
 a little as he held the ring ; and the Duchess, 
 who was looking over her husband's shoulder, 
 said — 
 
 "It is a strange story. Pray tell me. 
 Monsieur de Brecy, was this gentleman the 
 same who spoke to you at the inn-door upon 
 the road ?" 
 
 " The same, Madam," replied Jean Charost. 
 
 "Who was he? Did you ever see him
 
 ss AGNES SOREL. 
 
 before ?" asked the Duke, turning towards his 
 wifo with an eager look. 
 
 " Never," answered the Duchess. " But he 
 was a very singular and distinguished-looking 
 man. He was a gentleman assuredly ; and, I 
 should think, a soldier ; for he had a deep scar 
 upon the forehead, which cut straight through 
 the right eyebrow." 
 
 The Duke returned the ring to Jean Charost 
 in silence ; but, the moment after, he turned so 
 deadly pale, that the Duchess exclaimed — 
 
 " You are ill, my Lord. You have exerted 
 yourself too much to-day. You forget your 
 late sickness, and how weak you are." 
 
 " No, no," replied the Duke. " I feel some- 
 what faint : it will pass by in a moment. Let 
 us go into the picture-gallery. I will sit down 
 therein the sunshine." 
 
 Without a word, the Duchess put her arm 
 through his, and led him onward thither, 
 making a sign to Jean Charost to follow ; and 
 the Duke, seating himself in a large chair, 
 gazed over the walls still marked by a lighter
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 89 
 
 color here and there, where a picture had 
 lately hung. 
 
 " These walls must be cleaned, " he said, at 
 length, "though I doubt if the traces can ever 
 be obliterated." 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered the Duchess, in a 
 tone of sportive tenderness; "there is no 
 trace of any of man's acts, which cannot be 
 effaced either by his own deeds, or his friends' 
 efforts, or his God's forgiveness." 
 
 She spoke to his thoughts, rather than to his 
 words ; and the Duke took her hand, and 
 pressed his lips upon it. Then, turning to Jean 
 Charost, he pointed to the picture of the 
 Duchess, saying — 
 
 " Is not that one worthy to remain, when all 
 the rest are gone ?" 
 
 " Most worthy, sir," replied the young 
 secretary, a little puzzled what to answer. 
 " The others were mere daubs to that." 
 
 " What, then you saw them ?" said the 
 Duchess.
 
 90 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 " His hands burnt them," replied the Duke. 
 
 " That strange man whom we met," rejoined 
 the Duchess, " declared that he was faithful 
 and true, where all were false and deceitful ; 
 and so he will be to us, Louis. Trust him, my 
 husband — trust him !" 
 
 "I will," replied the Duke. "But here 
 comes Lomelini." 
 
 The Duchess drew herself up, cast off the 
 tender kindliness of her look, and assumed a 
 cold and icy stateliness ; and the Duke, inclin- 
 ing his head to Jean Charost, added — 
 
 " Leave us now, my young friend. This 
 afternoon or evening I shall have need of you. 
 Then we will speak farther. So be not far 
 off." 
 
 Jean Charost bowed and retired ; and, turn- 
 ing to the maitre (V hotel, the Duke said, in a 
 low voice — 
 
 " Set Blarze, or some one whom you can 
 trust, to watch that young man. High words 
 have passed between him and Juvencl de 
 Royans. See that notlring comes of it. If
 
 AGNES S0REL. 91 
 
 you remark anything suspicious, confine de 
 Eoyans to his chamber, and set a guard." 
 
 " Does your Highness mean de Eoyans 
 alone, or both ?" asked Lomehni, softly. 
 
 " De Eoyans," " answered the Duke, sharply : 
 " the one in fault, sir — the one always in 
 fault. See my orders in train of execution, and 
 then return."
 
 92 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 All great events are made up of small inci- 
 dents. The world is composed of atoms, and 
 so is Fate. A man pulling a small bit of iron 
 under a gmi performs an act, abstractedly, of 
 not much greater importance than a lady when 
 she pins her dress ; but let this small incident 
 be combined with three other facts — that of 
 there being a cartridge in the gun ; that of 
 there being twenty thousand men opposite — that 
 of all pulling their triggers at the same mo- 
 ment ; and you have the glorious event of a great 
 battle, with its long sequence of misery and 
 joy, glory and shame, affecting the world per- 
 haps to the end of time. 
 
 Two little incidents occurred at the Chateau 
 of Beaut e dining the day, the commencement 
 of which we have just noticed, not apparently 
 very worthy of remark, but which, 
 nevertheless, must be noted down in this
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 93 
 
 accurate piece of chronology. The first was the 
 arrival of a courier, whose face Jean Charost 
 knew, though it was some time before he could 
 fix it to the neck and shoulders of a man whom 
 he had seen at Pithiviers, not in the colours of 
 the house of Burgundy, but in those of fair 
 .Madame de Giac. The letter he bore was ad- 
 dressed to the Duke of Orleans ; and it evidently 
 troubled him — threw him into a fit of musing 
 — occupied his thoughts for some moments — 
 and made the Duchess anxious lest evil news 
 had reached her lord. 
 
 He did not tell her the contents of the note, 
 however, nor return any answer at the time ; 
 but sent the man away with largesse, saying he 
 would write. 
 
 The next incident was another arrival, namely, 
 of a party of three or four gentlemen from Paris, 
 who were invited to stay at the Chateau of 
 Beaute that night, and who supped with the 
 Duke and Duchess in the great hall. The 
 Duke's face was exceedingly cheerful, and his 
 health was evidently improved since the morn-
 
 04 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 ing, when some secret cause seemed to have 
 moved and depressed him a good deal. 
 
 The conversation principally turned upon the 
 events which had lately taken place in Paris. 
 They were generally of little moment ; but one 
 piece of intelligence the strangers brought was 
 evidently, to the Duke at least, of greater im- 
 portance than the rest. The guests reported 
 confidently that the unhappy King Charles the 
 Sixth had shown decided symptoms of one of 
 those periodical returns to reason which 
 chequered, with occasional bright gleams, his 
 dark and melancholy career. The Duke seemed 
 greatly pleased, mused upon the tidings, 
 questioned his informant closely ; but uttered 
 not his own thoughts, whatever they might be, 
 and retired to rest at an early hour. 
 
 During the whole of that day, without ab- 
 senting himself for any length of time from his 
 own apartments, Jean Charost wandered a good 
 deal about the castle, and, to say sooth, looked 
 rather impatiently for Juvenel dc Eoyans in 
 every place where he was likely to be met with.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 95 
 
 He did not see him anywhere, however ; and, 
 on asking Signor Lomelini where he should 
 find that young gentleman, he was informed, 
 dryly, that Monsieur cle Eoyans was particularly 
 engaged in some affairs of the Duke's, and 
 would not like to be disturbed. 
 
 The evening passed dully for Jean Charost ; 
 for he confined himself almost entirely 
 to his own apartments, expecting every 
 moment that the prince would send for him ; 
 but in this he was disappointed. He did not 
 venture to retire to rest till nearly midnight ; 
 but then he slept as soundly as in life's happiest 
 days, and he was only awakened in the morn- 
 ing by the sound of a trumpet announcing, as 
 he rightly judged, the departure of the preced- 
 ing evening's guests. 
 
 He was dressing himself slowly and quietly 
 when Martin Grille bustled into the room, ex- 
 claiming : 
 
 " Quick, sir, quick ! or you will have no 
 breakfast. Have you not heard the news?" 
 The Duke sets out in half-an-hour for Paris,
 
 9G AGNES SOREL. 
 
 and you will be wanted of course. Half the 
 household stays here with the Duchess. We go 
 with twenty lances and the lay brethren, of 
 wliich class — praised be God for all things — 
 you and I may consider ourselves." 
 
 " I have had no commands," replied Jean 
 Charost ; " but I will be ready at all events." 
 
 Not many minutes elapsed, however, be- 
 fore a notification reached him that he would 
 be required to accompany the Prince to the 
 capital. All speed was made, and breakfast 
 hastily eaten ; but haste was unnecessary ; for 
 an hour or two elapsed before the cavalcade set 
 out, and it did not reach Paris till towards the 
 close of day. 
 
 The Duke looked fatigued ; and, as he dis- 
 mounted in the court-yard of his hotel, he 
 called Lomelini to him, saying — 
 
 " Let me have some refreshment in my own 
 chamber, LomeUni : send to the Prior of 
 the Celcstins, saying I wish to sec him to-mor- 
 row at noon. There will be a banquet, too, at 
 night. Twelve persons will be invited, of high
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 97 
 
 degree. De Brecy, I have something to say 
 to you." 
 
 He then walked on up the steps into the 
 house,' Jean Charost following closely ; and, after 
 a moment or two, he turned, saying in a low 
 voice — 
 
 " Come to me as the clock strikes nine — come 
 privately — by the toilet-chamber door. Enter 
 at once without knocking." 
 
 Several of the other attendants were follow- 
 ing at some distance ; but the Duke spoke 
 almost in a whisper, and Iris words were not 
 heard. Jean Charost bowed, and fell back ; 
 but Lomelini, who had now become exceedingly 
 affectionate again to the young secretary, said, 
 in his ear — 
 
 M Come and sivp in my room in half an hour. 
 They will fare but ill in the hall to-night ; for 
 nothing is prepared here ; but we will contrive 
 to do better." 
 
 A few minutes afterwards, the Duke having 
 been conducted to his chamber door, the atten- 
 
 VOL. II F
 
 93 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 dants separated, and Jean Charost betook him- 
 self to his own rooms, where Martin Grille was 
 already busily engaged in arranging his apparel 
 in the large fixed coffers with which each 
 chamber was furnished. There was a sort of 
 nervous anxiety in the good man's manner, 
 which struck his master the moment he entered ; 
 but, laying his sword on the table, and seating 
 himself by it, Jean Charost fell into a quiet 
 and somewhat pleasant fit of musing, just suf- 
 ficiently awake to external things to remark 
 that ever and anon Martin stopped his work, 
 and save a quick glance at his face. At length 
 Jean rose, made some change in his apparel, 
 removed the traces of travel from his person; 
 and buckled on his sword again. 
 
 "Pray, sir," said Martin Grille, in a tone 
 of fear and trepidation, "pray, sir, don'1 go 
 through the little hall; for that boisterous, good- 
 for-nothing bully, Juveiiel dc Royans, is there 
 all alone, watching for you, I am sure, lie 
 Mas freed from his arrest this morning, and 
 \\<»uld have fallen upon you on the road, I dare
 
 AGNES S0REL. 99 
 
 say, if there had not been so many persons 
 round." 
 
 " His arrest !" echoed Jean Charost. " How 
 came he in arrest?" 
 
 " On account of his quarrel with you yester- 
 day morning, Monsieur de Brecy," replied 
 Martin Grille. " Did you not know it ? All 
 the household heard of it." 
 
 u I have been deceived," answered Jean Cha- 
 rost. "Signor Lomelini told me he was engaged 
 when I enquired for him. But you are mis- 
 taken, Martin : a few sharp words do not 
 make exactly a quarrel, and there was no need 
 of placing de Eoyans under arrest. It was a 
 very useless precaution ; so much so, indeed, 
 that I think you must be mistaken. He must 
 have given some offence to the Duke :. he gave 
 none to me that could not easily be settled." 
 
 He then paused for a moment or two m 
 thought, and added — 
 
 " Wait here till I return, and if de Eoyans 
 should come, tell him I am supping with Signor 
 f 2
 
 100 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 LDmelini, but will be back soon. Do as I 
 order you, and make no remonstrance, if you 
 please." 
 
 Thus saying, he left the room, and bent his 
 steps at once towards the little hall, leaving, at 
 some distance on the right, the great dining- 
 hall, from which loud sounds of merriment 
 were breaking forth. lie hardly expected to 
 find Juvenel de Eoyans still in the place where 
 Martin Grille had seen him ; for the sound of 
 gay voices was ever capable of leading him away. 
 On opening the door, however, the faint light 
 in the room showed him a figure at the other 
 end, beyond the table, moodily pacing to and 
 fro from one side of the room to the other ; and 
 Jean Charost needed no second glance to tell 
 him who it was. He advanced directly towards 
 him, taking a diagonal line across the hall, so 
 that dc Eoyans could not suppose he was 
 merely passing through. 
 
 The young man instantly halted, and faced 
 him ; but Jean Charost spoke first, saying, 
 
 H My varlet told me, Monsieur de Eoyans,
 
 AGXES S0REL. 101 
 
 that you were here alone ; and, as I could not 
 find you yesterday, when I sought for you, I 
 am glad of the opportunity of speaking a few 
 words with you." 
 
 " Sought for me I" cried de Eoyans. " Me- 
 thinks no one ought to have known better 
 where I was than yourself." 
 
 " You are mistaken," replied Jean Charost. 
 " I asked Signor Lomelini where I could find 
 you, and he told me you would be occupied 
 all day in some business of the Duke's." 
 
 " The lying old pander !" exclaimed de 
 Eoyans, bitterly. " But our business may be 
 soon settled, de Brecy. If you are inclined to 
 risk a thrust here, I am for you. No place 
 makes any difference in my eyes." 
 
 " In mine it does," replied Jean Charost, 
 very quietly. 
 
 " You are not a coward, I suppose," cried 
 the young man, impetuously. 
 
 " I believe not," replied Jean Charost ; "and 
 there are few things that I should be less afraid 
 of than risking a thrust with you, Monsieur de
 
 102 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Royans, in any proper place and circumstances. 
 Here, in a royal house, you ought to be well 
 aware, we should subject ourselves, by broiling, 
 to disgraceful punishment; and we can well 
 afford to wait for a more fitting opportunity, 
 which I will not fail to give you, if you desire 
 it." 
 
 " Of course I desire it," replied Juvcnel do 
 Royans. 
 
 " I do not see the ' of course,' " replied 
 Jean Charost. " I have never injured you in 
 any thing, never insulted you in any way — 
 have borne, perhaps too patiently, injury and 
 insult from you, and have certainly the most 
 cause to complain." 
 
 ""Well, I am ready to satisfy you," ex- 
 claimed de Koyans, with a laugh, " on horse- 
 back or on foot, with lance and shield, or 
 sword and dagger. Do not let us spoil a good 
 quarrel with silly explanations. We arc both 
 of one mind, it seems; let us settle prelimi- 
 naries at once." 
 
 " I have not time to settle all preliminaries
 
 AGNES SOREL. 103 
 
 now," replied Jean Charost ; "for I am ex- 
 pected in another place; but so far we can 
 arrange our plan. The day after to-morrow, I 
 will ask the Duke's permission to go for three 
 days to Mantes. I will return at once to 
 Meudon. You can easily get out of Paris for 
 an hour or two, and join me there at the 
 Auberge. Then a ten minutes' walk will place 
 us where we can settle our dispute without 
 risk to the survivor." 
 
 " On my life, this is gallant !" cried do 
 Eoyans, with a considerable change of expres- 
 sion. " You are a lad of spirit after all, de 
 Brecy." 
 
 " You have insulted my father's memory by 
 supposing otherwise," replied Jean Charost. 
 "But do not let us add bitterness to our 
 quarrel. We understand each other. When- 
 ever you hear that I am gone to Mantes, re- 
 member you will find me the next day at 
 Meudon — and so, good night !" 
 
 Thus saying, he left him, and hurried to the 
 eating-room of Lomelini, who would fain have
 
 104 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 extracted from him what the Duke had said to 
 him as they passed into the house ; but Jean 
 Charost was upon his guard, and, as soon as 
 supper was over, returned to his own cham- 
 ber. 
 
 Martin Grille, though he had quick eyes, 
 could discover no trace of emotion on lus 
 young master's countenance ; and, desperately 
 tired of his solitary watch, he gladly received 
 his dismissal for the night. A few minutes 
 after, Jean Charost issued from his room 
 again, and walked, with a silent step, to the 
 door of the Duke's toilet-chamber. No at- 
 tendants were in waiting ; and, following 
 the directions he had received, he opened 
 the door, and entered. He was surprised 
 to find the Prince dressed in mantle and 
 hood, as if ready to go out ; but, upon the 
 table before him, was lying a perfumed note, 
 open, and another fastened with rose-coloured 
 silk, and sealed. 
 
 " Welcome, dc Brecy !" said the Duke, with 
 a gay and smiling air. u I wish you to render
 
 AGNES SOREL. 105 
 
 me a service, my friend. You must take this 
 note for me to-night to the house of Madame 
 de Giac ; give it into her own hand, hear what 
 she says, and bring me her answer. I shall be 
 at the Queen's palace, near the Porte Bar- 
 bette." 
 
 The blood rushed up into Jean Charost's 
 face, covering it over with a woman-like 
 blush. It was the most painful moment he 
 had ever as yet experienced. His mind 
 instantly rushed to a conclusion, from pre- 
 mises that he could hardly define to his own 
 mind, much less explain to the Duke of Or- 
 leans. He fancied himself employed in the 
 basest of services — used for the most dis- 
 graceful of purposes; and yet nothing had 
 been said which could justify him in refusing 
 to obey. Whether he would or not, however, 
 and before he could consider, the words " Oh, 
 sir !" burst from his lips, and his face spoke 
 the rest plainly enough. 
 
 The Duke of Orleans gazed at him with a 
 f 5
 
 10G AONES SOREL. 
 
 frowning biKJW and a flashing eye, and then 
 demanded, in a loud, stem tone — 
 
 "What is it you mean, sir?" 
 
 Jean Charost was silent for an instant, and 
 then replied with painful embarrassment — 
 
 "I hardly know what I mean, your High- 
 ness — I may be wrong, and doubtless am 
 wrong — but 1 feared that the errand on which 
 yonr Highness sends me, might be one unbe- 
 coming me to execute, and which your High- 
 ness might afterwards regret t<» have given." 
 
 The anger of the Duke was exoessive. lie 
 spoke loudly and sharply, reproached his 
 Secretary for presuming upon his kindness and 
 condescension, and reproved him in no very 
 measured terms for daring to intermeddle with 
 his affairs; and Jean Charost, feeling at his 
 heart that he had most assuredly exceeded 
 the bounds of duo respect, had come to 
 conclusions for which there was no apparent 
 foundation, and had suffered his suspicions to 
 display themselves offensively, stood completely 
 cowed before the Prince.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 107 
 
 When the Duke at length stopped, he an- 
 swered, in a tone of sincere grief — 
 
 " I feel that I have erred, sir — greatly erred 
 — and that I should have obeyed your com- 
 mands without even presuming to judge of 
 them. Pray remember, however, that I am 
 very young — perhaps, too young for the im- 
 portant post I fill. If your Highness dismisses 
 me" from your service, I cannot be surprised.! 
 But, believe me, sir, wherever I go, I shall 
 carry with me the same feelings of affection 
 and gratitude which had no small share in 
 prompting the very conduct which has given 
 you just offence." 
 
 "Affection and gratitude!" said the Duke, 
 still in an angry tone. "What can affection 
 and gratitude have to do with disobedience to 
 my commands, and impertinent intrusion into 
 my affairs ?" 
 
 " They might, sir," answered Jean Charost ; 
 " for your Highness communicated to me, at a 
 former time, some regrets, and I witnessed the 
 happiness and calm of mind which followed
 
 108 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 the noble impulses that prompted them. Grati- 
 tude and affection, then, made me grieve to 
 think that this very letter which I hold in my 
 hand might give cause to fresh regrets, or per- 
 haps to serious perils ; for I am bound to say 
 that I doubt this laxly — that I doubt her affec- 
 tion or friendship for your Highness — that I 
 am sure she is linked most closely to your 
 enemies. 1 '' 
 
 " You should not have judged of my acts at 
 all," replied the Duke of Orleans. "What I 
 do not communicate to you, you have no busi- 
 ness to investigate. Your judgment of the lady 
 may be right or wrong ; but in your judgment 
 of my conduct you are altogether wrong. 
 There is nothing in that note which I ever can 
 regret, and, could yen see its contents, you 
 would learn at once the danger and presump- 
 tion of intruding into what does not concern 
 you. To give you the lesson, I must not 
 sacrifice my own dignity ; and though, in con- 
 sideration of your youth, your inexperience, 
 and your good intentions, I will overlook your
 
 AGNES SOREL. 109 
 
 error, in the present instance, remember, it 
 mnst not be repeated." 
 
 Jean Charost moved towards the door, while 
 the Duke remained in thought ; but, before he 
 reached it, the Prince's voice was heard, ex- 
 claiming in a more placable tone — 
 
 " De Brecy, De Brecy ! do you know the 
 
 wav ?" 
 
 " As little in this case as in the last," replied 
 Jean Charost, with a faint smile. 
 
 " Come hither, come hither, poor youth," 
 cried the Duke, holding out his hand to him 
 good humouredly. " There ! think no more of 
 it. All young men will be fools now and then. 
 Now, go and get a horse. You will find my 
 mule saddled in the court. Wait there till I 
 come. I am going to visit my fair sister, the 
 Queen, who is ill at the Hotel Barbette, and 
 we pass not far from the place to which you 
 are going. I will direct you ; so that you 
 cannot mistake." 
 
 Jean Charost hurried away, and was ready 
 in a few minutes. In the court, he found a
 
 110 A.IXF.S sOREL. 
 
 cream-coloured mule richly caparisoned, and 
 two horses saddled, with a few attendants on 
 foot around; hut the Duke had not yet ap- 
 peared, "When he did come, four of the party 
 mounted, and, with two or three grooms on 
 foot, hearing unlighted torches, rode slowly 
 on through the moonlit streets of Paris, 
 which were now silent, and almost deserted. 
 After going about half-a-mile, the Duke 
 reined in his mule, and, pointing down another 
 street which branched off on the right, directed 
 Jean Charosl to follow it, and take the second 
 turning on the left. 
 
 " The first hotel," he added, "on the right, 
 is the house you want. Then return to this 
 street, follow it out to the end, and you will 
 see the Hotel Barbette before you. Bring mo 
 an account of your reception thither." 
 
 His tone was grave, and even melancholy; 
 and -Jean Charost merely bowed his head in 
 silence, lie gave one glance at the Duke's 
 i'aee, from which all trace of anger had passed 
 away; and then they parted, never to meet again.
 
 AGNES SOSJEL. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Standing in the street, at the door of the house 
 to which he had been directed, Jean Charost 
 found a common-looking man whose rank or 
 station Avas hardly to be divined by his dress ; 
 and, drawing up his horse beside him, he asked 
 if Madame de Giac lived there. 
 
 " She is here," replied the man. " What 
 do you want with her ?" 
 
 " I have a letter to deliver to her," answered 
 Jean Charost, briefly. 
 
 " Give it to me," said the man. 
 
 " That cannot be," rejoined the young secre- 
 tary. " It must be delivered by me into her 
 own hand." 
 
 " Who is it from?" enquired the other. 
 " She does not see strangers at this horn* of the 
 night."
 
 112 , AGNES S0REL. 
 
 Jean was rather puzzled what to reply ; 
 for a lingering suspicion made him unwilling to 
 give the name of the Duke ; but he had not 
 been told to conceal it ; and, seeing no other 
 way of obtaining admission, he answered, after 
 a moment's consideration : 
 
 " It is from his Highness of Orleans ; and I 
 must beg you to use despatch." 
 
 " I will sec if she will admit you," returned 
 the man ; " but come into the court, at all 
 events. You will soon have your answer." 
 
 Thus saying, he opened the large wooden 
 gates of the yard ; and, as soon as Jean Charost 
 had entered, closed and fastened them securely. 
 A certain degree of secresy and mystery marked 
 the whole proceeding — a want of that bustle 
 and parade common in great houses in Paris, 
 which confirmed the pre-conceived suspicions of 
 Jean Charost, and made him believe that a 
 woman of gallantry was waiting for the visit of 
 a prince, whose devotion to her sex was but too 
 well known. 
 
 Dismounting, he stood by his horse's side,
 
 AGNES SOREL. 113 
 
 while the man quietly glided through a door, 
 hardly perceivable in the obscurity of one dark 
 corner in the court-yard. The moon had already 
 sunk low, and tall houses shadowed the whole 
 of the open spot in which the young secretary 
 stood ; so that he could but little see the aspect 
 of the place, although he had ample time for 
 observation. 
 
 Nearly ten minutes elapsed before the mes- 
 senger's return; but then he came attended 
 by a page bearing a flambeau, and in civil 
 terms desired the young gentleman to follow 
 him to his mistress's presence. 
 
 Through ways as narrow and as crooked as 
 the ways of love usually are, Jean Gharost was 
 conducted to a small room which, now-a-days, 
 would probably be called a boudoir, where, 
 even without the contrast of the poor, naked 
 stone passages through which he had passed, 
 everything would have appeared luxurious and 
 splendid in the highest degree. Rumour at- 
 tributed to the beautiful lady whom he went 
 to visit, a princely lover who some years before
 
 114 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 had commanded an army against the Ottomans, 
 had received a defeat which rendered liim mo- 
 rose and harsh throughout the rest of life, but 
 had acquired, during an easy captivity amongst 
 the Mussulmans, a taste for oriental luxury, 
 which never abandoned him. All within the 
 chamber to which Jean Charost was now intro- 
 duced, spoke that the lady had not been unin- 
 fluenced by her lover's habits. Articles of 
 furniture, little known in France, were seen in 
 various parts of the room : piles of cushions, 
 carpets of innumerable dyes, and low sofas or 
 ottomans, while, though it was the midst of 
 winter, the odour of roses pervaded the whole 
 apartment. 
 
 Madame de Giac herself, negligently dressed, 
 but looking wonderfully beautiful, was reclin- 
 ing on cushions with a light on a low table by 
 her side : and, on the approach of Jean Cha- 
 rost, she received him more as an old and dear 
 friend, than a men; accidental acquaintance. 
 A radiant smile was upon her lips ; she made 
 him sit down beside her, and in her tone there
 
 AGNES S0REL. 115 
 
 was a blandishing softness which he felt was 
 very engaging. For a minute or two, she held 
 the letter of the Duke of Orleans unopened in 
 her hand, while she asked him questions about 
 his journey from Pithiviers to Blois, and his 
 return. 
 
 At length, however, she opened the billet 
 and read it, not so little observed as she her- 
 self imagined; for Jean Charost's eyes were 
 fixed upon her, marking the varying expres- 
 sions of her countenance. At first, her glance 
 at the note was careless ; but speedily her eyes 
 fixed upon the lines with an intense, eager look. 
 Her brow contracted, her nostrils expanded, her 
 beautiful upper lip quivered, and that fair face, 
 for an instant, took upon it the look of a demon. 
 Suddenly, however, she 'recollected herself, 
 smoothed her brow, recalled the wandering 
 lightning of her eyes, and, folding the note, 
 curled it between her fingers, saying — 
 
 " I must write an answer, my dear young 
 friend. I will not be long — wait for me here." 
 And, rising gracefully, she gathered her floating
 
 116 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 drapery around her, and passed out by a door 
 behind the cushions. 
 
 The door was closed carefully ; but Jean 
 Charost had good reason to believe that the 
 time of Madamo de Giac was occupied in other 
 employment than writing. A murmur of 
 voices was heard, in which her own sweet tones 
 mingled with others harsher and louder. The 
 words used could not be distinguished ; but the 
 conversation seemed eager and animated, be- 
 ginning the moment she entered, and rising 
 and falling in loudness, as if the speakers were 
 sometimes carried away by the topic, sometimes 
 fearful of being overheard. 
 
 Jean Charost was no great casuist ; and cer- 
 tainly in all ordinary cases he would have felt 
 ashamed to listen to any conversation not in- 
 tended for his ears. Neither on this occasion 
 did he actually listen. lie moved not from his 
 seat : he even took up and examined a beauti- 
 ful golden-sheathed poniard, with a jewelled 
 hilt, which lay upon the table, where stood the 
 light. But there was a doubt, a suspicion, an
 
 AGraS SOREL. 117 
 
 apprehension of he knew not what, in his mind, 
 which, if well-foiuided, might perhaps have 
 justified him in his own eyes in actually trying 
 to hear what was passing; for assuredly he 
 would have thought it no want of honor thus 
 to detect the devices of an enemy. The voice 
 of Madame de Giac was not easily forgotten by 
 one who had once heard it ; and the rougher and 
 sterner tones that mingled in the conversation 
 seemed likewise familiar to the young secre- 
 tary's ear. Both those who were speaking, he 
 believed to be inimical to his Eoyal master. 
 He heard nothing distinctly, however, but the 
 last few words that were spoken. 
 
 It would seem that Madame de Giac had 
 approached close to the door, and laid her hand 
 upon the lock, and the other speaker raised his 
 voice, adding, to some words that were lost, the 
 following, in an imperative tone — 
 
 " As long as possible, remember, by any 
 means !" 
 
 Madame de Giac's murmured reply was not 
 intelligible to the young secretary; but then
 
 114 AGXES SOItEL. 
 
 came a coarse laugh, and the deeper voice 
 answered — ■ 
 
 " No, no, I do not mean that ; but by force, 
 if need be." 
 
 " Well, then, tell them," said the fair lady. 
 
 But what was to be told escaped unheard by 
 Jean Charost ; for she dropped her voice lower 
 than ever, and a moment after re-entered the 
 room. 
 
 Her face was all fail- and smiling, and be- 
 fore she spoke she seated herself again on the 
 cushions, paused thoughtfully, and, looking at 
 the dagger, which the young gentleman re- 
 placed as she entered, said playfully — 
 
 " Do not jest with edged tools. I hope you 
 did not take the poignard out of its sheath. 
 It (nines from Italy — from the very town of 
 the sweet Duchess of Orleans; and they tell 
 nit' the point is poisoned, so that the lightest 
 scratch would produce speedy death. It has 
 ncvoi- boon drawn since I had it, and never 
 shall be, with my will." 
 
 " I did not presume to draw it," said Jean 
 
 •
 
 AGNES SOREL. 119 
 
 Charost. "May I, Madam, crave your answer 
 to his Highness' s note ?" 
 
 " How wonderfully formal we are !" said 
 Madam de Giac, with a gay laugh. " This 
 chivalrous reverence for the fair, which boys 
 are taught in their school-days, is nothing bnt 
 a sad device of old women and jealous hus- 
 bands. It is state, and dress, and grave sur- 
 roundings, de Brecy, that make us divinities. 
 A princess and a page, in a little cabinet like 
 this, are bnt a woman and a man. Due pro- 
 priety, of course, is right ; but forms and reve- 
 rence are all nonsense." 
 
 " Beauty and rank have both their reverence, 
 Madam," replied Jean Charost; "but at the 
 present moment, all other things aside, I am 
 compelled to think of his Highness' s business ; 
 for he is waiting for me now at the Hotel 
 Barbette, expecting anxiously, I doubt not, 
 your answer." 
 
 The conversation that followed does not re- 
 quire detail. Madame de Giac was prodigal 
 of blandishments ; and, skilled in every female
 
 120 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 art, contrived to wile away some twenty 
 minutes without giving the young secretary 
 any reply to bear to his master. 
 
 When at length she found that she could not 
 detain him any longer without some definite 
 answer, she turned to the subject of the note, 
 and contrived to waste some more precious time 
 on it. 
 
 "What if I were to send the Duke a very 
 angry message ?" she asked. 
 
 " I should certainly deliver it," replied Jean 
 Charost. "But I would rather thai you wrote 
 it." 
 
 " ISo, I have changed my mind about that,' 1 
 she answered. " I will not write. You may 
 tell him I think him a base, ungrateful man, 
 unworthy of a lady's letter. Will you tell him 
 that?" 
 
 " Precisely Madam, word for word," replied 
 Jean Charost. 
 
 " Then you arc bolder with men than 
 women," replied the lady, with a laugh, slightly 
 sarcastic. " Stay, stay ! I have not half done
 
 AGNES SOREL. 121 
 
 yet. Say to the Duke, I am of a forgiving na- 
 ture, and that, if lie does proper penance, and comes 
 to sue for pardon, he may, perhaps, find mercy. 
 Whither are you going so fast ? You cannot 
 get out of this enchanted castle as easily as 
 you think, good youth ; at least, not without my 
 consent." 
 
 " I pray then give it to me, Madam," said 
 Jean Charost ; " for I really fear that his 
 Highness will be angry at my long delay." 
 
 " Poor youth ! What a frightened thing it 
 is!" exclaimed the lady. "Well, you shall 
 go ; but let me look at the Duke's note again, 
 in case I have anything to add." And she un- 
 folded the billet which she still held in her 
 hand, and looked at it by the light. Again 
 Jean Charost marked that fiend-like scowl 
 upon her countenance ; and, in this instance, 
 the feelings that it indicated found some 
 expression in words. 
 
 " Either you or his priest are making a 
 
 VOL. ii. g-
 
 122 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 monk of him," she said, bitterly; "hut it 
 matters not : tell him what I have said." 
 
 Murmiiring a few more indistinct words to 
 herself, she rang a small silver bell which lay 
 upon the cushions beside her, and the man 
 who had given Jean Charost admission, speedily 
 entered. 
 
 The lady looked at him keenly for an instant, 
 and the secretary thought he saw a glance of 
 intelligence pass from his face to hers. 
 
 " Light this gentleman out," said Madame 
 dc Giac. "You are a young fool, de Bfecy," 
 she added, laughingly ; "but that is no fault 
 of yours or mine. Nature made you so, and I 
 cannot mend you : and so, good night !" 
 
 Jean Charost bowed and followed the 
 man out of the room ; but, as he did so. he 
 drew his sword-hilt a little forward, not well 
 knowing whal was to come next. Madame de 
 Giac eyed him with a sarcastic smile, and the 
 door closed upon him. 
 
 The man lighted him silently, carefully, along
 
 AGNES SOREL. 123 
 
 the narrow, tortuous passage, and down the 
 steep staircase by which he had entered, hold- 
 ing the light low, that he might see his way. 
 When they reached the small door which led 
 into the court, he unbolted it, and held it 
 back for Jean to go forth. But the moment 
 the latter had passed out, the door was closed 
 and bolted. 
 
 " Not very courteous," thought Jean Cha- 
 rost. " But doubtless he takes his tone from 
 his lady's last words. What a dark night it 
 is !." 
 
 For a minute or two, in the sudden ob- 
 scurity after the light, he could not discern any 
 of the objects around him ; and it was not till 
 his eye had become more accustomed to the 
 darkness, that he discovered his horse fastened 
 to a ring let into the building. He detached 
 him quickly, and led him to the great gates ; 
 but here a difficulty presented itself. The 
 large wooden bar was easily removed, and the 
 bolts were drawn back ; still the gates would 
 g 2
 
 ll' I ACNES SOREL. 
 
 not open. Jean fell them all over in search 
 of any other fastening; but, finding none, 
 he turned to a little sort of guard-room 
 on the right of the entrance, attached to 
 almost all the large houses of Paris in that 
 day, but transformed, in after and more peace- 
 ful times, into a porter's lodge. All was dark 
 and silent within, however : the door was 
 closed, and no answer was returned when the 
 young secretary knocked. lie then tried 
 another door in the middle of the great facade 
 of the building ; but there also the door was 
 locked, and he could make no one hear, 
 
 His only resource, then, was the small 
 postern by which he had been admitted ; but 
 here again he was disappointed ; and he began 
 to comprehend that he was intentionally de- 
 tained. He was, on this account, naturally the 
 mere impatient to escape; so, abandoning all 
 ceremony* he knocked hard with the hilt of his 
 dagger on the several doors, trying them in 
 turnst
 
 AGKES SOEEL. 125 
 
 But it was all in vain. Things were in pro- 
 gress which made his importunity of small 
 consequence. 
 
 With an angry and impatient heart, and a 
 mind wandering through a world of conjecture, 
 he at length thrust his dagger back into the 
 sheath, and stood and listened near the great 
 gates, determined, if he heard a passing step in 
 the street, to call loudly for assistance. All 
 was still, however, for nearly ten minutes ; and 
 then came suddenly a sound of loud voices and 
 indistinct cries, indicating a tumult at some 
 distance. 
 
 Jean Charost's heart beat quickly, though 
 there seemed no definite link of connection 
 between his own fate and the sounds he heard. 
 A minute or two after, however, he was 
 startled by a nearer noise — a rattling and 
 grating sound ; and he had just time to draw 
 his horse away, when the gates opened of their 
 own accord, and rolled back without any one- 
 appearing to move them. A hoarse and un-
 
 126 
 
 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 pleasant laugh, at the same moment, sounded 
 in Jean Charost's ear; and, looking forth 
 into the street, he saw two or three dark 
 figures running quickly forward in one direc- 
 
 tion.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 127 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 An irregular street, called the street of the 
 old Temple, had been built in Paris, towards 
 the Porte Barbette, at a period when the 
 capital of France was much smaller in extent 
 than in the reign of King Charles the Sixth. 
 No order or regularity had been preserved, 
 although one side of the street had, for some 
 distance, been kept in a direct line by an 
 antique wall, erected, it is said, by the volun- 
 tary contributions, or personal labours, of dif- 
 ferent members of the famous order of the 
 Temple — the brethren of which, though pro- 
 fessing poverty, were often more akin to Dives 
 than to Lazarus. The other side of the street, 
 however, had been filled up by the houses and 
 gardens of various individuals, each walking in 
 the light of his own eyes, and using his 'dis-
 
 128 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 crction as to how far his premises should 
 encroaeh upon, how far recede from, the high- 
 way. Thus, when sun or moon was up and 
 shining down the street, a number of pic- 
 turesque shadows crossed it, offering a curious 
 pattern of light and shade, varying with 
 every horn - . 
 
 A strange custom existed in those days, 
 which has only been perpetuated, that I know 
 of, in some towns of the Tyrol, of affixing to 
 each house its own peculiar sign, winch served 
 (as numerals do in the present day) to distin- 
 guish it from all others in the same street. 
 Sometimes, these signs, or emblems, projected 
 in the form of a banner from the walls of the 
 house, overhanging the street, and showing, to 
 every one who rode along, the golden cross, 
 or the silver cross, or the red bull, the lion, the 
 swan, or the hart. Sometimes, with better 
 taste, but, perhaps, with less convenience to 
 the passenger in search of a house, the emblem 
 chosen by the proprietor was built into the 
 solid masonry, or placed in a little Gotliic niche
 
 AGNES SOREL. 129 
 
 constructed for the purpose. The latter was 
 generally the case where angel, or patron saint, 
 prophet, or devout man, was the chosen device ; 
 and especially so when any of the persons of 
 the Holy Trinity, for whom the Parisians 
 seemed to have more love than reverence, gave 
 a name to the building. 
 
 Then, at the corner of the street of the old 
 Temple, and another which led into it, a beau- 
 tiful and elaborate niche, with a baldaquin of 
 fretted stone, and a richly carved pediment, 
 offered to the eyes of the passers-by a very 
 well executed figure of the Virgin holding in 
 her arms the infant Saviour ; and, from this 
 image, the house on which it was affixed ob- 
 tained the name of the Hotel de Notre Bttme* 
 Notwithstanding the sanctity of the emblem, 
 and the beauty of the building — for it was of 
 the finest style of French architecture, 
 then in its decline — the house had been very 
 little inhabited for twenty or thirty years. It 
 had been found too small and incommodious 
 
 G 5
 
 130 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 for modern taste. Men hud built themselves 
 larger dwellings ; and, although this had not 
 been suffered to 
 
 "Fall, 
 And leave no memory of what it was," 
 
 traces of neglect wen^ evident about it : tin 
 casements were broken and distorted; on the 
 doors and gates unforbidden urchins had 
 carved grotesque feces, and letters hardly less 
 fantastical ; the mouldings and cornices were 
 time-worn and decaying ; and on the walls 
 lichen and soot had accumulated. 
 
 A1J was darkness along the front of that 
 house, isn torches blasted before it : no win- 
 dow shot forth a ray ; and the sinking moon 
 cast a Mack shadow across the street, and half 
 way ap the wall on the other side. 
 
 Nevertheless, in one room of that house were 
 gleaming lamps, and a blazing fire upon the 
 hearth. Wine, too, w;is upon the table, rich, 
 and in abundance; yet it was hardly tasted;
 
 AGNES SOREL. 131 
 
 for passions, more powerful than wine, were 
 surging in that room. The ceiling was low ; 
 the walls were covered with hangings of 
 leather, which had once been gilt and painted 
 with various devices, but from which all traces 
 of human handiwork had nearly vanished, leav- 
 ing nothing but a gloomy, dark drapery, which 
 seemed rather to suck in than return the 
 rays. The room was large and well propor- 
 tioned, however. Its great, massy beams, 
 which any one could touch with his hand, were 
 supported by four stout stone pillars ; and the 
 whole light was centered in the middle, leaving 
 a fringe, as it were, of obscurity all round. 
 
 If a numerous company could make any place 
 gay, that room, or hall, would have been cheerful 
 enough ; for not less than seventeen or eighteen 
 persons were collected there, and many of them 
 appeared to be persons of no inferior degree. 
 Each was more or less armed ; and battle axes, 
 maces, and heavy swords, lay around. But a 
 solemn, gloomy stillness hung upon the whole
 
 132 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 party. It was evidently no festal occasion on 
 which they met. The wine, as I have said, 
 had no charm for them : conversation had as 
 little. 
 
 One tall, powerful man sat before the 
 chimney, with his mailed arms crossed upon 
 his chest, and his eyes fixed upon the flicker- 
 ing blaze in the fire-place. Another was 
 seated near the table, drawing on the board, 
 with the end of a straw, fantastic figures, 
 traced among some wine which had been spilt. 
 Some dull men at a distance nodded ; and 
 others, with their hands upon their brows, and 
 yes bent down, remained in heavy thought. 
 
 At length, one of them spoke. 
 
 " Tedious work this,' 1 he said. "Action 
 suits me best. I lov net to lie like a spider 
 at the bottom of his web, waiting till the My 
 buzzes into the nest, Here we have been five 
 or six long (lavs, and nothing done I will not 
 wait Longer than to-morrow's sun-rise, what* 
 ever you may say, Ralph,"
 
 AGNES SOKEL. 133 
 
 The other, who was gazing into the fire, 
 turned his head a little, answering, in a gruff 
 tone — 
 
 " I tell you he is now in Paris. He arrived 
 this very evening. We shall hear more 
 anon." 
 
 The conversation ceased, for no one else 
 took it up ; and each of the speakers fell into 
 silence again. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour passed ; and then 
 the one who was at the table started and seemed 
 to listen. 
 
 A step was certainly in the passage without ; 
 and the moment after, there was a knock at 
 the door. One of those within advanced and 
 enquired who was there. 
 
 " Ich Haude /" answered a voice. 
 
 And immediately the door was unlocked, and 
 a ponderous bolt withdrawn. 
 
 All eyes were now tinned towards the en- 
 trance, with a look which I do not know how 
 to describe, except by saying it was one of 
 
 fierce expectation. At first, the obscurity at 
 
 V
 
 134 AG. Nils soitEL. 
 
 tlie farther side of the room prevented those 
 who sat near the light from seeing who it was 
 that entered; but a broad-chested, powerful 
 man, with a crimson mantic, a very large 
 hood thrown back upon his shoulders, and a 
 plain brown barrel te with a heron's feather in 
 it, advanced rapidly towards the table, en- 
 quiring — 
 
 " Where is Acton ville ?" 
 
 His face was deadly pale, and even his lips 
 had lost their color ; but no emotion could be 
 discovered by the movement of any feature. 
 All was stern, and resolute, and keen. 
 
 " Here," said the man who had been sitting 
 by the fire, rising as he spoke. 
 
 The other advanced close to him, and spoke 
 something in a whisper. Actonville rejoined 
 in the same low tone ; and then the other an- 
 swered louder — 
 
 " I have provided for all that. Thomas of 
 Coui': will bear him a message from the 
 
 King. 15c quiet ; for Ik- will soon be 
 there."
 
 AGNES S0REL. 135 
 
 "How got yon the news, sir?" asked 
 Actonville. 
 
 " By the fool, to be sure — by the fool," re- 
 plied the other. "It is all certain; though a 
 fool told it." 
 
 "The moon must be up," said Actonville. 
 " Were it not better to do it as he returns ?" 
 
 " He will have many more with him," an- 
 swered the man who had just entered ; " and 
 the moon is down." 
 
 " Oh, moon or no moon, many or few," ex- 
 claimed the man who had been sitting at the 
 table, " let us about it, at once. Brave men 
 do not fear numbers ; and only dogs are scared 
 by the moon." 
 
 Some more conversation, brief, sharp, and 
 short, sometimes in whispers, sometimes aloud, 
 occupied a space perhaps of three minutes, and 
 then all was the bustle of preparation. Swords, 
 axes, maces, were taken up, and a few enquiries 
 were made and answered. 
 
 " Are the horses all ready ?" asked one.
 
 136 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 u They only want unhooking," replied an- 
 other. 
 
 " The straw is piled up in both the rooms," 
 said a third. " Shall I fire it now ?" 
 
 " No, no — arc you mad ?" replied Actonville. 
 " Not till it is done." 
 
 a Then I'll put the lantern ready,' ' rejoined 
 the other. 
 
 "Where will you be, sir?" asked Acton- 
 ville. 
 
 " Close at hand," replied the man in the 
 crimson mantle. " But we lose time. Go out 
 quietly, one by one, and leave the door open. 
 Put out the lights, William of Courthose. I 
 have a lantern here, under my cloak." 
 
 The lights were immediately extinguished. 
 and, by the flickering of the fire, eighteen 
 shadowy figures were seen to pass out of the 
 room like ghosts. Through the long passage 
 from the back to the front of the house, they 
 went as silently as their arms would permit, 
 and then, gliding down the irregular side of the 
 load, one by one, they disappeared from their
 
 AGNES SOREL. 137 
 
 rank to lay in wait in what the Prophet calls, 
 " the thievish corners of the street." 
 
 The man who had last joined them, remained 
 alone, standing before the fire. His arms were 
 crossed upon his chest ; a lantern which he had 
 earned stood on the ground by his side ; his 
 eyes were fixed upon a log from which a 
 small, thin flame, yellow at the base, and blue 
 at the top, rose up, wavering fitfully. He 
 watched it for five or six minutes. Suddenly 
 it leaped up and vanished. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the dark, stem man ; 
 and turned him to the door. Ere he reached it, 
 there was a loud outcry from without — a cry 
 of pain and strife. He paused and trembled. 
 
 What was in his bosom then ? God only 
 knows. Man never knew.
 
 138 Ai.NLS soKKL. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The gates of the Hotel Barbette — formerly the 
 Ilotcl Montaign — opened instantly to the 
 Duke of Orleans, and he was kept but a moment 
 in the great ball ere the Queen gave an order for 
 his admission, although she was still suffering 
 from illness. He found the beautiful but vin- 
 dictive Isabelle in bed ; but that formed no ob- 
 jection in those days to the reception of visitors 
 by a lady of even queenly rank ; and, after hav- 
 ing embraced his fair sister-in-law, he sat down 
 by her bed-side, and the room was soon cleared 
 of the attendants. 
 
 " You have received my note, Louis ?" she 
 siid, laving her hand tenderly upon his; for 
 there is every reason to believe that the Duke 
 of < Means was the only one towards whom she 
 ever entertained any sincere affection.
 
 AGXES S0REL. 139 
 
 " I did, sweet Isabelle," answered the Duke; 
 " and I came at once to see what was your 
 will." 
 
 " How many men did you bring with you ?" 
 asked the Queen. " I hope there is no fool- 
 hardiness, Orleans." 
 
 " Oh, in Paris I have plenty," replied the 
 Duke ; " hard upon five hundred. The rest I 
 left with Valentine at Beaute ; for she is going 
 to Chateau Thierry to gather all her children 
 together. But, if you mean how many I have 
 brought hither to-night ; good faith, dear 
 Isabelle, not many — two men on horseback, 
 and half-a-dozen on foot." 
 
 " Imprudent man !" exclaimed the Queen. 
 " Do you not know that Burgundy is here ?" 
 
 " Oh yes," answered the Duke of Orleans. 
 " He supped with me this night, quite in a 
 tranquil way." 
 
 " Be not deceived — be not deceived, Louis 
 of Orleans," pursued the Queen. "Who can 
 feign friendship and mean enmity so well as 
 John of Burgundy? I tell you that, to my
 
 140 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 certain knowledge, he is caballing against you 
 even now. Your life is never safe when you 
 arc near him, unless you he surrounded by your 
 men at arms." 
 
 " Well, then, we do not play an equal game," 
 observed the Duke ; " for his life is as safe 
 with me as with his dearest friend." 
 
 " Did he know that you were coming 
 hither ?" asked the Queen, with an anxious 
 look. 
 
 " Assuredly," replied the Duke ; but then 
 he added, with a gay laugh, " lie suspected, 
 I fancy from his questions, that I was going 
 elsewhere first, even though I told him I was 
 not." 
 
 " Where, where ?" demanded the Queen. 
 
 " To Madam de Giac's," replied the Duke of 
 Orleans, with a look of arch meaning. 
 
 " The serpent !" muttered Isabelle. "And 
 you have not been ?" 
 
 " Assuredly not," replied her brother-in- 
 law. 
 
 " Then he knows you have come here,' 5
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 141 
 
 said Isabelle, thoughtfully ; " and the way 
 back will be dangerous. You shall not go, 
 Orleans, till you have sent for a better escort." 
 
 " Well, kind sister, if it will give you ease, 
 it shall be done," rejoined the Duke. " I will 
 tell one of my men to bring me a party of horse 
 from the Hotel." 
 
 " Let it be large enough," said the Queen, 
 emphatically. 
 
 The Duke smiled, and left the room in search 
 of his attendants ; but neither of his two squires 
 could be found. Heaven knows where they 
 were, or what they were doing ; but the Queen 
 had a court of very pretty ladies at the Hotel 
 Barbette, who were not scrupulous in granting 
 their conversation to gay young gentlemen. 
 A young German page, fair-haired and gentle, 
 lolled languidly on a settle in the great hall ; 
 but he knew little of Paris ; and the Duke of 
 Orleans sent for one of his footmen, and ordered 
 nim to take one of the squire's horses, return to 
 the Hotel d' Orleans, and bring up twenty lances
 
 142 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 within an honr. He then returned to the 
 chamber of the Queen, and sat conversing with 
 her for about ten minutes, when they were 
 interrupted by the entrance of one of her 
 ladies, who brought intelligence that a mes- 
 senger from the Hotel St. Pol had arrived, de- 
 manding instant audience of the Duke. 
 
 " Who is he ?" asked Isabelle, gazing at the 
 lady, her suspicions evidently all awake. 
 "How did they know at the Hotel St. Pol that 
 his Highness was here ?" 
 
 " It is Thomas of Conrthose, your Majesty," 
 replied the lady; " and he says he lias been 
 at the Hotel d'Orleans, whence he was sent 
 hither." 
 
 •• By your good leave, then, fair sister, we 
 will admit him," said the Duke ; and, in a 
 minute or two after, Thomas of Conrthose, one 
 of the immediate attendants of the King, was 
 ushered into the room. Ho was no1 a man of 
 pleasing aspect, being black-haired, down-looking 
 and witli eyes so close together as to give aim
 
 AGXES SOREL. 143 
 
 the appearance of a squint ; but both the Duke 
 and the Queen knew him well, and suspicion 
 was lulled to sleep. 
 
 Approaching the Duke of Orleans, with a 
 lowly reverence, first to the Queen, and then 
 to him, the man said — 
 
 " I have been commanded by his Eoyal 
 Majesty to inform your Highness that he 
 wishes to see you instantly on business which 
 touches nearly both you and himself," 
 
 " I will obey at once," replied the Duke, 
 " Tell my people, as you pass, to get ready. I 
 will be in the court in five minutes." 
 
 " Stay, Orleans, stay "!" cried the Queen, as 
 the man quitted the room. " You had better 
 wait for tout escort, dear brother." 
 
 The Duke only laughed at her fears, how- 
 ever, representing that his duty to the King 
 called for his immediate obedience, and adding, 
 
 " I shall go safer by that road than by any 
 other. They know that I came hither late, 
 and will conclude that I shall return by the
 
 144 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 same way. If then Burgundy intends to play 
 me any scurvy trick, — arrest, imprison, or 
 otherwise maltreat me — lie will nest his horse- 
 men in that direction, and, by going round!, I 
 shall avoid them. Nay? nay, J sal telle ! Ex- 
 ample of disobedience to my King shall never 
 be set by Louis of Orleans." 
 
 The Queen saw him depart, with a sigh ; 
 bul the Duke descended to the court without 
 fear, and spoke gaily to his attendants, whom 
 he found assembled. 
 
 " We do not know what to do, sir," said one 
 of the squires, stepping forward. "Leonard 
 has taken away one of the horses, and now 
 there is hut one beast to two squires." 
 
 " Let his master mount him, and the other 
 jump up behind," said the Duke, laughing. 
 "Did you never see two men upon one 
 horse ?" 
 
 In the mean while, his own mule was 
 broughl forward ; and, setting his foot in the 
 stirrup, the Duke seated himself somewhat
 
 AGNES SOREL. 145 
 
 slowly. Then, looking up to the sky, he 
 said, 
 
 " The moon is down, and it has become mar- 
 vellously dark. If you have torches, light 
 them." 
 
 About two minutes were spent in lighting 
 the torches ; and then the gates of the Hotel 
 Barbette were thrown open. The two e aiires 
 on one horse went first, and the Duke on his 
 mule came after, the German page following 
 close, with his hand resting on the embossed 
 crupper, while two men, with torches lighted, 
 walked on either side. The porter of the gates 
 looked after them for a moment as they took 
 their way down the street of the old Temple, 
 and then closed the heavy leaves, and barred 
 the gates for the night. 
 
 All was still and silent in the street, and 
 the little procession walked on at a slow pace 
 for some two hundred yards. The torch-light 
 then seemed to flash suddenly, upon some object 
 which the horse, bearing the two squires, had 
 
 VOL. II. II
 
 1-4G AGNES SOREL. 
 
 not before seen ; for the beast started, plunged, 
 and then dashed -violently forward do^n the 
 street, nearly tin-owing the hindmost horseman 
 to the ground. The Duke spurred forward his 
 mule rather sharply ; but he had not gone 
 a dozen yards, when an armed man darted from 
 behind the dark angle of a house. Another 
 rushed out almost at the same moment from 
 one of the deep, arched gate-ways of the time, 
 and a number more were seen lrurrying up, 
 with the torch-light flashing upon cuirasses; 
 battle-axes, and maces. Two of the light- 
 bearers cast down their torches and fled ; a 
 third was knocked down by the rush of men 
 coming up ; and, at the same moment, a strong 
 armed hand was laid upon the Duke of Orleans' 
 
 rein. 
 
 The dauntless Prince urged on his mule 
 against the man who held it, without attempt- 
 ing to turn its head; and it would seem that 
 lir still doubted whether he w;is the real object 
 of attack ; for, while the assassin shouted loudly
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 147 
 
 " Kill him ! kill Mm!" he raised his voice 
 above the rest, exclaiming, 
 
 " How now ! I am the Duke of Orleans !" 
 " 'Tis him we want," cried a deep voice close 
 by ; and, as the Duke put his hand to the hilt 
 of his sword, a tremendous blow of an axe fell 
 upon his wrist, cutting through muscle, and 
 sinew, and bone. The next instant, he was 
 struck heavily on the head with a mace, and 
 hurled backwards from the saddle. But, even 
 then, one was found faithful. The young 
 German boy, who followed, cast himself in- 
 stantly upon the body of his lord, to shield 
 him from the blows that were falling thickly 
 upon him. 
 
 But it was all in vain. The battle-axe and 
 the mace terminated the poor lad's existence in 
 a moment ; his body was dragged from that of 
 the prostrate Prince ; and a blow with a spiked 
 iron club dashed to pieces the skull of the gay 
 and gallant Louis of Orleans. Shouts and 
 cries of various kinds had mingled with the 
 h 2
 
 1 1 S AGNES SOKES. 
 
 fray ; but after that last blow fell, there came 
 ;i Hidden silence. Three of the torches wese 
 
 extinguished ; the bearers had flown. One 
 taint light only nickered on the ground, throw- 
 in- a red and fitful glare upon the bloody 
 bodies of the dead, and the grim, tierce coun- 
 tenances of the murderers. 
 
 In the midst of that silence, a man in a 
 crimson mantle and hood came quickly forward, 
 bearing a lantern in his hand. The assassin 
 showed no apprehension of his presence ; and 
 the new comer, holding the light to the face of 
 the dead man, gafcfed on him l'or an instant 
 with a stem, hard, unchanged expression, and 
 then said — " It is he." 
 
 Perhaps some convulsive movement passed 
 over the features, from which real life had 
 already passed away ; for that dark, stern man 
 snatched a mace from the hand of one standing- 
 near, and strnck another heavy blow upon the 
 head of the oorp : <\ saying, 
 
 •• ( hit with tin- last "spark." 
 
 Eight or ten persons were close round the
 
 AGXES SOREL. 14'.' 
 
 spot where the Prince had fallen ; but other- 
 were scattered at a little distance up and down 
 the street. Suddenly a voice cried — " Hark I" 
 and the sound of a horse's feet was heard, 
 trotting quickly. 
 
 " Away !" cried the man in the red mantle. 
 " Fire the house, and disperse. You know your 
 roads. Away !" 
 
 Then came a distant cry, as if from the gates 
 of the Queen's palace, of — a Help, help ! Mur- 
 der — murder !" But the next moment it was 
 almost drowned in a shout of — "Fire — fire!" 
 Dark volumes of smoke began to issue from 
 the windows of the Hotel Xotre Dame, and 
 flashes of flame broke forth upon the street, 
 while a torrent of sparks rushed upwards into 
 the an. All around the scene of the murder be- 
 came enveloped in vapor and obscurity, with 
 the red light tingeing the thick, heavy wreaths 
 of smoke, and serving just to reveal figures 
 coming and going, still increasing in number, 
 and gathering round the fatal spot in a small 
 agitated crowd.
 
 150 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 But the actors in the tragedy had disap- 
 peared. Now here, now there, one or another 
 might have been seen crossing the bloody-look- 
 ing haze of the air, and making for some of 
 the various streets that led away from the 
 place of slaughter, till at length all were gone, 
 and nothing but horrified spectators of their 
 terrible handiwork remained. 
 
 Few, if any, paused to look at the burning 
 house, and none attempted to extinguish the 
 flames ; for the cry had already gone abroad, 
 that the Duke of Orleans was murdered, and 
 the multitude hurried, forward to the place 
 where he lay. Those who did stop for an in- 
 stant before the Hotel Notre Dame, remarked a 
 quantity of lighted straw bomc out from the 
 doors and windows by the rush of the fire ; and 
 some of them heard the quick sound of hoofs 
 al a little distance, as if a small party of 
 horse had galloped away from the back of the 
 building. 
 
 Few thought it needful, however, to enquire 
 for or pursue the murderers. A sort of stupor
 
 AGNES SOREL. 151 
 
 seemed to have seized all but one of those who 
 arrived the first. He was a poor mechanic ; and, 
 seeing an armed man, with a mace in his hand, 
 glide across the street, he followed him with a 
 quick step, traced him through several streets, 
 paused in fear when the other paused, turned 
 when he turned, and dogged him till he en- 
 tered the gates of the Hotel d' Artois, the re- 
 sidence of the Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 In the mean while, the body of the unhappy 
 Prince, and that of the poor page who had 
 sacrificed his life for him, were carried into the 
 church of the White Friars hard by. The 
 news spread like lightning through the whole 
 town : neighbour told it to neighbour : many 
 were roused from their sleep to hear the 
 tidings ; and agitation and tumult spread 
 through Paris. Every sort of vague alarm, 
 every sort of wild rumour, was received and 
 encouraged. 
 
 The Queen, Isabelle of Bavaria, horrified 
 and apprehensive, caused herself to be placed 
 in a litter, and carried to the Hotel St. Pol. A
 
 1 52 AGNES SOEEL. 
 
 number ot'loyal noblemen, believing the King's 
 own life in danger, armed themselves and 
 their foil. vers, and turned the court of the 
 palace into a fortress ; but the followers of the 
 deceased Duke remained for some hours almost 
 stupiiied with terror, and only recovered them- 
 selves to give way to rage and indignation. 
 Which produced many a disastrous consequence 
 in after days. 
 
 Tn the mean time, the church of the White 
 Friars was not deserted. The brethren them- 
 j-eives gathered around the dead bodies, and, 
 with tapers lighte i, and the solemn organ 
 playing, eluiunted all night the services for the 
 dead. High nobles and princes, ton, tloeked 
 into the church with heavy hearts, and agitated 
 minds. The Duke of Dourbon, and the 
 venerable Duke of Herri, were the lirst. Then 
 came the King of Navarre; then the Duke of 
 IVurgundy ; and then the King of Sicily, who 
 had arrived in Paris only on the preceding 
 morning. 
 
 All were profuse of lamentations, and of
 
 AGNES SOREL. l- ,: ' 
 
 curses upon the murderers ; but none more 
 so than the Duke of Burgundy, who declared 
 that— " Never in the City of Paris had been 
 perpetrated so horrible and sad a murder.*' 
 
 He could even weep, too ; but, while tin- 
 words were on his lips, and the tears were in 
 his eyes, some one pulled him by the cloak, 
 and, turning round his head, he saw one of his 
 most familiar servants. Nothing was said ; 
 but there was a look in the man's eyes which 
 demanded attention ; and, after a moment or 
 two, the Duke retired with him into the chapel 
 of St. William. 
 
 " They have taken one of those sus}>eeted of 
 conniving at the murder/ 5 whispered t\w 
 man. 
 
 " "Which— who— who is he?" uAu-d the 
 
 Duke, eagerly. 
 
 k - "No one your Highness knows," replied the 
 the man, gazing in the Duke's face, though 
 the chapel was very dark. '< He is a young 
 h 5
 
 1 •"» 1 AGNES SOREL, 
 
 gentleman, said to be the Duke's secretary. 
 Monsieur Charost dc Brecy." 
 
 The Duke stamped with his foot upon the 
 ground, saying, with an oath — 
 
 " That may ruin all. Sec that he be freed 
 as soon as possible, before he is examined." 
 
 " It can't be done, I fear," rejoined the man 
 in the same low tone. " He is in the hands 
 of William do Tiguonville, the provot. But 
 cannot the murder be cast on him, sir? They 
 say he and the Duke were heard disputing 
 loud this night, and that, on the way to the 
 Hotel Barbette, he suddenly tuniod and rode 
 away from his Koyal mastor." 
 
 " Folly and nonsense 1" said the Duke, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 lie then fell into a fit of thought, adding, in 
 a musing tone — 
 
 " This must be provided for. But not so — 
 not so. Well, wo v\ ill see Leave liim where 
 he is. Ho must 1»< taught silence, if he would 
 have safety."
 
 AGNES SOREL. 155 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 We must now once more follow the course of 
 Jean Charost. 
 
 It has been said that when the gates of the 
 house of Madame de Giac, by a contrivance 
 very common at that time in Paris, for saving 
 the trouble of the porter and the time of the 
 visitor, but with which he was unacquainted, 
 rolled back on their hinges, without the visible 
 intervention of any human being, he saw 
 several persons running up the street in the 
 same direction in which he himself intended to 
 go. Man has usually a propensity to hurry in 
 the same direction as others ; and, springing 
 on his horse's back, Jean Charost spurred on 
 somewhat more quickly than he might have 
 done, had he seen no one running. 
 
 As he advanced, he saw, in the direction of
 
 I' r ><' AGNES SOIIEL. 
 
 the Forte Barbette, a lurid glare beginning to 
 ii.-e above the houses, and glimmering upon 
 large rolling volumes of heavy smoke. The 
 next instant, loud voices, shouting, reached his 
 < ar ; but the cries of " Fire !" he fancied were 
 combined with exclamations of k " Murder !" 
 
 T T ]» the street he dashed, and soon found 
 himself al the corner of the street of the old 
 Temple ; but he could mala; nothing of the 
 scene before his eves. The house in front was 
 on fire in various places, and would evidently 
 foon he totally destroyed; but, though a number 
 of people were in the street, running hither 
 and thither in wild disorder, few stopped before 
 the burning building, even lor a single mo- 
 ment, and n;o-; harried past at once to a spot 
 further down the street. 
 
 All who had enlisted as yet were on foot, 
 though he could see a horse farther up towards 
 the city gate; hut while he was looking rotund 
 .him with some wonder, and hesitating whether 
 l.e should gn U> enqui.v what was the matter 
 where the principal crowd was collected, or
 
 AGNES SOREL. 157 
 
 ride on at once to the Hotel Barbette, a man in 
 the Royal liveries, with a halbert in his hand, 
 crossed and looked hard at him. 
 
 Suddenly a second man came running up 
 the street, completely armed, except the head, 
 which was bare. He of the halbert instantly 
 stopped the other, apparently asking some ques- 
 tion; and Jean Charost saw the armed man 
 point towards him, exclaiming — 
 
 u He must be one of them — he must be one 
 of them." 
 
 The next moment they both seized hi» 
 bridle ; but they did not retain their hold very 
 long ; for, while the halberdier demanded 
 Jean's name and business there, threatening to 
 knock his brains out if he did not answer in- 
 stantly, the armed man slipped by on the other 
 side of the horse, turned round the corner of 
 tlift street, and was lost to sight. 
 
 Jean Charost's name and business were seen 
 explained ; but still the man kept hold of his 
 (bridle. Two or three persons gathered round.
 
 1 58 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 all apparently agreeing that a great feat had 
 been accomplished in making a prisoner, al- 
 though no suspicions circumstance attached to 
 him, except his being on horseback, when all 
 the rest were on foot. They continued to dis- 
 cuss what was to be done with him, till a large 
 body of people came rushing from the Hotel 
 Barbette, amongst whom the young secretary 
 recognized one of the squires and two of the 
 lacqueys of the Duke of Orleans. To them 
 Joan Charost instantly called, saying — 
 
 " There is something amiss here. Pray ex- 
 plain to these men who I am ; for they are 
 stopping me without cause, and I cannot pro- 
 reed to join his Highness." 
 
 "Why did you leave him so suddenly an 
 hour ago ?" cried the young squire, in a sharp 
 tone. " You came with us from the Hotel d' 
 Orleans, and disappeared on the way. You 
 had better keep him, my friends, till this bloody 
 
 deed is enquired into;" 
 
 Then, turning to Jean Charost again, he 
 added —
 
 AGNES SOREL. 159 
 
 " Do you not know that the Duke has been 
 foully murdered ?" 
 
 The intelligence fell upon the young man's 
 ear like thunder. He sat motionless and speech- 
 less on Ins horse, while the party from the 
 Hotel Barbette passed on ; and he only woke 
 from the state of stupefaction into which he was 
 cast, to find his horse being led by two or three 
 persons through the dark and narrow streets 
 of Paris, whither he knew not. His first dis- 
 tinct thoughts, however, were of the Duke 
 rather than of himself; and he enquired eagerly 
 of his captors, where and how the horrible deed 
 had been perpetrated. 
 
 They were wise people, and exceedingly 
 sapient — in their own conceit, however. The 
 Queen's servant laughed, with a sneer, saying : 
 
 " No, no. We won't tell you anything to 
 prepare you for your examination before the 
 Prevot. He will ask you questions, and you 
 must answer him, otherwise he will find means 
 to make you. We are not here to reply to your 
 interrogatories."
 
 1 1 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 The sapient functionary listened to no re- 
 monstrances ; and, finding his efforts vain, Jean 
 Cliarost rode on in silence, sometimes tempt ed 
 indeed to draw his sword, which had not yet 
 been taken from him, and run the man with 
 the halbert through the body, but resisting t ho 
 temptation. 
 
 At length, emerging from a narrow street, 
 they came into a little square, on the opposite 
 side of which rose a tall and gloomy building 
 without any windows apparent on the outside, 
 except in the upper stories of two large towers 
 Hanking a low, dark archway. All was still 
 and silent in the square : no light shone from 
 the windows of that gloomy building; but 
 straight towards the great gate they went, and 
 one bf the men rang a bell which hung against 
 the tower. A loud, ferocious barking of dog* 
 was immediately heard ; but in an instant the 
 gates were opened by a broad-shouldered, bow- 
 loggod man, who looked gloomily at the visitor*. 
 though lie said nothing, and the horse of Jean 
 Ohavosri was led in, whole the porter, driving back
 
 AGNES S0KEL. 161 
 
 four savage dogs which would fain have sprung 
 at the prisoner, instantly closed the gates. 
 
 The archway, under which the party now stood, 
 extended about thirty feet through the heavy 
 walls, and at the other end appeared a second 
 gate, exactly like the first ; but the porter 
 made no movement to open it, nor asked any 
 questions, but suffered the Queen's servants to 
 go forward and ring another bell. That gate 
 was opened, but not so speedily as the other ; 
 and a man, holding a lantern, appeared behind, 
 with another personage at his side dressed in a 
 striped habit of various colours, which made 
 Jean Charost almost believe that they had a 
 buffoon even there. From the first words of 
 the Queen's servant, however, he learned that 
 this was the gaoler ; and his face itself, hard, 
 stem, and bitter, was almost an announcement 
 of his office. 
 
 ■ Nevertheless, he made some difficulty at 
 first at receiving a prisoner from hands un- 
 authorised ; but, at length, he consented to de- 
 tain the young secretary till he coidd bo inter-
 
 1G2 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 rogated by the Prevot. The captors then 
 retired, and the gaolers made their captive dis- 
 mount and enter a small room near, where sat 
 a man in black, writing. The prisoner's name, 
 his station, his occupation, were immediately 
 taken down ; and then one of those harpies, 
 called the Valets de Gcole, was called, who in- 
 stantly commenced emptying Jean's pockets of 
 all they contained, took from him his sword, 
 dagger, and belt, and even laid hands upon a 
 small jewelled fennail, or clasp, upon his 
 hood. 
 
 The young man offered no resistance, of 
 course ; but, when he found himself stripped of 
 money and everything valuable, he was sur- 
 prised to find a demand made upon him for ten 
 livres. 
 
 " This is a most extraordinary charge," he 
 said, looking in the face of the gaoler, who stood 
 by, though it was the valet who made the de- 
 mand. 
 
 * " Why so, boy?" demanded the man, gruffly. 
 " It is the gaolage due. You said your name
 
 AGNES SOREL. 163 
 
 was Jean Charost, Baron de Brecy. A Baron 
 pays the same as a Count or a Countess." 
 
 ".But how can I pay anything, when you 
 have taken everything from me?" asked the 
 young secretary. 
 
 " Oh ! you are mistaken," said the gaoler, 
 with a rude laugh. " I see you are a young 
 bird. All that has been taken from you, ex- 
 cept the fees of the gaol, will be restored when 
 you go out, if you ever do. But you must 
 consent with your own tongue to my taking the 
 money for my due ; otherwise we shall put you 
 to sleep in the ditch, where you pay half fees, 
 and I take them without asking." 
 
 " Take them, take them," said Jean Charost, 
 with a feeling of horror and dismay that made 
 him faint and sick. " Treat me as well as 
 you can, and take all that is your right. If 
 more be needed, you can have it." 
 
 The gaoler nodded his head to the valet, who 
 grinned at the prisoner, saying : 
 
 " We will treat you very well, depend upon' 
 it. You shall have a clean cell, with a bed
 
 1G4 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 four feet wide, and only two other gentlemen 
 in it, both of them of good birth, though one 
 is in for killing; a young market-woman, lie 
 will have his head off in three days, and then 
 you will have only one companion." 
 
 " Cannot I be alone ?" asked Jean Charost. 
 
 " The law is, three prisoners to one bed,"' 
 replied the valet of the gaol, " and we can't 
 change the custom — unless you choose to 
 pay," he added, " four dcnicrs a night for a 
 single bed, and two for the place on which it 
 stands." 
 
 " Willingly — willingly," cried the young 
 man, who now saw that money would do much 
 in a gaol, as well as elsewhere. " Can I ha\e 
 
 a cell to myself?" 
 
 " To be sure. There is plenty of room*' 5 
 
 replied the gaoler. " If you choose to pay the 
 dues for two other Pntrons, you can have the 
 space 1 they would occupy." 
 
 -Jean Charost consented to everything that 
 was demanded ; the fees were taken by the 
 gaoler, the rest of the money found upon him
 
 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 165 
 
 was registered by the man in black, who seemed 
 a mere automaton ; and then he was led away 
 by the valet of the gaol to a small room not 
 very far distant. 
 
 On the way, and for a minute or two after 
 his arrival in the cell, the valet continued to 
 give him rapid but clear inforniati* -u concern- 
 ing the habits and rules of the place. He found 
 that, if he attempted to escape, the law would 
 hold him guilty of whatever crime he was 
 charged with ; that he could neither have 
 writing-materials, nor communicate with any 
 ti-iend, without an application to one of the 
 Judges at the Chatelet ; that all the law allowed 
 a prisoner was bread and water; and, in the end, 
 that everything could be procured by money — 
 except liberty. 
 
 Jean Charost hesitated not to demand 
 all he required ; and the valet on returning to 
 the gaoler, after having thrice locked, and 
 thrice bolted, the door, informed Ins master that 
 the young prisoner was a " good orange," 
 which probably meant that he was easily sucked.
 
 10G AGNES SOi:i:r.. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Do you recollect, reader, visiting the booth of 
 ( 'abocho, the cutler ? In that very booth, the 
 day after the arrest of Jean Charost, micdit be 
 seen the intelligent countenance of the deformed 
 boy, Petit Jean, peering over the large board 
 on which the wares Were oxposed, and saluting 
 the passers by with an arch smile, to which was 
 generally added an invitation to buy some of 
 the articles of his father's manufacture. The 
 race GatrMn is of very ancient date in the city 
 of Paris, where witty and mischievous imps 
 arc found to have existed in great abundance, 
 as for as recorded history can carry us. It must 
 be owned, too, thai a touch of the Gamin Was 
 to be found in poor Petit Jean, although his 
 corporeal infirmities prevented him from dis- 
 playing his genius in many of the active quips
 
 AGNES SOREL. 167 
 
 and cranks in which other boys of his own age 
 indulged. On the present occasion, when he 
 was eager to sell the goods committed to his 
 charge, he refrained as far as possible from any 
 of his sharp jests, so long as there was a 
 chance of gaining the good will of a passing 
 customer, and the Gamin spirit fumed off in a 
 metaphor ; but a surly reply, or cold inatten- 
 tion, generally drew from him some tingling jest 
 which might have procured him a drubbing, had 
 not his infirmities proved a safe-guard. 
 
 "What do you lack, Messire Behue ?" he 
 cried, as a good fat citizen rolled past the booth. 
 " Sine, with such custom as you have, your 
 knives must be all worn out. Here, buy one 
 of these. They are so sharp,, it would save 
 you a crown a day in time, and your customers 
 would not have to wait like a crowd at a 
 morality." 
 
 The good-natured currier paused, and bar- 
 gained for a knife ; for flattery will sometimes 
 soften even well-tanned hides ; and Petit Jean, 
 well contented with his success, assailed a thin,
 
 ] OS AGNES SOREL. 
 
 pale, sanctimonious-looking man who came after, 
 in much the same manner. 
 
 15 ut this personage scowled at him, saying : 
 
 tk No, no, boy. No more knives rx\m your 
 stall. The last I bought bent double before 
 two days were over." 
 
 " That's the fault of your cheese, Peter 
 (J lump/' answered the boy, sharply. "It 
 served Dom Joachim, the Canon of St. Laurent, 
 worse than it served our knife ; for it broke all 
 the teeth out of his head. Ask him if it 
 didn't ?" 
 
 k> You lie, you little monster," said the 
 cheese monger, irritably. " It was as bad iron 
 as ever was sharpened." 
 
 " Not so hard as your heart, perhaps," 
 answered Petit Jean. " But it was a great 
 deal sharper than your wit ; and if your cheese 
 had not been like a mill-stone, it would have 
 gone through it." 
 
 The monger of cheeses walked on all the 
 faster; for two or three women having come 
 up, all of whom, but one, an especial friend of
 
 AGNES S0REL. 169 
 
 his own, were laughing at the saucy boy's 
 repartee. 
 
 " AJi, dear Dame Mathurine !" cried Petit 
 Jean, addressing the grave lady ; " buy a new 
 bodkin for your cloak. It wants one sadly, just 
 to pin it up with a jaunty air." 
 
 " Don't Mathurine me, monkey," ejaculated 
 the old woman, walking on after the cheese- 
 monger ; and the boy, winking his eye to the 
 other women, exclaimed aloud : 
 
 " Well, you are wise. A new bodkin would 
 only tear a hole in the old rag. She wore that 
 cloak at her great-grandmother's funeral when 
 she was ten years old, and that is sixty years 
 ago ; so it may well fear the touch of younger 
 metal." 
 
 " Well, you rogue ! what have you to say to 
 me?" said a young and pretty woman, who 
 had listened, much amused. 
 
 " Only that I have nothing good enough for 
 your beautiful eyes," answered the boy, 
 promptly ; " though you have but to look at the 
 
 VOL. II. i
 
 170 ACNES SOREL. 
 
 things to make them shine as if the sun was 
 beaming on them." 
 
 This hit told well ; and the pretty bourgeoise 
 very speedily purchased two or three articles 
 from the stall. 
 
 She had just paid her money, when Martin 
 Grille, with a scared and haggard air, entered 
 the booth, and asked the boy where his father 
 was, without any previous salutation. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter with you, Martin'/" 
 asked Petit Jean, affectionately. " You conic 
 in like a stranger, and don't say a word to me 
 about myself, or yourself, and look as wild as 
 /he Devil in a mystery, What is it you wanl 
 with my father in sueli a hurry?" 
 
 "I am vexed and frightened, Petit lean,' 1 
 replied poor Martin, with a sigh. " I am quite 
 at my wits' end, who never was at my wits' end 
 before. Your father may help me ; but yen 
 can'1 help at all, my boy." 
 
 " Oh, you don't know that," answered the 
 other. " 1 can help more than people know. 
 Why, 1 have sold more things for my father, in
 
 AGNES SOREL. 171. 
 
 three hours since he went up to the Celestins to 
 see the body of the Duke of Orleans, than he 
 sold in three days before." 
 
 " Ah, the poor Duke — the poor Duke !" 
 cried Martin, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " Well, well ! come, sit down," said Petit 
 Jean. " My father will be in presently, and in 
 the mean while I'll play you a tune on my 
 new violin, and you shall hear,how I can play 
 now." 
 
 Martin Grille seated himself with an absent 
 look, leaned his forehead upon his hands, and 
 seemed totally to forget everything around him, 
 in the unwonted intensity of his own thoughts. 
 But the boy, creeping under the board on which 
 the wares were displayed, brought forth an 
 instrument of no very prepossessing appear- 
 ance, tried its tunc with his thumb, as if play- 
 ing on a guitar, and then, seating himself at 
 Martin Grille's knee, put the instrument to his 
 deformed shoulder. 
 
 There are some to whom music comes as by 
 i 2
 
 I i 2 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 inspiration. All other arts arc more or less 
 acquired. But those in whom a fine sensi- 
 bility to harmony is implanted by Nature, not 
 unfrequently leap over even mechanical diffi- 
 culties, and achieve at once, because they have 
 conceived already, Music must have started from 
 the heart of Apollo', as Wisdom from the head 
 "(Move, without a childhood. Little had been 
 the instruction — few, scanty, and from an in- 
 competent teacher, the lessons — which that poor 
 deformed boy had received ; but now, when the 
 bow in his hand touched the strings, it drew 
 I'roiii them sounds such as a 1 )c Beriot, era Rode, 
 
 might have envied him the power of* educing. 
 
 fixing his large, lustrous eyes upon his 
 cousin's face, he seemed to speak in music from 
 his intra spirit to the spirit of his hearer. 
 Whether he had any design, and, if so, what 
 that design was, I cannot tell — perhaps he did 
 not know bjmself; but certain it is, that the 
 wandering, wavering fantasia that he framed at 
 the niomenl, seemed to bear a strange reference 
 1o Martin's feelings. First, came a harsh crash
 
 AGNES S0REL. 173 
 
 of the bow across all the strings — a broad, bold 
 discord : then a deep and gloomy phrase, en- 
 tirely amongst the lower tones of the instru- 
 ment, simple and melodious, but without any 
 attempt at elaborate harmony : then, enriching 
 itself as it went on, the ah* deviated into the 
 minor, with sounds exquisitely pathetic, till 
 Martin Grille almost fancied he could hear the 
 voices of mourners, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Don't, Jean ! Don't ! I cannot bear it !" 
 The boy, however, went on, as if triumphing 
 in the mastery of music over the mind ; and 
 gradually his instrument gave forth more cheer- 
 ful sounds — not light, not exactly gay, for 
 every now and then a flattened third brought 
 back a touch of sadness to the melody ; but still 
 one could have fancied the ear caught the 
 distant notes of angels singing hope and peace 
 to man — hope not the less hopeful because 
 something subdued, even plantive, lurked in it ; 
 and peace rendered more peaceful by a tone 
 of tender contemplation. The great masters 
 never show the glory of their art so admirably
 
 17-1 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 as when they submit themselves to this mood ; 
 and poor Petit Caboche was taught by Nature 
 to excel in it. 
 
 The effect on Martin Grille was strange : it 
 cheered him, but lie wept ; and the boy, looking 
 earnestly in his face, said, with a strange con- 
 fidence — 
 
 " Do not tell me I have no power, Martin. 
 Mean, deformed, and miserable as I am, I have 
 found out that I can rule spirits better than 
 Kings, and have a happiness within me over 
 which they have no sway. You arc not the 
 first T have made weep. So now tell me what 
 it is you want with my father. Perhaps I may 
 help you better than he can." 
 
 n It was not you who made me weep, you 
 foolish boy," said Martin Grille ; " but it was the 
 thought of the bloody death of the poor Duke 
 of Orleans — so good a master, and so kind a 
 man ! Then T began to think how his ter- 
 rible fate might ha>" expiated, through the 
 goodness of the I' 1 - ed Virgin, all his little sins ; 
 and how the sainis and the angels would wel-
 
 AGNES SOREL. 175 
 
 come him. I almost thought I could hear them 
 singing ; and it was that made me cry. But, as 
 to what I want with your father, it was in re- 
 gard to my poor master, Monsieur de Brecy. 
 A kind, good young man, and a gallant one, too. 
 They have arrested him, and thrown him into 
 prison — a set of fools ! — accusing him of having 
 compassed the Prince's death, when he would 
 have laid down his life for him at any time. 
 But all the people at the Hotel are against him ; 
 for he is too good for them, a great deal, and 
 I want somebody powerful to speak in his he- 
 half; otherwise they may put him to the torture, 
 and cripple him for life, to make him confess a 
 lie, just as they did with Paul Laroche who 
 never could walk afterwards without two sticks. 
 Now, 1 know your father is one of the Duke of 
 Burgundy's men, and that Duke will rule the 
 roast now, I suppose." 
 
 " Strong spirits seek strong spirits," said the 
 boy, thoughtfully ; " and perhaps my father 
 might do something with the Duke ; but, 
 Martin," he continued, after a short, silent
 
 176 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 pause, " I advise you to have nothing to do 
 with the Duke of Burgundy. lie will not 
 help you. I do not know what it is puts such 
 thoughts in my head ; but the King's brother 
 had an enemy : the lung's brother is basely 
 murdered : his enemy still lives heartily : and it is 
 not him I Avould ask to help a man falsely accused. 
 Stay a little. They took me three days ago to 
 play before the King of Navarre, and I am to 
 go to-day with my instrument to play before 
 the Queen of Sicily. I think I can help you, 
 Martin, if she will but hear me. This murder, 
 perhaps, may put it all out ; for she was fond 
 of the Duke, they tell me ; but I will send her 
 word through some of her people when I go, 
 that I have got a dirge to play for his Highness 
 that is dead. She will hear that, perhaps. 
 Only tell me all about it." 
 
 Martin (Jrillc's story was somewhat long; 
 but, as the reader already knows much 
 that he told, in a desultory way, to his 
 young cousin, and the rest is not of much im- 
 portance to this tale, we will pass over his
 
 AGNES SOREL. 177 
 
 account, which lasted about twenty minutes, 
 and had not been finished five minutes, when 
 Caboche himself entered the booth in holiday 
 attire. His first words showed Martin Grille 
 the good sense of Petit Jean's advice, not to 
 speak to his father in favor of Jean Charost. 
 
 " Oh, oh, Martin !" cried Caboche, in a gruff 
 and almost savage tone, " so your gay Duke 
 has got his brains knocked out at last for his 
 fine doings." 
 
 " For which of his doings has he been so 
 shamefully murdered?" asked Martin Grille, 
 with as much anger in Ms tone as he dared 
 to evince. 
 
 " What ! don't you know ?" exclaimed 
 Caboche. "Why, it is in every body's mouth 
 that he has been killed by Albert de Chauny, 
 whose wife he carried off, and made a harlot 
 of. I say, well done, Albert de Chauny ; and 
 I would have done the same if I had been in 
 his place." 
 
 i o
 
 ITS 
 
 A.GNE8 S0REL. 
 
 " Then Monsieur de Brecy is proved inno- 
 « t :it, 7 ' interposed Martin Grille, eagerly. 
 
 " I know nothing about that," returned 
 Caboche. " He may Have been an accomplice 
 you know; but that's no business Of mine. I 
 went up to see the Duke lie at the Celestins. 
 There was a mighty Crowd there of men and 
 women; but they all made way for Caboche. 
 He makes a handsome corpse, though his head 
 is so knocked about ; but he'll not take any 
 more men's wives away ; and now we shall 
 have quiel days, I suppose, though I don't see 
 what good quiet does ; lor, whether the town is 
 peaceful or not, men don't buy or sell, now-a* 
 days, half so much as they used to do." 
 
 There was a certain degree of vanity in his 
 tone as he uttered the words, "All made wav 
 for Caboche," which was very significant; 
 and his <1 sscription of the appearance of the 
 Duke of Orleans made Martin Grille shudder. 
 He remained not long with his rough uncle, 
 however; : t. after having asked, and answered.
 
 AGNES S0REL. 179 
 
 some questions, he took advantage of a moment 
 when Caboche himself was busy in re-arrang- 
 ing his cutlery, and counting his money, to 
 whisper a few words to Petit Jean regarding a 
 meeting in the evening, and then parted from 
 him, saying, simply, 
 "Remember !"
 
 180 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 There was a great assemblage iu the court of the 
 
 Hotel d'Anjou ; lacqueys, and pages, and men- 
 
 at-anns ; but the court was a very large one, 
 
 with covered galleries on either hand ; and the 
 
 number of retainers present was hardly seen. 
 
 From time to time, some great lord of the court 
 
 arrived, and proceeded at once into the palace, 
 
 leaving his followers to swell some of the little 
 
 groups into Avhich the whole body of the 
 
 people assembled had arranged themselves. To 
 
 one certain point the eyed of all present were 
 
 most frequently directed ; and it was only 
 
 When one of the princes of the blood royal — 
 
 the Duke of Bern, or Bourbon, or the King of 
 
 Navarn — arrived, that the mere spectators 
 
 of tin 1 scene could divert their eyes from a spot 
 
 where a young and handsome lad, who hadnol
 
 AGNES SOUEL. 181 
 
 yet seen twenty years, stood in the midst 
 of a group of the Prevot's guard, with fetters 
 on his limbs. 
 
 By half-past three o'clock, several of the 
 princes and the royal Council had entered the 
 building, and were conducted, at once, to a 
 large hall on the ground floor, where every- 
 thing was dark and sombre as the occasion of 
 their meeting. The ceiling was much lower 
 than might have been expected in a chamber 
 of such great size ; but the decorations which 
 it displayed were rich and costly, showing the 
 rose — an ancient emblem of the house of 
 Anjou — in red, and green, and gold, at the 
 corner of every panel ; for the ceiling, like the 
 rest of the room, was covered with dark oak. 
 The walls were richly embellished; but the 
 want of light hid the greater part of the 
 delicate carving, and scarcely allowed a secre- 
 tary, seated at the table, to see the letters on 
 the paper on which he was writing. 
 
 Most of the members of the Coimcil had 
 arrived ; the Duke of Berri himself was pre-
 
 1 82 AGNES S01U5L. 
 
 seat ; but two very important personages had 
 not yt't appeared, namely, the Duke of Anjou, 
 (titular King of Sicily) and the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy. The Duke of Berri, nevertheless. 
 gave orders that the business of the day should 
 proceed, while he sent a lacquey to summon 
 the Duke of Anjou; and, very shortly after, 
 that Prince entered the room, inquiring, as he 
 advanced to the table, ii the Trevot had yet 
 arrived. 
 
 •• No, good cousin, " replied the Duke of 
 licrri ; "but we may as well got over the pre- 
 liminaries. The facts attending the finding of 
 the body musl be read in the first place." 
 
 " I have read the whole of the proetk 
 <'<>rl>al" observed the King of Sicily. " Go on ; 
 I will be back immediately. " 
 
 The Duke of Berri seemed somewhat dis- 
 pleased 1" 6$Q, his cousin quit the hall 
 again ; but the investigation proceeded ; 
 
 all the facts regarding the assassination of the 
 Duke of Oilcans, which iiad been collected, 
 were read by tin 1 secretary from the papers
 
 AGXES S0EEL, 18o 
 
 before him ; and, when he had done, he 
 added, 
 
 " I find, my Lords, that a young gentleman, 
 the secretary of the late Duke, who was not 
 with him at the Hotel Barbette, was arrested, 
 by one of Her Majesty's servants, at the scene 
 of the murder, in very suspicious circumstances, 
 shortly after the crime was perpetrated. Is it 
 yom- pleasure that he be brought before you ?'„' 
 
 " Assuredly," replied the Duke of Berri. 
 " I have seen the young man, and jiodge well 
 of lrim. I cannot think he had any share in 
 this foul deed. Are there any of my poor 
 nephew's household here to testify concerning 
 him ?" 
 
 " Several, your Highness," answered the 
 secretary. " They are in the ante-room." 
 
 " Let them also be called in," said the Duke 
 of Berri ; and, in a minute or two, Jean Cha- 
 rost, heavily ironed, was brought to the end of 
 the table, and a number of the Duke of Or- 
 leans' officers, the jester, and the chaplain, ap- 
 peared behind them.
 
 184 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 The Duke of Berri gazed at the young man 
 somewhat sternly ; but with Jean Gharost the 
 first feelings of grief, horror, alarm, had now 
 given way to a sensation of indignation at the 
 suspicions entertained against him ; and he re- 
 turned the Duke's glance firmly and unshrink- 
 ingly, with a look of manly confidence, which 
 sal well even upon his youthful features. 
 
 " Well, young gentleman," said the Duke 
 of Berri, at length, " what have you to say for 
 yourself' ?" 
 
 " In what respect, my Lord?" asked Jean 
 Gharost, still keeping his eyes upon the Duke ; 
 for the stare of all around was painful to 
 him. 
 
 " In answer to the charge brought against 
 vou," answered the Duke of Berri. 
 
 " 1 know of no charge, your Highness," re- 
 turned -It'iin Charosi "I only know thai, 
 while proceeding, according to the orders of 
 my Late beloved Lord, to rejoin him at the 
 Hotel Barbette, 1 was seised by some men at 
 • •in- corner of the Rue Barbette, just as I was
 
 AGNES S0REL. 185 
 
 pausing to look at a house that was in flames, 
 and at a crowd which I saw farther down the 
 street ; that then, with scarcely any explana- 
 tion, I was hurried to prison ; and this morn- 
 ing I have been brought hither, with these 
 fetters on my limbs, which do not become an 
 innocent French gentleman." 
 
 " It is right you should hear the charge," 
 observed the Duke. " Is- the man who first 
 apprehended him here present ?" 
 
 The tall, stout lacquey of the Queen, who 
 had been the first to seize the young secretary's 
 bridle, now bustled forward, full of his own 
 importance, and related, not altogether without 
 embellishment, his doings of the preceding 
 night. He told how, on hearing from the fly- 
 ing servants of the Duke of Orleans, that their 
 Lord had been attacked by armed men in the 
 street, he had snatched up a halbert, and run 
 to his assistance ; how he arrived too late, and 
 then addressed himself to apprehend the mur- 
 derers. He said that Jean Charost was not 
 riding in any direction; but sitting on his
 
 186 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 horse quite still, as if he hud beeu watching, 
 from a distance, the deed, just done ; and that 
 a gentleman of good repute, who had hastened 
 like himself to give assistance, had pointed out 
 the young secretary as one of the band of si<- 
 sassinSj and even aided to apprehend him. lie 
 added various particulars of no great import- 
 ance in regard to Jean Charost's manner and 
 words, with the view of making out a case of 
 strong suspicion against him. 
 
 "You hear the charge," said the Duke of 
 Berri, when the man had ended. " What have 
 you to say ?" 
 
 " I might well answer, nothing, your High- 
 ness," replied Jean Charost ; " for, as far as I 
 can sec, there is no charge against me, except 
 that I cheeked my horse, for an instant, to look 
 at a crowd, and a house in names. Neverthe- 
 less, if you will permit, I will ask this man a 
 question or two, as it may tend to bring some 
 parts of this dark affair to light." 
 
 •• Ask what you please," answered the 
 Duke.
 
 AGXES S0REL. 187 
 
 Jean Charost turned to the servant, and 
 demanded, it must be confessed in a sharp 
 tone — 
 
 " Was the man who pointed me out to you 
 armed or unarmed ?" 
 
 " Completely armed, except the head," re- 
 plied the lacquey, looking a little confused. 
 
 " What had he in his hand ?" demanded 
 Jean Charost. 
 
 " A mace, I think," answered the man. " An 
 iron mace." 
 
 " Did he tell you how he came completely 
 armed in the streets of Paris, at that hour of 
 the night ?" asked Jean Charost. 
 
 " He said he came forth at the cries," an- 
 swered the servant. 
 
 " How long may it take to arm a man com- 
 pletely, except the head?" asked the young 
 gentleman. 
 
 " I don't know," answered the servant. " I 
 don't hear arms." 
 
 "I do," rejoined Jean Charost; "and so 
 do these noble lords. Is it probable that a
 
 188 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 man could shuffle on his armour in time to ho 
 on the spot so soon ? He must have been already 
 aimed. Now tell me ; what was this man's 
 name ?" 
 
 The servant hesitated ; hut the Duke of Bern 
 thundered from the head of the table — 
 
 "Answer at once, sir. You have said he 
 was a gentleman of good repute. You must 
 therefore know him. What was his name ?" 
 
 " William of Courthose," answered the 
 man ; " the brother of the King's valet de 
 rhambrc." 
 
 " Where is he ?" asked the Duke of Berri, 
 so sternly that the man became more and more 
 alarmed, judging that his stupid activity might 
 not prove so honorable to himself as he had 
 expected. 
 
 " I do not know rightly, your Highness," he 
 replied. " His brother told me to-day he had 
 srone to Artois." 
 
 There was a silence all through the room at 
 
 !-> 
 
 O" 
 
 this announcement. Jean Charost asked no
 
 AGNES SOREL. 189 
 
 more questions. Several of the Council looked 
 meaningly in each other's faces, and the Duke 
 of Bern gazed thoughtfully down at the 
 txible. 
 
 The chaplain of the late Duke of Orleans, 
 however, and Seigneur Andre, his fool, moved 
 round, and got behind the Prince's chair. The 
 former bent his head, and said a few words in a 
 low tone ; and the Duke instantly looked up, 
 saying— 
 
 u It seems, Monsieur de Brecy, that there 
 was a quarrel between yourself and my un- 
 happy nephew. You were heard speaking 
 loudly and angrily in his apartments. You left 
 him half way to the Hotel Barbette. Explain 
 all this." 
 
 " There was no quarrel, my lord," replied 
 Jean Charost. " There could be no quarrel 
 between a humble man like myself and a 
 Prince of the blood royal. His Highness re- 
 proved me for something I had done amiss, and 
 his voice was certainly loud wheu he did so.
 
 1 90 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 He pardoned me, however, on my apology, 
 look me with him on his way to the Hotel Bar- 
 bette sent me to deliver a letter and receive an 
 answer, and commanded me to rejoin him at 
 Iht Majesty's house, which I was on the way 
 to do when I was arrested." 
 
 " What was the cause of his reproving you ?" 
 asked the Duke of Berri. " To whom did be 
 send you with a letter? And where did you 
 pass the time from the moment you left him 
 to the moment of your arrest ? You had 
 better, Monsieur de Brecy, give a full accolint 
 of your whole conduct from the time of your 
 arrival in Paris till the time of your apprehen- 
 sion." 
 
 Jean Charosi looked down, thoughtfully, and 
 his countenance changed. To betray tin 4 
 secrets of the dead, to plant a fresh thorfi in 
 the heart of the Duchess of Orleans, already 
 torn as it must be, to explain how and whj he 
 had hesitated to obey his lord's commands, was 
 wlrnt he would fain escape from at any risk ;
 
 AGNES SOKEL. 191 
 
 and his confidence in his own innocence made 
 liim believe that his refusal could do him no 
 material damage. 
 
 " It would be better for yourself, sir, to be 
 frank and candid," said the Duke of Berri. 
 " A few words may clear you of all suspicion." 
 
 " I doubt it not, yonr Highness," replied 
 Jean Charost ; " for as yet I see no cause for 
 any. Were I myself alone concerned, I would 
 willingly, and at once, state every act of my 
 own, and every word I uttered ; but, my Lord, 
 in so doing, I should be obliged to give also 
 the acts and words of my noble master. They 
 were spoken to me in confidence, as between a 
 frank and generous prince and his secretary. 
 He is dead ; but that absolves not me from the 
 faithful discharge of my duty towards him. 
 What he confided to me — whither he sent me 
 — nay, even more, the very cause of his re- 
 proving me, which involves some part of his 
 own private affairs — I will never disclose, be 
 the consequence what it may ; and I do trust 
 that noble princes and honorable gentlemen 

 
 l'J2 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 will not require a humble secretary, such as I 
 am, to betray the secrets of his lord." 
 
 " You are bound, sir, by the law to answer 
 truly any questions that the King's Council 
 may demand of you," said the King of Navarre, 
 sternly. " If not, we can compel you." 
 
 " I think not, my Lord," replied Jean 
 Oharost. "I know of no means which can 
 compel an honourable man to violate a sacred 
 duty." 
 
 "Ha, ha!" shouted Seigneur Andre. "He 
 does not know of certain bird-cages we have in 
 France to make unwilling warblers sing. Mr- 
 thinks one screw of the rack would soon make 
 the pretty creature open its bill." 
 
 " 1 think so, too," said the King of Navarre, 
 setting his teeth, and not at all well pleased 
 with -lean Cliarosfs reply. " We give you one 
 more chance, sir. Will you, or will you not, 
 answer the Duke of 1 Jerri's questions ? If not, 
 we must try the extent of your obstinacy." 
 
 As he spoke, he beckoned up to him the 
 Provot of Paris, who had entered the hall a few
 
 AGXES S0EEL. 193 
 
 minutes before, and spoke something to him in 
 a whisper, to which the other replied : 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, in the other chamber. The 
 screw will do — it has often more power than the 
 rack." 
 
 In the meantime, a struggle had been going 
 on in the bosom of Jean Charost. 
 
 It is often very dangerous to commit oneself 
 by words to a certain course of action. So long 
 as we keep a debate with ourselves within the 
 secret council-chamber of our own bosom, we 
 feel no hesitation in retracting an ill-formed 
 opinion, or a rash resolution; but when we 
 have called our fellow creatures to witness our 
 thoughts or our determinations, the great 
 primaeval sin of pride puts a barrier in our way, 
 and often prevents our going back, even when 
 we could do so with honour. Jean Charost was 
 as faulty as the rest of our race, and perhaps it 
 would be too much to say that pride had no 
 share in strengthening resolution ; but, after a 
 short pause, he said : 
 
 VOL. II. k
 
 L94 auxks sorki.. 
 
 " My Lord, tlic Duke of Bern, take it not 
 ill of me, I beg your Highness, if I say that any 
 questions simply regarding myself I will answer 
 truly and at once; but none in any way a f lect- 
 in;: the private affairs of my late royal master 
 will I answer at all." 
 
 " We cannot suffer our authority to be set at 
 nought," said the Duke of Berri, gravely; and 
 the King of Navarre, turning with a heavy 
 frown to the Prev6t, exclaimed: 
 
 " Remove him, Monsieur de Tignonville. 
 and make him answer." 
 
 Jean Charost turned very pale ; but he Baid 
 nothing ; and two of the Prevdt's men laid 
 their hands upon him, and drew him from the 
 end of the table. 
 
 At the Bame moment, however, another 
 young man started forward, with his face all in 
 a glow, exclaiming : 
 
 " ()li, my Lords, my Lords! for pity's sake — 
 for your own honour's sake — forbear ! lie is as 
 noble and as faithful a lad as ever lived — well- 
 beloved of the Prince whom we all mourn. 
 
 v
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 195 
 
 Think you that he, who will suffer torture 
 rather than betray his Lord's secrets, would con- 
 spire his death ?" 
 
 " They may be his own secrets that he will 
 not reveal," said the Duke of Bern. 
 
 " ^leddle not with what does not concern 
 you," cried the King of Kavarre, sternly. 
 
 But Jean Charost turned his head as they 
 were taking hhn from the room, and ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Thank you, de Boyans — thank you! That 
 is noble and just." 
 
 He was scarcely removed when the Duke of 
 Burgundy entered by the great entrance, and 
 the King of Sicily by a small door behind the 
 Duke of Berri. The former was alone ; but 
 the latter was followed by several of the officers 
 of his household, and in the midst of them ap- 
 peared a young girl, leaning on the arm of an 
 elder woman, dressed as a superior servant. 
 
 " I heard that Monsieur de Brecv was under 
 examination," said Louis of Anjou, looking 
 
 XT 9
 
 196 aom:s SOREL. 
 
 round, " accused of being accessory to the 
 murder. Is he not here ?" 
 
 " He lias retired with a friend," said 
 Seigneur Andre, who thought it his privilege 
 to intermeddle with all conversation. 
 
 " The truth is, fair cousin," answered the 
 King of Navarro, " we have found him a very 
 obstinate personage to deal with — setting at 
 nought the authority of the Council, and re- 
 fusing to answer the questions propounded to 
 him. We have, therefore, been compelled to 
 employ means, which usually make recusants 
 answer." 
 
 "Good God! I hope not !" exclaimed the 
 King of Anjou. " Here is a young lady, who 
 can testify something in his favour." 
 
 lie turned, as he spoke, towards the young 
 girl who had followed him into the hall, and 
 who has more than once appeared upon the 
 -eciic already. She was now deadly pale ; but 
 those energies which afterwards saved France, 
 foiled her no1 now. She loosed her hold of the 
 old servant's arm, on which she had been lean-
 
 AGNES SOREL. 197 
 
 ing, took a step forward, and, with her hands 
 clasped, exclaimed : 
 
 " In God's name, mighty Princes, forbear ! 
 Send a messenger, if yon wonld save yonr own 
 peace, and countermand your terrible order. 
 I know not why you have doomed an innocent 
 man to torture ; but right sure I am that some- 
 how he has brought this infliction on his 
 head by honesty, and not by crime — by keep- 
 ing his faith, not by breaking it." 
 
 " They are made for each other," said the 
 King of Navarre, coldly. " They both speak 
 in the same tone. Who is she, cousin of 
 Sicily ?" 
 
 " Mademoiselle de St. Geran — Agnes Sorel," 
 answered the Duke of Anjou, in a low tone. 
 " One of the Maids of Honour to my wife." 
 
 But Agnes took no notice of their half-heard 
 colloquy, and, turning at once with quick de- 
 cision and infinite grace towards the Duke of 
 Burgundy, who sat with his head leaning on his 
 hand, and his eyes fixed upon the table, she ex- 
 claimed :
 
 LGNE8 SOREL. 
 
 " My Lord, the Duke of Burgundy, I In- 
 ch you interfere. You know this young man 
 — you know he is faithful and true — you know 
 he refused to betray the secrets of his lord, even 
 at your command, and dared your utmost angei 
 — you know he is not guilty." 
 
 "I do," said the Duke of Burgundy, rising, 
 and speaking in a hoarse, hollow tone. "My 
 Lords, he is not guilty — I am sure. Suspend 
 your order, I beseech you. Send off to the 
 chatelet, and let him — " 
 
 A deep groan, which seemed almost a sup- 
 pressed cry, seemed to proceed from a door 
 half way down the hall, and swell through the 
 room, like the note of an organ. 
 
 "lie is not far off, as you may hear," Baid 
 the King of Navarre, in an indifferent 
 manner. "Tell tliem to stop, if you please, 
 fair cousin. " 
 
 The Duke of Burgundy waited not to ask 
 permission, but was already striding towards 
 the door, lie threw it sharply open, and en- 
 tered a small room, having no exit except
 
 AGNES S0REL. 199 
 
 through the hall ; but he paused, without 
 speaking for a moment, although, before his 
 eyes, lay poor Jean Charost, strapped down 
 upon a sort of iron bedstead, and one of the 
 Prevot's men stood actually turning a wheel at 
 the head, which elongated the whole frame, 
 and threatened to tear the unfortunate sufferer 
 to pieces. For an instant, the Duke continued to 
 gaze in silence, as if desirous of seeing how 
 much the unhappy young man could bear. 
 But Jean Charost uttered not a word. That 
 one groan of agony had burst from him on 
 first feeling the terrible peine forte et dure. 
 But now his resolution seemed to have 
 triumphed over human weakness ; and, with 
 his teeth shut, and his eyes closed, he lay and 
 suffered without a cry. 
 
 " Hold !" exclaimed the Duke, at length. 
 " Hold ! Messirc Prevot, unbind the man. 
 He is not guilty." 
 
 The Duke then slowly moved to the door, 
 and closed it ; while Jean Charost was loosened 
 from his terrible couch, and a little water given
 
 200 AOXES SOKEL. 
 
 him to drink. He sat up, and loaned his head 
 upon his Land, with his eyes still closed, and 
 not even appearing to see who had come to de- 
 liver him. The Prevot's men approached, 
 and at tempted somewhat rudely to place upon 
 him his coat and vest, which had been taken off 
 to apply the torture. 
 
 "Patience — patience for a moment !" he 
 faintly ejaculated. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the Duke of Burgundy 
 had approached close to him, and stood gazing 
 at him, with his arms crossed on has broad 
 chest. 
 
 " Can you speak, young man?" he said, at 
 length. 
 
 Jean Charost inclined his head a little 
 farther. 
 
 "What was it you refused to toll the 
 Council ?" asked the Duke. 
 
 "Where the Duke of Orleans sent me last 
 night," answered the young man, in a voice 
 
 scarcely audible.
 
 AGNES S0REL. 201 
 
 " Faithful and true, indeed !" exclaimed the 
 Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 Then, laying his hand upon the youth's 
 aching shoulders, he said, in a low tone, 
 
 " If you seek new service, de Brecy, join 
 me at Mons in a week. I will raise you to 
 high honom* ; and remember this — what you 
 have suffered was not my doing. I came to 
 deliver you. Now, bring him in, Prevot, as 
 soon as he can bear it." 
 
 When the Duke returned to the hall, he 
 found Agnes Sorel standing by the side of the 
 Duke of Berri, although a chair had been 
 placed for her by one of the gentlemen near ; 
 for, in those days, there was the brilliant stamp 
 of chivalrous courtesy on all French gentlemen, 
 in external things at least, though since blotted 
 out by the blood of Lamballe and Marie An- 
 toinette. 
 
 " Your testimony as to his general character 
 and uprightness, my fair young lady," said the 
 Duke of Berri, in a kindly tone, " will have 
 k 5
 
 202 AGNES SORKL. 
 
 the weight that it deserves with the Council ; 
 but we must have sometlring more definite 
 here. We find that he was absent more than 
 an hour from the Duke's suite when my poor 
 nephew had ordered him to rejoin him im- 
 mediately ; and that this fearful assassination 
 was committed during that period. He re- 
 fuses to answer as to where he was or what he 
 was doing during that time. We will put the 
 question to him again," he continued, looking 
 towards the door, at which Jean Charost now 
 appeared, supported by two of the Prevot's 
 men, and followed by that officer himself. " lias 
 he made any answer, Monsieur do Tignon- 
 ville ?» 
 
 "Not a word, your Highness," replied the 
 
 I'lrvot. 
 
 •• Noble lad T 1 exclaimed Agues Sorel, in a 
 low voice, as if to herself ; and then continued, 
 raising her tone, "My Lord, the Duke, / will 
 It'll you where he was. and what he was 
 doing."
 
 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 203 
 
 The Duke of Burgundy started, and looked 
 suddenly up ; but Agnes went on, 
 
 " Although there he some men, to whose 
 character certain acts are so repugnant, 
 that to suppose them guilty of such would be 
 to suppose an impossibility, and though I and 
 the mighty Prince, there opposite, can both 
 bear witness that such is the case even in this 
 instance ; yet, lest he should bring himself 
 into danger by his faithfulness, I will tell you 
 what he will not speak ; for I am not bound by 
 duty to refrain. He was at the house of 
 Madame de Giac, sent thither with a note by 
 the Duke of Orleans. She told me so herself 
 this morning, and lamented that a foolish trick 
 she caused her servants to play him, merely to 
 see how he, in his inexperience, would escape 
 from a difficulty, had prevented him from rejoin- 
 ing his princely master, though, as she justly 
 said, her idle jest had most likely saved the 
 young man's life." 
 
 "Skilfully turned," muttered the Duke of
 
 204 AGNES SOItEL. 
 
 Burgundy between his teeth ; and lie looked up 
 with a relieved expression of count enanee. 
 
 " If my Lords doubt me," continued the 
 young girl, " let them send for Madame do 
 Giac herself;" 
 
 "Nay, nay, we doubt you not," said the 
 Duke of Burgundy; "and so sure am I of the 
 poor lad's innocence — although he offended me 
 somewhat at Pithiviers — that I propose he 
 should be instantly liberated, and allowed to 
 retire." 
 
 "Open the door; but first clip the bird's 
 wings," said Seigneur Andre. "He won't fly 
 far, I fancy, after the trimming lie has had." 
 
 The proposal oftheDukeof Burgundy, how- 
 ever, was at once acceded to, and Louis of 
 Anjon, whose hear! was a kindly one. notwith- 
 standing some failings, leaned across the table 
 towards Amies Sorel, saying — 
 
 "Take him with you, pretty maid ; and try 
 what you and the rest can do to comfort him 
 till I come."
 
 AGNES SOREL. 205 
 
 Agnes frankly held out her hand to Jean 
 Charost, saying — 
 
 " Come, Monsieur de Brecy, you need rest 
 and refreshment. Come ! You shall have the 
 sweetest music you ever heard to cheer you, 
 and may have to thank the musician too." 
 
 With feeble and wavering steps, the young 
 gentleman followed her from the room ; and, the 
 moment the door was closed behind them, the 
 King of Sicily turned to the Prevot, saying— 
 
 " This young man is clearly innocent, Mon- 
 sieur de Tignonville. Do you not think so ?" 
 
 " I have never thought otherwise, my Lord," 
 replied the Prevot. 
 
 " Well, then, sir," said the Duke of Berri, 
 " you have doubtless used all diligence, as we 
 commanded this morning, to trace out those 
 who have committed so horrible a crime as the 
 assassination of the King's only brother." 
 
 " All diligence have I used, noble Lords 
 and mighty Princes," said de Tignonville, ad- 
 vancing to the edge of the table, and speaking 
 in a peculiarly stem and resolute tone of voice ;
 
 200 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 " but I have not yet apprehended any of the 
 Lssassins or their accomplices. Nevertheless, 
 such information have I received as leads me t<> 
 feel sure that I shall be able to place them be- 
 fore you, ere many hours are over, if you will 
 give me the authority of the Council to enfo 
 and examine the houses of all the servants oi 
 the King, and those of the Princes, even of the 
 blood royal, which, as you know, is beyond 
 my power without your especial sanction." 
 
 •• Most assuredly," replied the King of Sicily. 
 "Begin with mine, if you please. Search it 
 from top to bottom. Th ere is none of us here 
 who would stand upon a privilege that might 
 conceal the murderer of Louis of ( Orleans." 
 
 "There can he no object ion, 1 ' said the Duke 
 of Berri. "Search mine when you please. 
 Monsieur lo Prevdt." 
 
 "And mine," said the Duke of Bourbon. 
 
 kk And miiK — and mine," said several of the 
 Lords of the Council. 
 
 The Duke of Burgundy said nothing ; but >;it 
 at the table, with his face pale, and his some-
 
 AGNES SOREL. 207 
 
 what harsh features sharpened, though motion- 
 less. At length, he started up from the table, 
 and exclaimed, in a sharp, quick tone, 
 
 . " Come hither, Sicily — come hither, my fair 
 uncle of Berri. I would speak a word with 
 you." 
 
 And he strode towards the great door, fol- 
 lowed by the two Princes whom he had se- 
 lected. 
 
 Between the great door, and that of an outer 
 hall, was a small vestibule, with a narrow stair- 
 case on one side, on the lower steps of which 
 some attendants were sitting when the Duke 
 appeared suddenly amongst them. 
 
 " Avoid!" he exclaimed, in a tone so loud and 
 harsh as to scatter them at once like a flock of 
 frightened sheep. He then closed both the 
 doors, looked up the stair-case, and drew the 
 Duke of Berri towards him, whispering some- 
 thing in his ear in a low tone. 
 
 The venerable Prince started back, and 
 gazed at him with a look of horror.
 
 20 S AGNES SOREL. 
 
 " It was a suggestion of the great enemy," 
 said Burgundy ; and I yielded." 
 
 u What does lie say — what does he say '.-' , * 
 exclaimed the King of Sicily. 
 
 " That lie ordered the assassination," an- 
 swered the Dnkc of Bcrri, in a sad and solemn 
 tone. " I have lost two nephews in one 
 night !" 
 
 The Duke of Anjon di*cw back with no less 
 horror on his face than that which had marked 
 the coimtenance of the Duke of Bern ; but he 
 gave more vehement way to the feeling of 
 reprobation which possessed liim, expressing 
 plainly his grief and indignation. He was 
 brief, however, and soon laid his hand upon the 
 lock to open the door of (lie Council-chamber 
 again. 
 
 "Stay, stay, Louis!'' cried llie Duke of 
 Herri. "Let as say nothing of thi> terrible 
 truth till we have well considered what is to be 
 done." 
 
 "Done!" echoed the Duke of Burgundy,
 
 AGNES S0KEL. 209 
 
 gazing at them both with a look of stern 
 surprise, as if he had fully expected that his 
 acknowledgment of the deed was to make it 
 pass uninvestigated and unpunished. He then 
 approached the door of the council-chamber as 
 if to go in. But the Duke of Berri barred the 
 way. 
 
 " Go not into the Council fair nephew," he 
 said. " It would not please me, nor any other 
 person there, to have you amongst us now." 
 
 The Duke of Burgundy gave him one glance, 
 but answered nothing ; and, passing through 
 the opposite door, and the outer , hall, mounted 
 his horse, and rode away, followed by his 
 train. 
 
 " Let us break up the Council, Louis," said 
 the Duke of Bern, "and summon it for to- 
 morrow morning. I will hie me home, and 
 give the next hours to silent thought and 
 prayer. You do the same ; and let us meet 
 to-morrow before the Council re-assembles." 
 
 " My thoughts are all confused," said the 
 King of Sicily. " Is it a dream, noble kinsman ?
 
 210 AGNES SOKEL. 
 
 A bloody and terrible dream ? Well, go you 
 in — I dare not go with you — I should discover 
 all. Say I am sick — God knows it is true — 
 sick, very sick at heart." 
 
 Thus saying, he turned towards the stair- 
 case ; and, while the Duke of Bcrri returned to 
 those he had left, and broke up the Council 
 abruptly, the other Prince proceeded slowly 
 mid gloomily towards his wife's apartments. 
 When he reached the top of the stairs, how* 
 ever, and opened the door at Avhich they ter- 
 minated, a strain of the most exquisite music 
 met his ear, sweet, slow, and plaintive, \<t 
 not altogether melancholy. 
 
 ( )h, how inharmonious can music sometimes 
 be to the spirits even of those who love it 
 
 best ! 

 
 AGNES SOREL. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 There are moments in life when even kindnes 
 and tenderness have no balm — when all streams 
 are bitter, because the bitterness is in us — 
 when the heart is rendered hard as the nether 
 millstone by the Gorgon look of despair — when 
 happiness is so utterly lost that unliappiness 
 has no degrees. There are such moments ; but, 
 thank God, they are few. 
 
 Heavy in heart and spirit, indignant at the 
 treatment he had received, with his mind full 
 of grief and horror at the dreadful death of a 
 prince he had well loved, and with a body 
 weary and broken with the torture he had 
 undergone, still Jean Charost found comfort 
 and relief in the soothing tenderness of Agnes 
 Sorel, and of two or three girls somewhat older 
 than herself, who lavished kindness and atten-
 
 212 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 lion upon him as soon they learned what had 
 just befallen him. Some wine was brought ; 
 fair hands gave it to him, and all that 
 woman's pity could do, was done ; but Agnes 
 had that morning learned the power of music, 
 and, running away into an ante-room, she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 "Where is our sweet musician ? Here, boy 
 — here ! Bring your instrument, and try and 
 comfort him for whom you pleaded so hard just 
 now. He needs it much." 
 
 Petit Jean rose instantly, paused for one mo- 
 ment to screw up a little, one of the strings of 
 his violin, and then followed into the inner 
 room, giving a timid glance around over the 
 fair young faces which wen 4 gathered about 
 Joan Charost. But his eyes soon settled upon 
 the sufferer with an enquiring look, which put 
 the question as plainly as in words — 
 
 " What is the matter with him?" 
 
 "They have put him to the torture," whis- 
 pered Agnes. 
 
 The boy, after a moment's pause, raised his
 
 AGNES S0REL. 213 
 
 instrument to his shoulder, and drew from it 
 those sweet tones which the Duke of Anjou 
 had heard. A short time before, he had played 
 a dirge for the Duke of Orleans, in the presence 
 of the Queen of Sicily. I can hardly call it one 
 of his own composition ; but rather one of his 
 inspirations. It had been deep, solemn, almost 
 terrible ; but now the music was very different 
 — sweet, plantive, and yet with a mingling of 
 cheerfulness every now and then, as if it would 
 fain have been gay, but that something like 
 memory oppressed the melody. It resembled a 
 spring day in the country — a day of early 
 spring — when winter still hovers about us, 
 though summer lies on before. 
 
 To enjoy fine and elaborate music aright, we 
 require some learning, a disciplined and prac- 
 tised ear ; but those I believe who have heard 
 the least music are more deeply affected by 
 simple melodies. The sensations which Jean 
 Charost experienced are hardly to be described ; 
 and when the boy ceased, he held out his hand 
 to him, saying —
 
 214 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, my young friend ! 
 You have done me more good than ever did 
 leech to sick man." 
 
 " You have more to thank him for than 
 that," said Agnes, with a smile, which brought 
 out upon her face, not then peculiarly handsome, 
 that latent, all-captivating beauty which was 
 afterwards her peril and her power. " Had it 
 nut been for him, neither the Queen of Sicily 
 nor J would ever have heard of your danger." 
 
 " How can that be?" asked Jean Charost. 
 " I do not know him — I never saw him.' , 
 
 Nor I you," replied the boy; "but 
 the story of the lion and the mouse thai my 
 grandmother told me. You have a lacquej 
 called Martin Grille. is my cousin. You 
 
 have been kind to him: he has been kind to 
 me ; and so the whole has gone in a round. 
 He gave me the firsl crown he could spare ; 
 that helped me to buy this thing thai speaks so 
 sweetly when 1 tell it. It said to that young 
 lady and the Queen, to have pity; and they 
 had pity on you; and so that went in a round
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 215 
 
 too. But I must go now ; for I have to meet 
 Martin on the Parvis, and I shall he too late." 
 
 " Stay a moment," said Agnes ; " you have 
 had no reward." 
 
 " Oh, yes I have," replied the boy; " reward 
 enough in setting him free." 
 
 " Xay, that was but justice," she answered 
 " Stay but a moment, and I will tell the Queen 
 you are going." 
 
 One of the other girls accompanied her, and 
 two more dropped away before she returned. 
 Another, who was elder, remained talking with 
 Petit Jean, and asked him many questions as 
 to how he had acquired such skill in music. 
 The boy said, God sent it : that from his infancy 
 he had always played upon any instrument he 
 could get : that one of the chanters of Xotre 
 Dame had taught him a little, and a blind man 
 who played on the cornemitse* had given 
 him some instruction. That was all that 
 
 A bag-pipe.
 
 21 G AGNES SOBEL. 
 
 he could tell; yet, though he showed no 
 Learning, he spoke of his beautiful art with a 
 wild confidence and enthusiasm that the young 
 denizen of an artificial court could not at all 
 comprehend. 
 
 At length, Agues returned alone, bearing a 
 small silk purse in her hand, which she gave to 
 the boy, saying — 
 
 "The Queen thanks you, Petit Jean; and 
 bids you come to her again on Sunday night. 
 To-day she can hear nothing that is not sad ; 
 but she would fain hear some of your gayer 
 music." 
 
 - Tell Martin that 1 will bo home soon," 
 said Jean Charost. " Indeed I see not why I 
 should not go with you now. Methinks I could 
 walk to the Hotel." 
 
 "Nay," said Agnes, kindly, " you shall not 
 go yet. The King has given me charge of you; 
 and I will be obeyed. It will be better that 
 he tell your servant to come hither, and en- 
 quire for Madame De Busserole, our superin- 
 tendent. Then, when you have somebody with
 
 AGNES SOREL. 217 
 
 you, you can go in more safety. Tell him so, 
 Petit Jean. I must let Madame de Busserole 
 know, however, lest the young man be sent 
 away." 
 
 " I will tell her," said the other maid of 
 honor. " You stay with your friend, Agnes ; 
 for I have got that rose in my embroidery to 
 finish. Farewell, Monsieur de Brecy. If I 
 were a King I would hang all the torturers, 
 and burn all the racks, with the man who first 
 invented them, in the middle of them." And 
 she tripped gaily out of the room. 
 
 The boy took his departure at the same 
 time ; and Jean Charost and Agnes were left 
 alone together, or nearly so — for various people 
 came and went — during well nigh an hour. 
 The light soon began to fade, and a considerable 
 portion of this interview parsed in twilight ; 
 but their conversation was not such as to re- 
 quire any help from the looks. It was very 
 calm and quiet. Vain were it, indeed, to say 
 that they did not take much interest in each 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 218 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 other. But both were very yoimg, and there 
 are different ways of being young. Some arc 
 young in years — some in mind — some in heart. 
 Agnes and Jean Charost were botli elder than 
 their years in mind, but perhaps younger than 
 their years in heart ; and nothing even like 
 a dream of love came over the thoughts of 
 either. 
 
 They talked much of the late Duke of Or- 
 leans ; and Jean Charost told her a good deal of 
 the Duchess. They talked, too, of Madame de 
 Giac ; and Agnes related to Jean all the par- 
 ticulars of that lady's visit to her in the 
 morning. 
 
 "Why she came, I really do not know," 
 said the young girl. " Although she is a dis- 
 tant cousin of my late father, there was never 
 any great love between us, and we parted with 
 no great tenderness two days alter] saw you 
 at Pithiviers. Her principal object seemed to 
 be to tell me of your having visited her yester- 
 night, and to mention the foolish trick she
 
 AGNES SOREL. 219 
 
 played upon you. She seemed very eager to 
 explain that, though I know not why." 
 
 Jean Charost mused somewhat gloomily. 
 Suspicions were in his breast to which he did 
 not like to give utterance ; and the conduct 
 and demeanour of Madame de Giac towards 
 himself were not what he could tell to her be- 
 side him. 
 
 " I love not that Madame de Giac," he said, 
 at length. 
 
 u I never loved her," answered Agnes. " I 
 can remember her before her marriage, and I 
 loved her not then ; but still less do I esteem 
 her now, after having been more than ten days 
 in her company. It is strange, Monsieur de 
 Brecy — is it not ? — what can give children 
 a sort of feeling of people's characters, 
 even before they have any real knowledge of 
 them. She was always very kind to me, even 
 as a child ; but I thought of her then just as 
 I think of her now, though, perhaps, I ought 
 to think worse ; for since then she has said 
 l 2
 
 2l!0 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 many things to me which I wish I had never 
 heard." 
 
 tk How so?" asked Jean Charost, eagerly. 
 •• What has she said?" 
 
 " Oh, much that I cannot tell — that I for- 
 get," answered Agnes, with a color mounting 
 in her cheek. " But her general conversation, 
 with me, at least, does not please me. She 
 speaks of right and wrong, honesty and dis- 
 honesty, as if there were no distinctions be- 
 tween them hut those made by priests and 
 lawyers. Everything, to her mind, depends 
 upon what is most advantageous in the end ; 
 and that is the most advantageous, inliermind, 
 which givesthe most pleasure." 
 
 "She maybe right," observed Jean Charost, 
 •• it* she takes the next world into account as 
 well as this. But still I think her doctrines 
 dangerous ones; and would not that anyone 
 whom 1 esteem, should listen to them." 
 
 "I never do," rejoined Agnes ; "but she 
 laughs at me when T tell her I would rather
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 221 
 
 not hear, and tells me that all these things, 
 and, indeed, the whole world, will appear to 
 me as differently ten years hence, as the world 
 now does when compared with what it seemed 
 to me as an infant. I do not think it ; do 
 you ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," replied Jean Charost, 
 gravely ; " but I hope not ; for I believe it 
 would be better for us all could we always see 
 the world with the eyes of childhood. True, 
 it has changed much to my own view within 
 the last few months ; but it has changed sadly, 
 and I wish I could look upon it as I did before. 
 That cannot be, however ; and I suppose we 
 are all, though men more than women, destined 
 to see these changes, and to pass through 
 them." 
 
 "Men can bear them better than women," 
 returned Agnes. " A storm that breaks a 
 flower or kills a butterfly, does not bend an 
 oak or scare an eagle. Well, we must endure, 
 whatever be our lot ; but I often think, Mon- 
 sieur de Brecy, that, had the choice been mine,
 
 222 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 I would rather have been a peasant girl — not 
 a serf, but a free farmer's daughter — with a 
 tall white cap, and a milk-pail on my arm, than 
 a lady of the court, with all these gauds and 
 jewels about me. If my poor mother had 
 lived, I should never have been here." 
 
 Thus they rambled on for some time, till at 
 length it was announced that Martin Grille 
 was in waiting; and Jean Charost took 
 leave of his fair companion, pouring forth upon 
 her, at the last moment, his thanks for all she 
 had done to servo and save him. lie was still 
 stiff and weak; feeling as if every bone in his 
 body had been crushed, and every muscle 
 riven ; but he contrived to reach the Hotel 
 d'Orleans, with the assistance of Martin 
 Grille. 
 
 It was now quite dark ; but, in the vestibule 
 which has been often mentioned, several of 
 the unfortunate Jhike's servants and retainers 
 weiv assembled, amongst whom Jean Charost 
 perceived at once, by the dim light of the lan- 
 terns, the faces of the chaplain and Seigneur
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 223 
 
 Andre. As soon as the latter saw him, leaning 
 feebly on his servant, he cried out, with an ex- 
 ulting laugh — 
 
 " Ah, here comes the lame sparrow, who was 
 once so pert." 
 
 " Silence, fool !" cried a loud voice ; " or I 
 will break your head for you." 
 
 And Juvenel de Eoyans came forward, hold- 
 ing out his hand to Jean Charost. 
 
 " Let us be Mends, de Brecy," he said. " I 
 have done you some wrong. I have acted 
 foolishly — like a boy — but this last fatal night, 
 and this day, have made a man of me, and, I 
 trust, have rendered me wiser than I have 
 ever shown myself. Forget the past, and let 
 us be friends." 
 
 '.' Most willingly," replied Jean Charost ; 
 " but I must get to my chamber, de Eoyans ; 
 for, to say truth, I can hardly drag my limbs 
 along." 
 
 " Curses upon them 1" exclaimed de Eoyans. 
 " The cruel monsters, to torture a man for faith- 
 fulness to his lord ! Let me help you, de Brecy."
 
 224 AGNES S0KEL. 
 
 Putting his Strong arm through that of* Jean 
 ( 'harost, he aided him to ascend the stairs ; and 
 w ith rough kindness laid him down uxjoii liis 
 bed. 
 
 Here, during the evening, the young secre- 
 tary was visited by various members of the 
 household, though, to say truth, he \va> in no 
 very fit state to entertain them. Lomelini 
 came with his soft and somewhat cunning <<>ur- 
 tesy, to ask what lie could do for the young 
 gentleman — doubting not that he would take a 
 high place in the favor of the Duchess. 
 
 The chaplain came to excuse himself for 
 having suggested certain questions to the King's 
 Council ; and did it rather lamely. 
 
 Monsieur Blaize visited him to express 
 ^ arm and hearty applause of the young man's 
 conduct in all respects. 
 
 " Do your devoir as knightly in the field, 
 my young friend," he said, " as you have done 
 it before the Council, and you will win your 
 gnlden spurs in the first battle that is 
 fought."
 
 AGNES SOREL. 22-5 
 
 Several of the late Duke's knights, with 
 whom Jean Charost had formed no acquaint- 
 ance, came also to express their approbation ; 
 but praise fell upon a faint and heavy ear ; for 
 all he had lately passed through was not with- 
 out consequences more serious than were at 
 first apparent. 
 
 Martin Grille overflowed with joy and satis- 
 faction so sincere and radiant at the escape of 
 his master, that Jean Charost could not help 
 being touched with the good valet's attach- 
 ment. But, as a true Frenchman, he was full 
 of his own part in the young gentleman's de- 
 liverance, attributing to himself, and his mm 
 dexterity, all honor and praise for the result 
 which had been attained. He perceived not, 
 for some time, in his self-gratulations, that 
 Jean Charost could neither smile nor listen ; 
 that a red spot came in his cheek; that his eyes 
 grew blood-shot, and his lips parched. At length, 
 however, a few incoherent words alarmed 
 Martin Grille, and he determined to sit by his 
 l 5
 
 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 toaster's bed-side and watch. Before morning 
 he had to seek a physician; and then began all 
 the follies of the medical art common in those 
 times. 
 
 For fourteen days, however, Jean Oharosl 
 was utterly unconscious of whether he was 
 treated well or ill, kindly or the reverse: and at 
 the end of that time the light of reason that 
 returned was but faint and feeble. When 
 first he became fully conscious, he found him- 
 self lying in a small room, of which he thought 
 he recollected something. The light of an early 
 spring-day was streaming in through an open 
 window, with the fresh, sweet, and balmy air ; 
 and the figure of a middle-aged man in a black 
 \cl . wn was seen going out of the door. 
 
 The eves of the young man turned from one 
 object around him to another. There was a 
 Little writing-table, two or three wooden settles, 
 a brazen sconce upon the wall, a well polished 
 floor of brick, and an ebony crucifix, with a small 
 fountain of holy water beneath it; all objects t<> 
 which hi- eyes had been accustomed five or six
 
 AGNES SOREL. 227 
 
 months before. The figure he had seen going 
 out, with its quiet, firm carriage and easy 
 dignity, was one that he recollected well ; and 
 he asked himself' — 
 
 " Am I really still in the house of Jacques 
 Coeur, and is the whole episode of Agnes, 
 and Juvenel de Eoyans, and the imprisonment, 
 and the torture, and the Duke of Orleans, 
 nothing but a dream ?"
 
 228 a<-.m:s m.rel. 
 
 CHAPTER' XIV. 
 
 A week, a fortnight, a month — what arc they 
 in the long, long, boundless lapse of time ? A 
 point — a mere point, on which the eye of 
 memory hardly rests in the look-back of a life- 
 time, unless some of those marking facts, which 
 stamp particular periods indelibly upon the 
 heart, have given it a durable significance. Yet, 
 even in so brief a space, how much may be 
 done ! Circumscribe it as you will — make it a 
 single hour — tie down (he passing of that hour 
 to one particular spot : and in thai hour, and 
 on that spot, deeds may be written on eternity, 
 affecting the whole earth at the time, affecting 
 (he Whole human race for ever. Xo mail can 
 ovei-( -simian the value of the actions of ait 
 
 lioiif.
 
 AGNUS SOBEL. 229 
 
 Within the period of Jean Charost's sickness 
 and recovery, up to the time that he fully re- 
 gained his consciousness, events had been going 
 on around him which greatly influenced not 
 only his fate, but the fate of mighty nations. 
 The operation, indeed, was not immediate ; but 
 it was undeviating and clear; and we must pause 
 for a moment in the domestic history which we 
 are giving, to dwell upon occurrences of more 
 general importance, without a knowledge of 
 which our tale could hardly be understood. 
 
 In confusion and dismay, accompanied by 
 few attendants, and in a stealthy manner, 
 John of Burgundy fled from Paris, after 
 making his strange and daring confession 
 of the murder of his near kinsman, and the 
 brother of his King. 
 
 When informed of the avowal, the Duke of 
 Bourbon, his uncle, and many other members 
 of the King's Council, expressed high dis- 
 pleasure that the Duke of Berri and the King of 
 Sicily had suffered him to quit the door of the 
 Council chamber, except as a prisoner; and
 
 230 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 perhaps those two princes themselves saw the 
 error they had committed. Had they acted 
 boldly and decidedly upon the mere sense of 
 justice and right, France would have been 
 spared many a bloody hour, a disastrous defeat, 
 and a long subjugation. But when the time 
 of repentance came, repentance was too late. 
 The Duke of Burgundy was gone, and the 
 tools of his revenge, though he had boldly 
 named them, had followed their lord. 
 
 All had gone, as criminals flying from justice; 
 and such was their terror and apprehension of 
 pursuit, that they threw down Spiked balls in 
 the snow behind them as they went, to lame 
 the horses of those who might follow. In the 
 course of his flight, however, the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy recovered in part his courage and a sense 
 of his dignity. His situation was still perilous 
 indeed; for lie had raised enmity and indigna- 
 tion againsl him in the hearts of all the princes 
 of the blood royal, and in many of the noblest 
 men in France, Nay more, he had alienated 
 the most sincere and the most honourable of
 
 AGNES SOREL. * 231 
 
 his own followers, while the King himself', 
 just recovered from one of his lamentable fits 
 of insanity, was moved by every feeling of 
 affection, and by the sense of justice and of 
 honour, to punish the shameless murderer of his 
 brother. 
 
 No preparation of any importance had been 
 made to meet this peril ; and the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy was saved alone by the hesitating 
 counsels of old and timid men, who still pro- 
 crastinated till it was too late to act. 
 
 In the meantime the murderer determined 
 upon his course. He not only avowed, but 
 attempted to justify, the act upon motives so 
 wild, so irrational, so destitute of every real 
 and substantial foundation, that they could not 
 deceive a child, and no one even pretended to 
 be deceived. He accused his unhappy victim 
 of crimes that Louis of Orleans never dreamed 
 of — of aiming at the Crown — of practising upon 
 the health, and striking at the life, of the King, 
 his brother, by magical arts and devices. He 
 did all, in short, to calumniate his memory,
 
 232 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 and to represent his assassination as an act 
 necessary to the safety of the Crown and of the 
 country. 
 
 At the same time, he sent messengers. to his 
 good citizens of Flanders, to his vassals of 
 Artois, to all his near relations, to all whom he 
 could persuade or could command, to claim 
 immediate aid and assistance against the veng 
 i'ul sword which lie fancied might pursue hi in ; 
 and he soon found himself at the head of a 
 force with which he might set the power of his 
 King at defiance. Lille, Ghent, Amiens. 
 bristled with armed men ; and John of Bur? 
 gundy soon felt that the murder of his cousin 
 had put the destinies of France 1 into his 
 hands. 
 
 While this was taking place in the north and 
 west, a different scene was being enacted in 
 Paris: a scene, which, if the popular heart was 
 not the basest thing that ever God created, the 
 popular mind, the lightest and most unreasona- 
 ble, should have roused the whole citizens to 
 grief for him whom they had lost, to indigna-
 
 AGNES S0REL. 233 
 
 tion against his daring murderer. The Duchess 
 of Orleans, accompanied by her youngest son, 
 entered Paris as a mourner, and threw herself 
 at the feet of her brother, and, her King, praying 
 for simple justice. The will of the murdered 
 prince was opened ; and though his faults were 
 many and glaring, that paper showed the frank 
 and generous character of the man, and was re- 
 futation enough of the vile calumnies circulated 
 against him. So firm and strong had been his 
 confidence, so full and clear Ms intention of 
 maintaining in every respect the agreement of 
 pacification lately signedbetween himself and the 
 Duke of Burgundy, that he left the ■ guardian- 
 ship of his children to the very man who had 
 so treacherously caused his assassination. None 
 of his friends, none who had ever served him, 
 was forgotten ; and the tenacity of his affec- 
 tion was shown by his remembering many 
 whom he had not seen for years. It was not 
 wonderful, then, that those who knew and 
 loved him clung to his memory with strong 
 attachment, and with a reverence which some
 
 234 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 of his acts might not altogether warrant. It 
 would not have been wonderful if the generous 
 closing act of his life had taught the populace 
 of Paris to forget his faults, and to revere his 
 character. But the herd of all great cities is 
 but as a pack of hounds, to be cried on by the 
 voice of the huntsman against any prey that is 
 in view ; and the herd of Paris is more 
 reckless in its fierceness than any other on all 
 the earth. 
 
 Fortune was with the Duke of Burgundy, 
 and, alas ! boldness, decision, and skill, like- 
 wise. He held a conference with the Duke of 
 Berri and the King of Sicily in his own city of 
 Amiens, swarming with his armed men. lie 
 placed Over the door of the humble house in 
 in which he lodged, two lances crossed, the one 
 armed with its steel head, the other unarmed 
 and garlanded — a significant indication that he 
 was ready for peace or war. The reproaches of 
 the Princes he repelled with insolence, and 
 treated their counsels and remonstrances with 
 contempt. Instead of coming to Paris, and
 
 AGNES SOREL. 235 
 
 submitting himself humbly to the King, as 
 they advised, he marched to St. Denis with a 
 large force, and then, after a day's hesitation, 
 entered the capital, aimed cap-a-pee, amidst 
 the acclamations of the populace. 
 
 The Hotel d'Artois, already a place of con- 
 siderable strength, received additional fortifica- 
 tions ; and all the houses round about it were 
 filled with armed men ; but especial care 
 was taken that the soldiery should commit no 
 excess upon the citizens ; and, though he bearded 
 his King upon the throne, and overawed the 
 Royal council, with the true art of a dema- 
 gogue, he was humble and courteous towards 
 the lowest citizen, flattered those whom he 
 despised, and eagerly sought to make converts 
 to his party in every class of society, partly 
 by corruption, and partly by terror. Wherever 
 he went, the people followed at his heels, shout- 
 ing his name, and vociferating " Noel ! Noel !" 
 and, gradually, the unhappy King, oppressed by 
 his own vassal, though adored by his people,
 
 23G AGNES SOREL. 
 
 tell back into that lamentable state from which 
 he had but lately recovered. 
 
 Such was the state of Paris when Jean 
 Charost raised his head, and gazed around the 
 room in which he was lying. His sight was 
 dim, his brain somewhat dizzy ; feeble 
 he felt as infancy ; yet it was a pleasure 
 to him to feel himself in that little room again, 
 to fancy himself moving in plain mediocrity, to 
 believe that his experience of courtly life was 
 all a dream. "What a satire upon all those 
 objects which form so many men's vain aspira- 
 tions ! 
 
 When he had gazed at the window, and at 
 the door, and at all the little objects 
 scattered before his eyes, he turned feebly to 
 look at things nearer to him. He thought he 
 heard a sigh close to his bed-side ; but a plain 
 curtain was drawn round the head of the bed, 
 and he could only sec from behind it part of a 
 woman's black robe, falling in large folds over 
 the knee
 
 AGNES S0REL. 237 
 
 The little rustle that he made in turning, 
 seemed to attract the attention of the watcher. 
 The curtain was gently drawn back, and he 
 beheld his mother's face gazing at him earnestly. 
 Oh, it was a pleasant sight ! and he smiled 
 upon her with the love that a son can only feel 
 for a mother. 
 
 u My son — my dear son!" she cried, "you 
 are better. Oh, yes, you are better !" 
 
 Darting to the door, she called to him who 
 had just gone out, 
 
 " Messire Jacques, Messire Jacques ! he is 
 awake now ; and he knows me." 
 
 " Gently, gently, dear lady," said Jacques 
 Coeur, returning to the room. " We must 
 have perfect quiet, and all will go well." 
 
 The widow sat down and wept, and the 
 good merchant placed himself by the young 
 man's side, looked down upon him with a 
 fatherly smile, and pressed his fingers on the 
 other's wrist, saying — 
 
 ' ' Ay, the Syrian drug has done marvels. 
 Can'st thou speak, my son ?"
 
 238 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Joan Charost replied in a voice much stronger 
 than might have been expected ; but Jacques 
 Oceur fell into a fit of thought even while he 
 S] m >ke, which lasted two or three minutes ; and 
 the young man was tinning towards his mother 
 again, when the good merchant murmured, as 
 if speaking to himself. 
 
 " I know not well how to act. There are 
 dangers every way. Listen to me, my son, 
 but with perfect calmness ; and let me have an 
 an answer from your own lips which I can 
 send to the great man whose messenger waits 
 below. Two days ago we heard that the Duke 
 of Burgundy had caused enquiries to be made 
 concerning you, as, where you were to be found, 
 and when you had left the Hotel d'Orleans. 
 To-day lie lias sent a gentleman to enquire if 
 you will take service with him. He offers yon 
 the post of second squire of his body, and 
 promises knighthood on the first occasion. 
 What do you answer, Jean ?" 
 
 Jean Charost thought for a moment, and
 
 AGNES SOREL. 239 
 
 then laid his hand upon Ins brow ; but, at 
 length, he said — 
 
 " 'Twere better to tell him that I am too ill 
 to answer, or even to think ; but that I will 
 either wait upon him or send him my reply in 
 a few days." 
 
 " Wisely decided," said Jacques Cceur, 
 rising. " That answer will do right well." And 
 quitting the room, he left the door open behind 
 him, so that the young man could hear him de- 
 liver the message word for word, merely pre- 
 facing it by saying : " He sends his humble 
 duty to his Highness, and begs to say — " 
 
 A rough voice, in a somewhat haughty tone, 
 replied : 
 
 " Is he so very ill, then, Sir Merchant ? His 
 Highness is determined to know in all cases 
 who is for him, and who is against him, I trust 
 you tell me true, therefore." 
 
 " You can go up, sir, and see," answered 
 Jacques Cceur ; " but I must beg you not to 
 disturb him with any talk." 
 
 The other voice made no rejoinder ; but, the
 
 240 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 moment after, Jean Charost could hear a heavy 
 step coming up the stairs, and a good-looking 
 man of a somewhat stern countenance, com- 
 pletely armed, but with his beaver up, appeared 
 in the doorway. He merely looked in, however; 
 for the pale visage and emaciated frame 
 of the yoimg gentleman seemed to remove his 
 doubts at once. 
 
 " That will do," he said. " 1 can now tell 
 what I have seen. The Duke will expect an 
 answer in a few days. If he dies, let his High- 
 ness know; for there are plenty eager for the 
 post, I can tell you." 
 
 Tims saying, he turned away, and closed the 
 door ; and the Baronne de Broey exelaimed : 
 
 " God forbid thai you should die, my son, or 
 serve that bad man either !" 
 
 " So say I, too," returned Jean Charost. " I 
 know not why you should feel so regarding 
 him, dear mother; but I cannot divest my 
 mind of a suspieion thai he eountenanced, if he 
 did not prompt, the death of the Duke of 
 Orleans."
 
 AGNES SOREL. 241 
 
 " Do you not know that he has avowed it ?" 
 exclaimed Madame de Brecy. But her son's 
 face tinned so deadly pale, even to the very 
 lips, that Jacques 00310* interposed, saying 
 gently : 
 
 " Beware, beware, dear lady. He cannot 
 bear any such tidings now. He will soon be 
 well enough to hear all." 
 
 This judgment proved right. From that mo- 
 ment, every hour gave Jean Charost some addi- 
 tional strength ; and that very day, before 
 nightfall, he heard much that imported him 
 greatly to know. 
 
 He now learned that the Duchess of Orleans, 
 after a brief visit to the capital to demand 
 justice upon the murderers of her husband, had 
 judged it prudent to retire to Blois, and to with- 
 draw all the retainers of the late Duke. Jean 
 Charost being in no situation to bear so long 
 a journey, she had commended him especially 
 to the care of Jacques Cceur, who had ridden in 
 haste to Paris on the news of the assassination. 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 242 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Jean now learned also, that one of the last acts 
 of the Duke had been to leave him a pension of 
 three hundred crowns — then a large sum — 
 charged upon the county of Vcrtus, and that a 
 packet, addressed to him, sealed with the 
 Duke's private signet, and marked " to be read 
 by his own eye alone," had been found amongst 
 the papers at the Chateau of Beaute. 
 
 lie would fain have heard more, and pro- 
 longed the conversation upon subjects so in- 
 teresting to him ; but Jacques Occur wisely 
 refused to gratify him, and contrived to dole out 
 his information piece by piece, avoiding as much 
 :is possible all that could excite DT agitate him. 
 
 A pleasant interlude towards the fall of even- 
 ing was afforded by the entrance of Martin Grille, 
 w hose joy at seeing his young master roused 
 from a stupor which he had fancied would only 
 end in death, WEB touching in itself, although 
 it assumed rather ludicrous fori He ca- 
 
 pered about the room as if he had been bitten 
 by a tarantula; and, in the midst of his dancing, 
 he fell upon his knees, and thanked God and
 
 AGNES SOREL. 243 
 
 the blessed Virgin for the miraculous cure of his 
 young lord, which he attributed entirely to his 
 having vowed a wax candle of three pounds' 
 weight to burn in the Lady chapel of Notre 
 Dame, in case of Jean Charost's recovery. It 
 seemed that, since the arrival of Madame de 
 Brecy in Paris, she and Martin Grille had 
 equally divided the task of sitting up all night 
 with her son ; and well had the faithful valet 
 performed his duty ; for, without an effort, or 
 any knowledge on his part, Jean Charost had 
 won the enthusiastic love and respect of one 
 who had entered his service with a high con- 
 tempt for his want of experience, and perhaps 
 some intention of making the best of a good 
 place. 
 
 Well has it been said, that force of character 
 is the most powerful of moral engines ; for it 
 works silently upon all that approaches it, and 
 even without the consciousness of those who 
 are subject to its influence. How often is it 
 that we see a man of no particular brilliance of 
 m 2
 
 244 AGNES SOKEL. 
 
 thought, of manner, or of expression, come into 
 the midst of turbulent and unruly spirits, and 
 bend them like oziers to his will ! Some people 
 will have it that it is the distinctness with 
 which his thoughts are expressed, or the clearness 
 with which they are conceived, the definiteness of 
 his directions, or the promptness of his decisions, 
 which gives him this power ; but, if we look 
 closely, we shall fmd that it is force of charac- 
 ter — a quality of the mind which men feel in 
 others, rather than perceive, and to which they 
 yield often, without knowing why. 
 
 The following morning rose like a wayward 
 child, dull and sobbing; but Jean ('barest 
 woke refreshed and re-invigorated after a long, 
 calm night of sweet and natural sleep, ilis 
 mother was again by his bed-side ; and she took 
 a pleasure in telling him how carefully Martin 
 Grille had preserved all his little treasures in 
 the Hotel d'Orleanfl, at a time when the assas- 
 sination of the Duke had tlirown all the better 
 members of the household into dismay and con- 
 tusion, and had left the house itself for a consi-
 
 AGNES SOREL. 245 
 
 derable time at the inercy of the knaves and 
 scoundrels that are never wanting in a large 
 establishment. 
 
 She was interrupted in her details by the en- 
 trance of the very person of whom she spoke, 
 and, at the same time, loud cries and hurras 
 rose up from the street, inducing Jean Cha- 
 rost to enquire if that were the King pass- 
 ing along. 
 
 u No, fair sir," answered Martin Grille. " It 
 is the King's king. But, on my life, my Lord 
 of Burgundy does not much fear rusting his 
 armour, or he would not ride through the 
 streets on such a day as this." 
 
 " Does he go armed, then ?" asked Jean 
 Charost. 
 
 " From head to foot," answered his mother ; 
 and Martin Grille added — 
 
 " He is seldom without four or five hunch-eel 
 men-at-arms with him. Such a sight was 
 never seen in Paris. But I must go my ways, 
 and get the news of the day ; for these are
 
 246 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 times when every man should know what his 
 neighbour is doing." 
 
 " I fear your intelligence must stop some- 
 what short of that," said Jean Oharost. 
 
 " I shall get all the intelligence I want," 
 pursued the valet, with a sapient nod of the 
 head. " I have a singing bird in the court 
 eage that always sings me truly." 
 
 And away he went in search of news. 
 
 During Iris absence, a consultation was held 
 between Madame do Brecy, her son, and Jacques 
 Cceur, as to what was to be done in regard to 
 the message of the Duke of Burgundy. 
 
 "We have only put off the evil day," said 
 Jacques Coeur, "and some reply must seen be 
 given." 
 
 " My reply can be but one," answered Jean 
 Charost ; lk that J will never serve a murderer ; 
 still less serve the murderer of my dear lord." 
 
 Madame de Brecy looked uneasy; and the 
 lace of Jacquefl Coair was very grave. 
 
 " You surely would not have me do so, my
 
 AGNES S0REL. 247 
 
 dear mother," said Jean, raising himself on his 
 arm, and gazing in her face. " You could not 
 wish me, my good and honorable friend !" 
 
 " No, Jean, no," answered Jacques Cceur ; 
 "but such a reply is perilous; and before it 
 is made we must be beyond the reach of the 
 strong arm that rides all things in this capital. 
 You have had a taste, my son, of what great 
 men will do to those who venture to oppose 
 hem, even in the most unjust commands. De- 
 pend upon it, the Duke of Burgundy will not 
 scruple at acts which the King's Council them- 
 selves would not venture to authorize. Why 
 he should wish to engage you in his service, I 
 cannot tell ; but that he does so earnestly is 
 evident, and refusal will be very dangerous 
 even in the mildest form." 
 
 " Some fanciful connection between my fate 
 and his, was told him one night by an astrolo- 
 ger," said Jean Charost. "That is the only 
 motive he can have." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied Jacques Cceur,
 
 2 1 8 AGNES S0REL. 
 
 thoughtfully; and then lie added the moment 
 after. " And yet I do not know. His High- 
 ness is not one to be influenced in his conduct 
 by any visionary tilings. They may have 
 weight with him hi thought, but not in action. 
 If lie had been told that his death would follow 
 the poor Duke's as a natural consequence, lie 
 would have killed him notwithstanding. He 
 must have seen something in you, my young 
 friend, that he likes, that he thinks will suit 
 some of his purposes." 
 
 " He has seen little of me that should pre- 
 possess him," answered Jean Charost. " He 
 has seen me peremptorily refuse to obey his 
 own commands, and obstinately deny the 
 Cnimril the information they wanted, even 
 though they tried to wring it out by torture. " 
 
 •• Probably the very cause," observed 
 Jacques Cceur. "He loves men of resolution. 
 Bui let us return to the subject, my young 
 friend. Your answer must be a little softened. 
 We must say that you are still too ill to engage
 
 AGNES SOREL. 240 
 
 in any service — that you must have some 
 months for repose, and that then you will wil- 
 lingly obey any of his Highness's just com- 
 mands." 
 
 " Never ! never !" answered Jean Charost, 
 warmly. "I will never palter with my fail h 
 and duty towards the dead. If ever I can couch 
 a lauce against this Duke's breast, I will aim it 
 well, and the memory of my master will steady 
 my arm ; but serve him I never will, nor ever 
 lead him to expect it." 
 
 Jacques Coeur and Madame de Brecy looked 
 at each other in silence ; but they urged him 
 no more, and the only question in their minds 
 now was, what course they could take not to 
 suffer the young man's safety to be perilled in 
 consequence of a resolution which they dared 
 not disapprove. 
 
 In the midst of their consultation, Martin 
 Grille returned, evidently burdened with intel- 
 ligence, and that not of a very pleasant 
 character. 
 
 m 5
 
 200 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 " What is to bo done, I know not," lie said, 
 with much trepidation. "I cannot and I will 
 not leave you, sir, whatever may come of 
 it." 
 
 "What is the matter, Martin ?" asked 
 Jacques Cceur. "Be calm, be calm, young 
 man, and toll us plainly whatever be the 
 evil." 
 
 "Listen, then, listen," said .Martin Grille, 
 lowering his voice almost to a whisper. "An 
 
 order is given out, secretly, to seize every Or- 
 loanist now remaining in Paris in bis bed this 
 night at twelve of the clock. It is (rue. It 
 is true, beyond all doubt. I had it from my 
 COUflin Petit Jean, who got it from his father, 
 old Caboche, now the Duke of Burgundy's 
 dghi hand man in Paris.-" 
 
 "Then we must go at once," said Jacques 
 
 Cceur. "Whatever be the risk, we must try 
 
 if you can bear tlie motion of a litter, 
 Jeail." 
 
 -•Put all the gates are closed except two," 
 said Martin Grille, "and they sutler no om
 
 AGNES SOREL. 251 
 
 to go out without a pass. News has got abroad 
 of all this. The Queeu went yesterday to 
 Melun. The King of Sicily, the Duke of 
 Berri, and the Duke of Britanny, have fled this 
 morning. The Duke of Bourbon has been 
 long gone, and the Burgundians are resolved 
 that no more shall escape." 
 
 Jacques Ccour gazed sternly down upon the 
 floor, and Madame de Brecy wrung her hands 
 in despair. 
 
 " Go, my friend, go," said Jean Charost. 
 " You are not marked out as an Orleanist. 
 Take my mother with you. God may protect 
 me, even here. If not, His will be done." 
 
 " Stay," cried Martin Grille, " stay! I have 
 thought of a way, perhaps. Many of the 
 Burgundian nobles are poor. Cannot you lend 
 one of them a thousand crowns, Monsieur 
 Jacques, and get a pass for yourself and your 
 family? He will be glad enough to give it, to 
 see a creditor's back turned, especially when lie 
 knows he can keep hint at arms' length as long
 
 1 A<;XKS SOREL. 
 
 as he will. I am sure my young lord will repay 
 you." 
 
 " Eepay me!" echoed Jacques Occur, in- 
 dignantly. " But your hint is a good one. I 
 will act upon it ; though not exactly as you 
 propose. Some of them owe mo enough already 
 to wish me well out of Paris. Tell all my 
 people to get ready for instant departure, and 
 see for a litter thai will hold two. I will away 
 at once, and see what can be done." 
 
 " Have plenty of men with you, Messire 
 Jacques," said Martin Grille, eagerly — " men 
 that can fight ; for Burgundian bands are 
 patroling all around the city. I am not nood 
 at fighting, and my young lord is now as hail 
 as 1 am." 
 
 '< We must take our chance," said Jacques 
 ( Scaur ; and quitted the room.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It was past ten o'clock at night when a litter, 
 escorted by four men on horseback, passed the 
 gates of Paris. A short detention took place, 
 before the guards at the gates would suffer the 
 party to proceed ; and one man went into the 
 guard-house, and brought out a lantern to ex- 
 amine the inside of the litter, and the counte- 
 nances of the cavaliers. He used it also to 
 examine the pass, though, to say truth, he 
 could not read a word, notwithstanding he was 
 an officer of some importance. In this respect, 
 none of his companions were in better case than 
 himself; and they all declared that the hand- 
 writing was so bad that nobody on earth could 
 read it. It seemed likely at one time that this 
 illegibility of the writing, or want of the read-
 
 254 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 ing faculty on the part of the guards, might bo 
 made an excuse for detaining the whole party 
 till somebody with better eyes, or better in- 
 struction, should come up. 
 
 But one of the horsemen dismounted, saying 
 — " I will read it to you ;" and, looking over 
 the officer's shoulder, he proceeded thus: " Ij 
 William, Marquis de Giae, do hereby strictly 
 enjoin and command you, in the name of the 
 High and Mighty Prince, John, Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, to pass safely through the gates of Boris, 
 without let or impediment, Maitre Jacques 
 Coeux, clerk, his wife, son, and three serving- 
 men, and to give them aid and comfort in case 
 of need. Signed, De GKac." 
 
 " Is that it?" asked the officer, staring od 
 the paper. 
 
 "Yes, donM you Bee?" answered Jacques 
 Coaur, pointing with his finger: "to lei pass the 
 •jutes of the city of Paris." 
 
 " Well, well : go along," said the man; and,
 
 AGNES SOREL. 255 
 
 mounting his horse again, the merchant led the 
 way, and the litter, with those that it contained, 
 followed. 
 
 For a wonder, Martin Grille held his tongue 
 all this time ; but, ere they had gone half-a- 
 dozen furlongs, he approached the side of the 
 litter, and putting in his head, asked how his 
 young master was. 
 
 " Better, Martin, better," replied Jean Cha- 
 rost. " Every hour I feel better." 
 
 '"Well, thank God we are out of the city!" said 
 Martin Grille. " My heart has been so often 
 in my mouth during this last half hour that I 
 thought I should bite it if I did but say a word. 
 I wonder which way we are to direct our steps 
 
 now." 
 
 " Towards Bourges, Martin," replied Jacques 
 Coeur, who was riding near. 
 
 " Towards Bourges !" echoed Martin Grille. 
 ,k Then what's to become of the baby ?" 
 
 " The baby!" repeated Madame de Brecy, in 
 a tone as full of surprise as that in which Mar-
 
 250 ASNBS SOREL. 
 
 till had repeated the words, ' towards Bourses.' 
 "In Heaven's name, what baby ?" 
 
 •Iran Charost laid his hand gently on his 
 mother's, saying — 
 
 " It is very true, dear mother. A young 
 child — qnite an infant — has been given into 
 my care, and I have promised to protect and 
 her." 
 
 t% Uut whose child is it ?" asked Madame de 
 Brecy, in a tone of some alarm and consterna- 
 i ion. 
 
 " I camiot tell," replied her son. lk I be- 
 lieve she is an orphan; but I am ignorant of 
 all the tacts." 
 
 "She is an orphan in a double sense," said 
 Jacques Cobut, mingling in the discourse; l> al 
 least 1 believe so. I have nothing to guide me 
 In," icion, it is true; but my suspicion is 
 
 strong. Ay, my young friend — you are sur* 
 prised that I know aught of this affair; but a 
 friend's eye is often as watchful as a parent's. 
 1 saw the child, some days after it was
 
 AGNES S0REL. 257 
 
 given into your charge; and there is a strong 
 likeness — as strong as there can be between an 
 infant and a grown person — between this poor 
 thing and one who is no more." 
 
 " Who, who ?" asked Jean Charost, eagerly. 
 
 " One whom you never saw," replied Jacques 
 Coeur. 
 
 Jean Charost was silent; for, although he 
 himself entertained suspicions, his friend's words 
 were quite adverse to them. 
 
 " It was well bethought of, Martin," con- 
 tinued Jacques Cceur, after a short pause. 
 " We had better take our way by Beaute. It 
 is not far round, and we shall all the sooner get 
 within the posts of the Orleans party ; for they 
 are already preparing for war. We cannot 
 take the child with us, for she is too young to 
 go without a nurse ; but we can make arrange- 
 ments for her coming hereafter ; and, of course, 
 that which you promised, when in peril of your 
 life had you refused, must be performed to the 
 letter, my young friend."
 
 358 AGXI-S SOREL. 
 
 "Assuredly," replied Jean Charost. "(an 
 We reach Beaut e to-night?" 
 
 " I fear not," answered the merchant. " Hut 
 we must go on till we have put danger behind 
 us. ]Now draw the curtains of the litter again, 
 and try and sleep, my son. Sleep is a strange 
 wiler away of weaiy hours." 
 
 But though the pace of the horse-litter Was 
 drowsy enough, it was long before anything 
 like slumber came near the eyes of Jean Cha- 
 rost ; and he had just closed them, with a cer- 
 tain sort of heaviness of the lids, when the words 
 — " Halt ! halt ! whoever you are," were 
 heard on all sides, together with the tramp of 
 many horses, and the jingling of arms. Madame 
 de Bivoy and her son drew back the curtains 
 instantly; and they then found that they were 
 surrounded by a large party of men-at-arms, 
 two or three of whom were conversing with 
 Jacques Cu'iir, a little in advance. 
 
 The moon had somewhat declined; but it
 
 AGNES S0REL. 259 
 
 was shining on the face of several of the group, 
 and, after gazing out for a moment or two, Jean 
 Charost exclaimed — 
 
 " De Koyans — Monsieur de Royans !" 
 His voice, which was weak, was at first not 
 attended to ; but, on repeating the call, one of 
 the horsemen turned quickly round and rode up 
 to the side of the litter. 
 
 " Ah ! de Brecy, is that you ?" cried the 
 young man, holding out his hand to him. 
 " Here, Messire What's-your-name, we will 
 believe you now ; for one is among you who 
 has suffered enough for his faithfulness to the 
 good Duke. Why, how is this, de Brecy ? 
 In a litter, when we want every man in the 
 saddle ? But I heard you were very ill. You 
 must get well soon, and strike a manly stroke 
 beside me and the rest, for the memory of our 
 good Lord, whom they sent to Heaven before 
 his time. Oh, if I could get one blow at that 
 Burgundian's breast, I would aim better than 
 I did at the Quintain. Well, you shall come
 
 2G0 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 on with us to Juvisy, and we will lodge and 
 entertain you." 
 
 Thus saying, Juvenel de Royans turned 
 away, rode back to his companions, and gave 
 them explanations which seemed satisfactory ; 
 for the merchant and his party were not only 
 suffered to proceed, but obtained the escort of 
 forty or fifty men-at-arms, who had been about 
 to return to Juvisy when they fell in with the 
 little cavalcade of Jacques Cceur. 
 
 None of the many moral enigmas with which 
 we are surrounded) is more difficult of com- 
 prehension to the mind of a man of fixed and 
 resolute character, than the sudden changes 
 which come upon impulsive and volatile 
 people. The demeanour of Juvenel de Eoyans 
 was a matter of serious and puzzling thought 
 to Jean C'harost through the rest of the 
 journey, lie seemed entirely changed, not 
 only in feelings towards the young gentleman 
 himself, but in disposition. Frank, active, im- 
 petuous as ever, lie had, in the space of a few
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 261 
 
 terrible weeks, lost the boyish flippancy of 
 manner, and pnt on the manly character at 
 once. 
 
 Jean Charost could not understand it at all ; 
 and it seemed to him most strange that one 
 who would willingly have cut his throat not a 
 month before, should now, upon the establish- 
 ment of a very slight link between them, treat 
 him as a dear and ancient friend. De Brecy 
 was less a Frenchman than Juvenel de Eoyans, 
 both by birth and by education ; for the latter 
 had been born in the gay and careless south, 
 aud had been indulged, if not spoiled, during 
 all his early life ; while the former had first 
 seen the light in much more northern regions, 
 and had received, very early, severe lessons of 
 adversity. Neither of them, perhaps, had any 
 distinct notion of the real causes of their former 
 enmity ; but Jean Charost was, at least, well 
 satisfied that it should be terminated ; and, as 
 he was not of a rancorous disposition, he gladly 
 received the profferred friendship of his former 
 adversary, though, to say sooth, he counted it
 
 2(j 1 2 aom:> SGBftb. 
 
 at r ather less than it was worth, on account 
 of the suddenness with which it had arisen. 
 He knew not that some trees which spring 
 up the most rapidly are nevertheless the mosl 
 valuable.
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Let us abridge and improve French history. 
 As it is generally written, it is quite sus- 
 ceptible of both abridgment and improve- 
 ment. 
 
 The power of the Duke of Burgundy was 
 without limit in the city of Paris, and his 
 daring and his ferocity were as boundless. He 
 remembered ancient offences as tenaciously as 
 the Duke of Orleans had remembered kind- 
 nesses ; and every one in Paris who had at any 
 time shewn enmity towards him, either 
 sought refuge in flight, or stayed to receive 
 abundant marks of his vindictive remembrance. 
 But he had skill as well as daring, and 
 especially that dark and politic skill which 
 teaches the demagogue to turn the best and 
 wisest deeds of an adversary to his dis-
 
 2G4 AGNES SOKEL. 
 
 advantage in the eyes of the people, and Ins 
 own worst actions to the services of his own 
 ambition. 
 
 Oh, what a fool is the people ! Always the 
 dupe of hypocrisy and lies; always deceived by 
 promises and pretences; always the lover and the 
 support of those who at heart most despise and 
 condemn the populace. That great, many-headed 
 fool followed the Duke's path with acclamations 
 wherever he appeared, although the evils under 
 which the masses laboured, notwithstanding all 
 his promises, were augmented, rather than di- 
 minished, by his sway. A hired sophist defended 
 the assassination of the Duke of Orleans in 
 presence of the Court and the University ; and 
 the people shouted loudly, though the excuse 
 was too empty to deceive a child. The Duke 
 declared that the mal-administration of Orleans 
 compelled the continuance of the taxes pro- 
 mised to be repealed ; and the people shouted 
 loudly still. The Prevot dc Tignonville was 
 punished and degraded for bringing two 
 robbers to justice, though every one knew
 
 AGNES SOREL. 265 
 
 that the real offence was his proposal to search 
 the houses of the Princes for the assassins of the 
 Duke of Orleans ; and still the people 
 shouted. 
 
 Nevertheless, Fortune was not altogether 
 constant ; and, while the power of the Duke 
 increased in the capital, let him do whatever he 
 would, a cloud was gathering round him, from 
 which he found it necessary to fly. The 
 Duchess of Orleans cried loudly for vengeance : 
 the Dukes of Bourbon, Britanny, and Berri, 
 took up arms for her support, and for the 
 deliverance of the throne. The Queen, having 
 the Dauphin with her, lent weight and coun- 
 tenance to the party ; and gradually the forces 
 of the confederates increased so far, that Paris 
 was no longer a safe asylum for the object of 
 their just indignation. 
 
 It was then that a revolt took place in 
 Liege, where the brother-in-law of the Duke 
 held the anomalous position of Prince Bishop ; 
 and Burgundy hurried away from Paris to aid 
 
 VOL. II. - n
 
 266 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Ins relation, and to avoid the advance of the 
 ( frleanist army, without risking honor and 
 power upon an unequal battle. For a short 
 space his position was perilous. The strong- 
 headed and turbulent citizens of Liege — no 
 soft and silky burghers, as they are represented 
 1 1 y the great novelist in an after reign — stout 
 and hardy soldiers as ever were — dared the 
 whole power of Burgundy. An enemy's army 
 was in his rear : all the Princes of the blood, 
 the Council, and most of the great vassals of 
 France, were against him ; but he fought and 
 won a battle, captured Liege, and turned upon 
 his steps once more to overawe his enemies in 
 France. 
 
 Time enough had been given for dis-imion 
 to spread among the allied Princes. William, 
 Count of Holland, interfered to gain over the 
 Queen to the Burgundian party; and a hollow 
 peace Mas brought about, known as the peace 
 of Chart res, which ended in the ascendancy of 
 the Duke of Burgundy, and the temporary 
 abasement of his enemies.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 267 
 
 Once more the vengeance of the Duke was 
 visited on the heads of all distinguished persons 
 who had shewn themselves even indifferent to 
 his cause ; but he forgot not his policy in his 
 anger, and the spoils of his victims conciliated 
 fresh partizans. 
 
 Intrigue succeeded intrigue for several years ; 
 and, in the midst of disasters and disappoint- 
 ments, the spirit of Valentine, Duchess of 
 Orleans, passed away from the earth on which 
 she had known little but sorrow, still calling 
 for justice upon the murderers of her husband. 
 Her children, however, were powerless at the 
 time ; and it was not till the marriage of her 
 eldest son with the daughter of the Count of 
 Armagnac, that the light of hope seemed to 
 break upon them. 
 
 Then began that famous struggle between 
 the parties, known in history as the Burgun- 
 dians and Armagnacs. Paris became the great 
 object of strife, and during the absence of the 
 Duke of Burgundy was surrounded, if not 
 N 5
 
 2GS AGNES SOREL. 
 
 actually blockaded, by the troops of Arniagnac. 
 Many of the Orleanist party- were within the 
 walls, comprising the noblest and most en- 
 lightened men in France ; but the lower classes 
 of the people were, almost to a man, Burgun- 
 dians; and, forming themselves into armed 
 I lands under the leading of J-ohn of Troyes, a 
 surgeon, and Simeon Caboche, the cutler, they 
 received the name of Cabochians, and exercised 
 all that atrocious ferocity which is the general 
 characteristic of an ignorant multitude. There 
 was a feign of terror in Paris in the fifteenth, 
 as well as in the eighteenth, cenhuy, and many 
 had cause to know that the red scarfs of Bur- 
 gundy were dyed in blood. Anarchy and con- 
 fusion still reigned within the walls, nor 
 probably was the state of the country much 
 better without the city, when the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy, unable to oppose his enemies in the field 
 unaided, Bought for, and obtained, the assistance 
 <>}' six thousand English archers, and entered 
 Paris in triumph. 
 The offensive was soon after taken by the
 
 AGNES SOREL. 269 
 
 Burgunclians : the Duke of Bern was besieged 
 in Bourges ; but Frenchman was disinclined 
 to fight against Frenchman, and a treaty as 
 hollow as any of the rest was concluded under 
 the walls of the city. Even while the negotia- 
 tions went on, means were taken to open the 
 eyes of the Dauphin to the ambition of the 
 Burgundian Prince ; and John, without fear, 
 saw himself opposed in the Council by one who 
 had long been subservient to his will. 
 
 But the Duke found easy means to crush this 
 resistance. The people of Paris were roused at 
 his beck into tumult; the Bastile was besieged 
 by the armed bands of Caboche and his com- 
 panions, the Palace of the Dauphin invaded, 
 and he himself reduced to the state of a mere 
 prisoner. More bloodshed followed : Bur- 
 gundy at length found that an excited multi- 
 tude is not so easily calmed as he had flattered him- 
 self ; and his situation become somewhat difficult. 
 
 Although the Dauphin was shut up in the 
 Hotel St. Pol, he found means of communicating 
 with the Princes of the blood royal without ;
 
 270 AGNES SOT1EL. 
 
 and no thing seemed left for the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy but an extension of the convention of 
 Bourges to a general peace with all his oppo- 
 nents. This was concluded at Pontoise, much 
 
 rinst the will of the Parisians : the Dauphin 
 was set at liberty ; and the leaders of the 
 Armagnac party were permitted to enter Paris. 
 I'lirgundy now found that he had made a 
 mistake — that his popularity with the people 
 was shaken, and his power over them gone, 
 lie was even fearful for his person; and well 
 lit he be so. 
 
 Bui his course was soon determined ; and, 
 after having failed in an attempt to carry off 
 the Dauphin while at a party of pleasure at 
 Vincennes, he retired in haste to Flanders. A 
 complete change of scene took place; the 
 i ■) i at ores of the Duke of Burgundy were driven 
 from power ; and sanguinary retribution marked 
 the ascendancy of the Armagnac party. 
 
 The eaeiesi labour of Ilercules, probably, was, 
 the destruction of the Hydra ; for creatures 
 with many heads are always weaker than those
 
 AGNES SOREL. 271 
 
 with one. Dissensions spread amongst the 
 Arniagnac faction. The Queen and the Dau- 
 phin disagreed; and the Prince, finding the 
 tyranny of the Armagnacs as hard to bear as 
 that of the Burgundians, instigated the Duke 
 to return to Paris. John, though without fear, 
 had not force sufficient to effect any great 
 purpose; and, after an ineffectual attempt to 
 besiege the capital, he retired before a large 
 army, gathered from all parts of France, with 
 the Kins? and all the Princes of the blood at its 
 head. Compiegne capitulated; Soissons was 
 taken by assault ; but Arras held out, and once 
 more negotiations for peace commenced under 
 its walls. 
 
 A treaty was concluded by the influence of 
 the Dauphin who, weary of being the shuttle- 
 cock between two factions, resolved to make 
 himself master of the capital. His first effort, 
 however, was frustrated, and he was compelled 
 to fly to Bourges ; but, with great adroitness, 
 he took advantage of a proposed confer- 
 ence at Corbeil between himself and the allied
 
 272 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Princes. lie agreed to the meeting ; and while 
 they waited for him at Corbeil, he passed 
 quietly on to Paris, made himself master of the 
 capital, and seized the treasures which his 
 mother had accumulated in that city. 
 
 Three parties now appeared in France : that 
 of the Duke of Burgundy ; that of the allied 
 prince* ; and that of the Dauphin. In the 
 mean-while, an acute enemy, with some just 
 pretensions to certain portions of France, and 
 unfounded claims to the crown, itself, was 
 watching from the shores of England for a 
 favorable moment to seize upon the long coveted 
 possession. From the time of the treaty of 
 Bretigny, wars and truces had succeeded each 
 other, hostilities and negotiations ; and during 
 the late dissensions an English alliance had 
 been sought and found by both parties ; but, at 
 the same time, long discussions had taken place 
 between the courts of France and England, 
 with the pretended object of concluding a 
 general and definitive peace. Henry demanded 
 much, however; France would grant little.
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 273 
 
 Offensive words were added to the rejection of 
 proposals, and suddenly the news spread over 
 the country like lightning, that Henry the Fifth 
 of England had landed in arms upon the coast 
 of France.
 
 :i I RES BOEfflk 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 V few miles from the strong town of Bourgi s, 
 "ii the summit of a considerable elevation, was 
 a Chateau or castle, even then showing some 
 us of antiquity. It was neither a very large 
 or magnificent dwelling, consisting merely of 
 the outer walls with their flanking towers, one 
 tall, square tower, and one great mass stretch- 
 ing out into the court, and rising to the height 
 ' two stories, 
 hi a small, plain chamber, containing ey< rj 
 thing useful and convenient, but nothing veiv 
 aamental, sat a gentleman of three or four- 
 d- twenty years of age, covered with corslet 
 ■ 1 back-piece, but with his head and limbs 
 bare of armour. Two men, however, wen 
 busily engaged fitting on him the iron 
 panoply of war. One was kneeling at his feet,
 
 AGNES SOREL. 27-5 
 
 fastening the greaves upon his legs ; the other 
 stood behind, attaching the pauldrons and pal- 
 lettes. On a table hard by, were a casque and 
 plume, beside which lay the gauntlets, the 
 shield and the sword, and near the table stood 
 a lady somewhat past the middle age, gazing 
 gravely and anxiously at the young man's 
 countenance. 
 
 But there was still another person in the 
 room. A young girl of six or seven years of 
 age had climbed upon the gentleman's knee, 
 and was making a necklace for him of her 
 arms, while ever and anon she kissed him 
 tenderly. 
 
 "You must come back, Jean. You musi 
 come back," she said, " though dear mother 
 says perhaps you may never come back. You 
 must not leave your own little Agnes. What 
 would she do without you ?" 
 
 Jean Charost embraced her warmly ; but he 
 did not speak ; for many emotions throbbed in 
 his heart which he feared might make his voice 
 tremble.
 
 276 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 Few who had seen him six or seven years 
 before would have recognised, in the tall, power- 
 ful yetting man, the slim, graceful lad who was 
 secretary to the imfortunate Duke of Orleans : 
 nor was the change perhaps less in his mind 
 than in Iris person ; for, although he was of that 
 character which changes slowly, yet all charac- 
 ters change. The oak requires a hundred years ; 
 the willow hardly twenty ; and as one layer or 
 circle grows upon another in the heart of the 
 tree, so do new feelings come over man's spirit 
 as he advances from youth to ftge. Each epoch 
 in human life has the things pertaining to itself. 
 The boy can never divine what the man will 
 
 1 ; the man too little recollects what were the 
 feelings of the bo v. 
 
 The change, however, in JeanCharost, irom 
 tii:' circumstances in which lie had been placed. 
 was rather di I from that which might 
 
 l expected. lie had become tenderer, 
 rather than harder, in the last seven years ; more 
 flexible, rather than more rigid. Till between 
 q and eighteen years of age, hard
 
 AGNES SOREL. 277 
 
 necessities, constant application, the everlasting- 
 dealing with material things, the gnard which 
 he had been continually forced to put upon him- 
 self — knowing that not only his own future fate 
 might be darkened, but the happiness and de- 
 liverance of a parent might be lost, by one 
 false step — had all tended to give him an un- 
 youthful sternness of principle and of de- 
 meanour, which had perhaps saved him from 
 many evils, but which had deprived himself 
 of much innocent enjoyment. 
 
 Since the death of the Duke of Orleans, 
 however, acting altogether as his own master, 
 seeing more of the general world, and with his 
 mind relieved from the oppressive cares and 
 anxieties which may be said to have frozen 
 his youth, he had warmed, as it were, in 
 the sunshine, and all the more gentle things 
 of the heart had come forth and blossomed. I 
 know not whether the love of that clear beauti- 
 ful child had not greatly aided the change — 
 whether his tenderness for her, and her adoring 
 fondness for him, had not called out emotions,
 
 278 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 natural, but latent, and affections which only 
 wanted something to cling round. When he 
 returned from any of the scenes of strife and 
 tmublo in which he, in common with others, had 
 embarked, one of his first thoughts was of Agnes. 
 When he approached the gates of the old castle, 
 I lis eyes were lifted to sec her coming to meet him. 
 When he sought a time of repose in the plain 
 and unadorned halls of his father, no gorgeous 
 tapestry, no gilded ceiling, no painted gallery 
 could have ornamented the abode so well as the 
 smiles of that sweet young face. The balmy 
 influence of innocent childhood was felt by him 
 strongly. 
 
 He was VBry indulgent towards her. His 
 mother said he spoiled her. But he used to 
 laugh joyfully, and declare that nothing could 
 spoil his little Agnes ; and, in truth, with him 
 Bhe was over gentle and docile, seeming to love 
 to obey his lightest word. 
 
 And now he was going to leave her — to Leave 
 all lie held most dear, indeed, for a long march 
 — for a fierce strife — for a struggle on which the 

 
 AGXES S0BE1. 279 
 
 fate of France depended. He was not without 
 hope — he was not without confidence. — But, if 
 almost all men feel some shade of dread when 
 parting from a well loved home, on any ordinary 
 occasion — if a chilling conviction of the dreary 
 uncertainty of all earthly things comes even 
 upon them — what must have been Us sensations 
 when he thought of all that might happen 
 between the hours of parting and returning ? 
 
 The trumpet, however had sounded through- 
 out the land. Every well-wisher of his country 
 was called upon to forget domestic ties, and sel- 
 fish interests, and private quarrels, and arm to 
 repel an invader. The appeal was to the 
 hearts of all Frenchmen ; and he must go. 
 Nay more, he had taxed his utmost means, he 
 had mortgaged the very bequest of the Duke 
 of Orleans, he had done everything — but im- 
 poverish his mother — in order to carry with 
 him as many men as possible to swell the hosts 
 of France. 
 
 The last piece of his armour was buckled 
 on ; Martin Grille took up the casque : a cup
 
 280 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 of wine was brought ; and Jean Charost em- 
 braced his mother and the child. 
 
 " How hard your breast is, Jean," said the 
 little girl. 
 
 " Not too hard," said the mother. " God 
 be your shield, my son ! He is better than 
 sword or buckler." 
 
 " Amen !" ejaculated Jean Charost ; and left 
 them. 
 
 Now let us change the scene once more ; for 
 this must be a chapter of changes. Stand upon 
 tins little lull with me, beside the great oak, 
 and let us, as day breaks, look over the fair 
 scene below us. See how beautifully the land 
 slopes away there on the north, with the 
 wooded heights near Blangy, and the church 
 steeple on the rise of the hill, and the old 
 castle hard by. How the light catches upon 
 it, before the day is fully risen! Even 
 that piece of marshy ground, sloping gently up 
 into a meadow, with a deep ditch cut here and 
 there aoross it, acquires something like beauty 
 from the purple light of the rising sun. There
 
 AGNES SOREL. 281 
 
 is a little coppice there to the westward, with 
 a windmill somewhat like that at Crecy, waving 
 its slow arms in the gentle morning breeze. 
 How peaceful it all looks ! how calm ! Can 
 this narrow space, this tranquil scene, be the 
 spot on which the destiny of a great kingdom 
 is to be decided in an hour ? 
 
 So, perhaps, thought a man placed upon the 
 hill near Blangy, as he looked in the direction 
 of Azincourt, one half of the steeple of which 
 could be discerned rising over the slope. Soon, 
 however, that quiet scene became full of life. 
 He saw a small body of about two hundred 
 men run rapidly along under cover of the cop- 
 pice, bending their heads, and with no apparent 
 arms, except what seemed an axe slung upon 
 the shoulder of each. They carried long, slim 
 wands in their hands, it is true ; but to the eye 
 those wands were very unserviceable weapons. 
 They reached the edge of a ditch in the 
 meadow, and there they disappeared. 
 
 A loud flourish of martial music followed ; 
 and soon after, from behind the wood, came on
 
 282 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 in steady array a small body of soldier)-. They 
 could uot have numbered more tliau one or two 
 thousand men at the very most ; and little like 
 soldiers did .they look, except in the even firmin 3fi 
 of their line. No glittering steel was to be 
 seen ; casque and corslet, spear and banner, 
 were not there. Not even the foot-soldier's 
 jack and morion could be descried amongst 
 them ; but, tattered, travel-worn, and many of 
 them bare-headed, they advanced, with heavy 
 tramp and steady countenance, in the same 
 direction which had been taken by the others. 
 The same long wands were in their hands, and 
 each bore upon his shoulder a heavy steel- 
 pointed post, while a short sword or axe hung 
 upon the thigh, and a well-stored quiver was 
 within reach of the right hand. Before them 
 rode a knight on horseback, with a truncheon 
 in his hand, and behind them, still a.s they 
 marched on, sounded the war-stirring 
 trumpet. 
 
 The face of the man who stood there and 
 watched was very pale, either with fear or
 
 AGXES SOREL.. 283 
 
 some other emotion, and every now and then 
 he approached a tree to which three horses were 
 tied, one of which was fully caparisoned for 
 war, examined the bridles, and saw that all 
 was right, as if he were anxious that every- 
 thing should be ready, either for strife or 
 flight. While he was thus employed, two 
 other men came up, slowly climbing the hill 
 from the eastward ; but there was nothing in 
 the appearance of either to give any alarm to 
 him who was watching there. The one was 
 a round, short personage, with a countenance 
 on which Nature had stamped cheerful good 
 humour, though his eyes had now in them an 
 expression of wild anxiety which showed that 
 he knew what scene was about to be acted 
 below. The other was a tall, gaunt man, far 
 past the middle age ; but his face betrayed no 
 emotion. It was still and pale as that of death, 
 and changed not even after they had reached 
 a point where the whole array of the field was 
 set out before them. His brow, however, wore 
 a heavy frown ; but that expression seemed
 
 284 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 habitual, and not produced by any transitory 
 feeling. 
 
 Both the strangers were habited in the long, 
 gray gowns of monks, with a girdle of plain 
 cord, and the string of beads attached, besides 
 which, the elder man carried in his hand a 
 staff, and a large ebony crucifix. 
 
 The moment their heads rose above the slope, 
 so as to see over into the plain beyond, the 
 younger and the stouter man stopped suddenly, 
 and, with a look of some alarm, as if the moving 
 mass of soldiery had been close to him, exlaimcd, 
 
 " Jesu Maria ! Are those the English, bro- 
 ther Francis ? I did not know they were half 
 so near." 
 
 The other answered nothing, and his coun- 
 tenance changed not, while his eye ran over 
 the whole country beneath him, with the calm, 
 deliberate, marking look of a man who had 
 beheld such scenes before. 
 
 Suddenly, on the right, over the tops of the 
 trees, rose up a dense cloud of smoke, which, 
 rolling in large volumes into the air, became
 
 AGNES SOREL. 285 
 
 tinged with a dark red hue, and speckled with 
 sparks of fire. 
 
 " What is that — what is that ?" cried the 
 younger monk. " That must be some place on 
 fire, Aubin." 
 
 " No, no," replied the other, speaking for the 
 first time. " That is much nearer. It is either 
 at Teneur, or at the farm of our prioiy of St. 
 George. Can the English King have thrown 
 out his right wing so far in order to take our 
 army on the flank ? If so, one charge would 
 mm him. No, no ; he is too wise for that. It 
 must be stratagem to deceive the Constable." 
 
 As he spoke, the first comer moved away 
 from the horses, and joined them, exclaiming : 
 
 " God help us ! this is a terrible scene, good 
 Fathers." 
 
 The elder monk gazed at him with his 
 motionless countenance, but answered nothing ; 
 and the younger one replied : 
 
 " A terrible scene, indeed, my son ! A 
 terrible scene, indeed ! I know not whether it
 
 286 AGNES 80EEL. 
 
 lie more so to stand as a more spectator, aud 
 witness such a sight as will soon be before us, 
 or to mingle in the fray, and lose part of its 
 horrors by sharing in its fmy." 
 
 " Oil, I have no doubt which," answered 
 the other. " My mind is quite made up on 
 that subject/' 
 
 " You may be a man of war," observed the 
 other. " Indeed, those armed horses seem to 
 speak it." 
 
 •• No, no. I am a man of peace," rejoined 
 the first comer. u Those horses are my master's, 
 not mine ; and the fighting is his too. But he 
 knows my infirmity, and leaves me here out of 
 aiTow-shot. The boy who was with me has run 
 down the hill to be nearer to our lord ; but I, 
 as in duty bound, stay where he placed me. I 
 should like very much to know, however, what 
 is the name of that farm-house, and the two or 
 tln< ( cottages there, at the edge of the meadow 
 with the deep ditch across it." 
 
 kk That is called Framecourt," replied the 
 younger monk. " It is but a small hamlet, and
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 287 
 
 I heard this morning that our riotous soldiers 
 had driven the people out of it, and eaten 
 all their stores. — Why do you ask, my 
 son ?" 
 
 " Because I saw but now two or three 
 hundred men, coming from the side of Blangy, 
 run down by the willows there, and disappear 
 in the ditch." 
 
 '• God's retribution !" exclaimed the elder 
 monk, gravely. " Had not the soldiery driven 
 out the peasantry, there would have been men 
 to bear the news of the ambush." 
 
 " Think you it is an ambush, then ?" asked 
 the younger monk. 
 
 "Beyond doubt," replied the other; "and 
 he who would do a good service to the army of 
 France, would mount yon horse, ride down 
 towards Azincourt, and carry the tidings to the 
 Constable." 
 
 As he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon their 
 lay companion, who seemed a little uneasy 
 under their gaze. He fidgetted, pulled the 
 points of his doublet, and then said, sturdily :
 
 288 AGNES SOUEL. 
 
 M "Well, I cannot go. I must stay with the 
 horses." 
 
 " Are you a coward ?" asked the elder monk, 
 in a low, bitter tone. 
 
 " Yes," replied the man, carelessly. " I 
 am a desperate coward — have been so all my 
 life. I have a reverent regard for my own skin, 
 and no fondness for carving that of other people. 
 If men have a pecidiar fancy for poking holes 
 in each other's bodies, I do not quarrel with 
 them for it. Indeed, I do not quarrel with 
 any one for anything. But it is not my taste : 
 it is not my trade. Why should I make eye- 
 Lei holes in Nature's jerkin, or have myself 
 bored through and through, like a piece of 
 timber under an auger ?" 
 
 " Well, my son," said the younger monk, 
 u wilt thou let me have a horse, that I may 
 vide down, and tell the Constable?" 
 
 " There is hardly time," observed the elder 
 monk. k ' See, here comes a larger body of 
 archers from the side of Blangy, and I can 
 catch lance-heads and banners rising up by
 
 AGNES S0REL. 289 
 
 Azincourt. The bloody work will soon 
 begin." 
 
 " I would fain try, at all events," cried his 
 companion. " Man, wilt thou let me have a 
 horse ? I will bring him back to thee in half- 
 an-hour, if ever I come back alive myself." 
 
 " Take him — take him," answered the other. 
 " I am not the man to stop you. How could I 
 resist two monks and three horses ? But the 
 destrier — not the battle-horse. That is my 
 lord's. Here, take the page's. Let me help 
 thee on, Father. Thou art so fat in the nether 
 end that thou wilt never get up without a 
 ladder. One time I was as bad a horseman as 
 thyself, and so I have compassion on thy 
 foibles. Have thou some upon mine." 
 
 The monk was soon settled in the saddle, 
 and away he went down the hill, showing him- 
 self a better horseman, when once mounted, than 
 the other had given him credit for being. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, the elder monk 
 
 VOL. II. o
 
 290 AGXES SOREL. 
 
 fixed his eyes once more upon his companion, 
 and said, in a low voice : 
 
 M Have I not seen thee somewhere before ?" 
 
 " I can't tell," answered the other. " I have 
 seen yon, I fancy ; but, if so, you gave no sign 
 of seeing me, either by word or look. How- 
 ever, I am Martin Grille, the valet of the good 
 1 taron dc Brccy. Perhaps that may give your 
 memory a step to climb upon." 
 
 " It needs no step," returned the monk. 
 " I am all memory. Would to God I were 
 not !" 
 
 " Ay, now you look more as you did then, 
 though not half so mad either," said Martin 
 Grille. " You are older, too, and your cowl 
 makes a difference." 
 
 " And there is a difference," rejoined the 
 monk, in a tone of deep sadness. " Penitence 
 and prayer, remorse and anguish — sated re- 
 venge, perhaps — a thirst assuaged — a thirst, 
 such as no desert traveller ever knew, quenched 
 in blood and tears — all these have changed me.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 291 
 
 The fire has gone out. I am nothing but the 
 ashes of my former self." 
 
 " Rather hot ashes, even yet," remarked 
 Martin Grille, " if I may judge by what you 
 said about my cowardice just now. But look, 
 look, good Father ! What will become of our 
 fat brother there ? Why he is riding right be- 
 fore that strong body of lances coming up from 
 Blangy !" 
 
 " He does not see them," answered the 
 other, graA^ely. " He may reach the con- 
 stable even yet ; for lo, now ! There comes 
 the power of France over the hill, and Eng- 
 land on to meet her. By the holy rood, they 
 make a gallant show, these great noblemen of 
 France. Why, what a sea of archery and men- 
 at-arms is here, with plumes and banners, 
 lance and shield, and pennons numberless ! I 
 have seen many a stricken fight, and never 
 but at Poictiers, saw fairer arrav than that." 
 
 " Why, they will sweep the English from 
 the face of the earth," said Martin Grille. " If 
 o 2
 
 292 AGNES S0BEL. 
 
 {hat be all King Henry's power, it is but a 
 morsel for the maw of such a monster as is 
 coming down from Azincourt." 
 
 The monk turned towards him, and shook his 
 head. 
 
 "You know not these Englishmen," la- 
 said, with a sigh. "When brought to bay, 
 they light like wolves. I have heard my 
 father tell of Civey, and at Poictiers I was a 
 
 : e. < >n each held we outnumbered them as 
 here, and at Poictiers we might have had them 
 on competition had it pleased the King. 13 ut 
 we forced them to tight, and fight they did, 
 till the multitude lied before a handful, and 
 order and discipline did what neither nnmbeSE 
 nor courage could effect. Look you now, h<>\\ 
 skilfully this English King has chosen his [dace 
 i.i' battle, unassailable on either flank, shewing 
 
 a narrow front t<» his enemy, so as to render 
 numbers of no avail. God send that they may 
 n it prove destructive !" 
 
 "Ah. he is too late!" ejaculated Martin 
 < Grille, who had been watching the course of the
 
 AGNES S0REL. 293 
 
 other monk, who was riding straight towards 
 the head of the ditch, where he had seen the 
 archers conceal themselves. "He is too late, I 
 fear." 
 
 His exclamation was caused by sudden 
 movements observable in both armies. The 
 English force had been advancing slowly in 
 three bodies, each looking but a handful as 
 compared with the immense forces of France ; 
 but they marched in firm and close array, with 
 little of that ornament and decoration which gilds 
 and smooths the rugged reality of war, but with 
 many instruments of music playing martial 
 airs, and seeming to speak of hope and confi- 
 dence. 
 
 The French, on the other hand, who had lain 
 quiet all the morning, as if intending to wait 
 the attack of the enemy, had just spread out 
 upon the slope in the face of Azincourt, di- 
 vided likewise into three vast bodies, with 
 their wings overlapping on either side the 
 flank of the English force. Splendid arms, and 
 glittering accoutrements, made the whole line
 
 294 AGNES -OREL. 
 
 shine and sparkle ; but not a sound was heard 
 from amongst them, except now and then the 
 shout of a commander. 
 
 At the moment of Martin Grilled exclama- 
 tion, the advanced guard of the French had 
 assumed a quicker pace, and were pouring down 
 upon the English archery as they ma relied up 
 through a somewhat narrow space, enclosed 
 between low, thick copse-hedges, and swampy 
 ground ; this narrow field forked out, gradually 
 becoming wider and wider towards the centre 
 of the French host ; and the English had just 
 reached what we may call the mouth of the 
 fork, with nearl} 7 fifteen thousand French men- 
 at-arms and archers before them, under the 
 command of the Constable in person. Slowly and 
 steadily the Englishmen marched on till within 
 half bow-shot of the French line, headed by 
 old Sir Thomas of Erpingham, who rode about 
 twenty yards before the archery, with a page 
 on either side, and nothing but a baton in his 
 hand. When near enough to render every 
 arrow certain of its mark, the old knight waved
 
 AGNES SOREL. 295 
 
 his truncheon in the air, and instantly the 
 whole body of foot halted short. At the same 
 moment, each man planted before him the 
 spiked stake which he carried in his hand, and 
 laid an arrow on the string of his bow. 
 
 A dead silence prevailed along each line, un- 
 broken except by the tramp of the advancing 
 French. Sir Thomas of Erpingham looked 
 along the line from right to left, and then ex- 
 claimed, in a powerful voice, " Now strike !" 
 throwing his truncheon high into the air, and 
 dismounting from his horse. 
 
 Instantly, from the ditch on the left flank of 
 the French, rose up the concealed archers, with 
 bows already drawn ; and well might Martin 
 Grille exclaim that the monk was too late. 
 The next instant, from one end of the English 
 line to the other, ran the tremendous cheer 
 which has so often been the herald of victory 
 by land and sea: and then, a flight of 
 arrows, as thick as hail, poured right into the 
 faces of the charging enemy. Knights and 
 squires, and men-at-arms, bowed their heads
 
 296 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 to the saddle "bow to avoid the shafts; but on 
 they still rushed, each man directing his horse 
 straight against the narrow front of the English, 
 and pressing closer and closer together, pre- 
 senting one compact mass upon which each 
 arrow told. 
 
 Nor did that fatal flight cease for an instant. 
 Hardly was one shaft delivered before another 
 was upon the string ; and, mad with pain, the 
 horses of the French cavalry reared and 
 plunged amongst the crowd, creating as much 
 dist ruction and disarray as even the missiles of 
 their foe. 
 
 All then became a scene of strange con- 
 fusion to the eyes of Martin Grill. ■. The two 
 opposing forces seemed mingled together. The 
 English, he thought, were forced back; but 
 their order seemed firmer than that of the 
 French force, where all was struggling and 
 disarray. Here and there a small space in one 
 part of the field would become comparatively 
 clear; and then he would see a knight or squire 
 dragged from his horse, and an archer driving
 
 AGNES SOREL. 297 
 
 the point of his sword between the bars of his 
 helmet. 
 
 The figure of the monk was no longer to 
 be seen; for he was enveloped in the 
 various masses of light cavalry and camp-fol- 
 lowers, which whirled around the wings of 
 the French army, of little or no service in the 
 battle, to those whom they served, and only 
 formidable to an enemy in case of his de- 
 feat. 
 
 The monk, who stood beside Martin Grille, 
 remained profoundly silent, though his com- 
 panion often turned his eye towards him with 
 an enquiring look, as if he would fain have 
 asked : " How think you goes the strife V 7 
 But, though no words were uttered, many were 
 the emotions which passed over his counte- 
 nance. At first, all was calm, although there 
 was a straining of the eye beneath the bent 
 brow, like that of the eagle gazing down from 
 its rocky eyrie on the prey moving across the 
 plain below. Then came a glance of triumph, 
 o 5
 
 298 AON IS sOREL. 
 
 as some two or three hundred of the French 
 men-at-arms dashed on before their com- 
 panions, and hurled themselves upon the Eng- 
 li ii line, in the vain effort to break the firm 
 array of the archery. But when he saw the 
 hoops mingling, and the heavy pressure 
 of the French chivalry one upon the other, 
 each impeding his neighbour, and leaving no 
 room for any but those in the front rank 
 to strike a blow, his brow grew dark, his eye 
 anxious, and his lip quivered. 
 
 For a moment more he continued silent ; but 
 then, when he saw the English arrows dropping 
 amongst the ranks of his countrymen, the 
 horses rearing and foiling with their riders to 
 be trampled under the feet of those who pressed 
 around, some, maddened with pain, tearing 
 through all that opposed them, and carrying 
 terror and confusion into the main body behind, 
 some urged by tearful riders at full gallop 
 from a field which they fancied lost, because it 
 \\;i> not instantly won, he could bear no more, 
 but exclaimed, sharply and sternly :
 
 AGNES SOREL. 299 
 
 " They will lose the day !" 
 
 " But all that vast number coming down the 
 hill have not yet struck a stroke," cried Martin 
 Grille. 
 
 " Where can they strike ?" demanded the 
 monk. " If the field were cleared of their 
 friends, they might yet do something "with 
 their foes. See, the banner of Alencon is 
 down ! and where is that of Brabant ? I see it 
 no more." 
 
 He gazed for a moment longer, and then ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " On my life, they are flying ! Flying right 
 into the centre of the main battle, to cany the 
 infection of their fear with them." 
 
 As he spoke, two or three horsemen, in mad 
 haste, galloped up the hill directly towards 
 them ; and Martin Grille sprang to the side of 
 the horses, unfastened one of them, and put 
 his foot in the stirrup. 
 
 " Fool ! They will not hurt thee," ex- 
 claimed the monk. " They only seek to save 
 their own lives." And stretching out Ms arms
 
 •> 
 
 <>0 IGNESSOREL. 
 
 across the path by which the soldiers were 
 Doming, he cried, fiercely: 
 
 "Cowards! cowards! Back to the battle 
 for veiy shame !" 
 
 But they galloped past him, one with an 
 arrow through his shoulder, and one with the 
 crest of his casque completely shorn off. The 
 third struck a blow with a mace at the monk 
 as he passed ; it narrowly missed him ; and 
 on he too rode with a bitter curse upon lus 
 lips. 
 
 Bytliis time, it was no longer doubtful which 
 way the strife would go between the advance 
 guard of the French, and that of the English 
 army. The former was all in disarray, and 
 parties were scattering away from it every in- 
 stant; while the latter was advancing steadily. 
 supported by a large body of pikes and bill- 
 men, who now appeared in compact order from 
 behind some of the tall trees of the wood. 
 
 Jusl then, through the hushes which lay 
 
 ittered over the bottom of the slope, a group 
 was seen coming up the hill, so slowly that
 
 AGNES S0REL. 301 
 
 their progress could hardly be called flight. At 
 first, neither Martin Grille nor the monk could 
 clearly perceive what they were doing ; for the 
 branches, with their dry October leaves, partly 
 intercepted the view. Soon, however, they 
 emerged upon more open ground, and three or 
 four men on foot appeared, closely surrounding a 
 caparisoned horse which one of them led by the 
 bridle, while another, walking by the stirrup, 
 seemed to have his arm around the waist of the 
 rider. An instant after, a mounted man, in a 
 grey gown, appeared from amongst the bushes, 
 paused by the side of the little party, and was 
 seen pointing upwards towards' the hill. 
 
 " Brother Francis and a wounded knight," 
 said the monk, taking a step or two forward. 
 
 " Good Lord, I hope it is not my young 
 master !" cried Martin Grille, clasping his 
 hands together. " Oh, if he would but stay at 
 home, and keep quiet ! I am sine his mother 
 would bless the day." 
 
 The monk hardly listened to him ; for he was
 
 302 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 gazing with an eager and anxious look upon the 
 group below ; then, suddenly turning to the 
 valet, he asked, in a quick tone : 
 
 u Has thy young lord any children ?" 
 
 " Xonc of his own," answered Martin Grille ; 
 " but one whom he has adopted — a ferry little 
 creature as beautiful as a sunbeam, whom they 
 call Agnes. He could not love her better were 
 she his own." 
 
 " God will bless him yet," said the monk, 
 and then added, sharply : " Why stand you 
 here ? It is your lord. Go and help !" 
 
 And he himself hurried down the slope to 
 meet the advancing part)-. 
 
 With his casque cleft open by an axe, an 
 BZIOW through his right arm, a spear-hole in 
 his cuirass, and the blood dropping over his 
 coat-of-arnis, Jean Charost, supported by one 
 of his retainers, on whose shoulder his head 
 rested, was borne slowly up the hill. His face 
 could not be seen ; for his vizor was closed ; 
 but there was an expression of deep sadness
 
 AGNES SOREL. 303 
 
 on the faces of the two or three men who sur- 
 rounded him, which showed that they thought 
 the worst had befallen. 
 
 " Is he dead ?" asked the old monk, looking 
 at the man who led the horse. 
 
 " I can't tell, Father," replied the soldier, 
 gruffly. " He has not spoken since we got him 
 out of the fray. Here is one who has done his 
 duty, however. Oh, if they had all fought as 
 he did !" 
 
 " I think he is not dead," said the other 
 monk, riding up. " You see his hand is still 
 clasped upon the rein, and once I thought he 
 tried to raise his head." 
 
 " Bear him on — bear him on behind the 
 trees," cried the older man, " and get the 
 horses out of sight. He is not dead — his hand 
 moves. How goes it, my son ? How goes it ? 
 Be of good cheer." 
 
 A low groan was the only reply ; but that 
 was sign sufficient that life was not extinct ; 
 and Jean Charost was earned gently forward to 
 a spot behind the trees, well concealed from
 
 30 1 Ai.NF.S >OREL. 
 
 the field of battle The old monk, before be 
 followed, paused to take one more look at the 
 bloody plain of Azincourt. By this time, the 
 main body of the French army was in as greal 
 disorder us the advanced guard, while the Eng- 
 lish forces were advancing steadily with tin 
 royal banner floating in the air. 
 
 " All is lost I" murmured the monk. " God 
 help them! they have cast away a great 
 victory I" 
 
 When he reached the little spot to which 
 •lean Oharost had been carried, the men were 
 lifting him gently from his horse, and laying 
 him down en the dry autumnal grass. His 
 casque was hood removed, but his eyes were 
 closed, and his breathing was slow and uneven. 
 There was a deep eut upon his head; out that 
 which seemed robbing him of lite was the 
 Lance wound in his chest ; and, with hurried 
 hands, the two monks unclasped the cuirass and 
 back piece, and applied themselves to staunch 
 the blood.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 305 
 
 " It has gone very near his heart," said the 
 elder monk. 
 
 " No, no," replied the other. " It is too far 
 to the side. You understand fighting better 
 than I, brother Albert ; but I know more 
 surgery than you. Hold your hand firmly 
 here, one of you men, and give me up that 
 scarf. Some one run down to the brook and 
 get water. Take his basinet — take his basinet. 
 We must call him out of this swoon before it is 
 too late." 
 
 Martin Grille snatched up his master's casque, 
 and impulsively ran away towards the brook, 
 which took its rise about two thirds of the way 
 down the hill. When he came in sight of the 
 battle-field, however, he stopped suddenly 
 short, with all his old terrors rushing upon 
 liim ; but, the next instant, love for his young 
 lord overcame all other sensations, and he 
 plunged desperately down the slope, and filled 
 the basinet at the fountain. 
 
 " Help me, Martin ! help me !" exclaimed a 
 voice near.
 
 30 G AGNES SOREL. 
 
 And, looking up, he saw the young page, 
 who had followed his lord down the hill. 
 
 " Here, boy, conic along," cried Martin Grille. 
 " What, are you hurt, you young fool ?" 
 
 " Yes, sorely," replied the boy. "White 
 trying to cover the Baron, the first time he was 
 thrown from his horse, they hacked me with 
 their swords. I shall never sec him again ; he 
 is dead now." 
 
 " Give mc your hand — give me your hand," 
 cried Martin Grille. " lie is not dead; 
 take good heart. But I must hurry back with 
 this water; so put forth what strength you have 
 Le&" 
 
 Dragging the page along with one hand, and 
 holding the basinet in the other, Martin con- 
 trived to climb the hill again, and reach the 
 spot Where de Brecy lay. The younger monk 
 immediately took a handful of the water, and 
 dashed it in the wounded man's face. A shud- 
 der passed over him, and then he opened his 
 eyes, and looked faintly round. 
 
 " Xow some drops of this sovereign balsam,"
 
 AGNES SOREL. 307 
 
 said the younger monk, taking a vial from his 
 pocket. u Open your lips, my son, and let me 
 drop it in." 
 
 He had to repeat his words before the 
 wounded man comprehended them ; but when 
 the drops had been administered, a great 
 change took place very rapidly. The light came 
 back into Jean Charost' s eyes ; and he said, 
 though faintly — 
 
 ' ' Where am I ? Who has won ?" 
 
 " How goes it, my son — how goes it ?" 
 asked the elder monk, bending over him, with 
 his cowl thrown back. 
 
 "But feebly, father," answered Jean Charost. 
 " Ha ! is that -you ?" 
 
 "Even so," replied the monk. " But cheer 
 up : you shall not die. We will take you to 
 our Prioiy of St. George of Hesdin, and soon 
 give you health again." 
 
 " Alas !" said Jean Charost, raising his hand 
 feebly, and letting it drop again, " I have no 
 strength to move. But how goes the battle ?
 
 308 M*NE8 SOKEL. 
 
 If France 1ms lost, let me lie hove and 
 die." 
 
 " We cannot tell," answered the younger 
 monk. " The battle still rages fiercely, Here, 
 hold this crucifix in your hand, and let me ex- 
 amine the wound. 'Tis not bleeding so fast," 
 ho continued. "Take some more of these 
 drops ; they will give you strength again." 
 
 " Ah, Perot ; poor boy !" said Joan ( lharost, 
 si i tiering his eyes to glance feebly round till 
 they rested upon the page, who was leaning 
 against a tree. "Attend to him, good father. 
 He must be wounded sorely, lie saved my life 
 when first I was dashed down by that blow 
 upon my head." 
 
 "Take this first yourself," rejoined the 
 monk ; " or the master will go where the page 
 will not like to follow." 
 
 -loan Charosl made no resistance, and the 
 monk then turned to the young boy, examined 
 and hound up his wounds, and administered to 
 him likewise some of the elixir in which he
 
 AGNES S0REL. 309 
 
 seemed to put so much faith. Nor did it prove 
 undeserving of his good opinion; for again 
 the effect upon Jean Charost was very great, 
 and he said, in a stronger voice — 
 
 " Methinks I shall live." 
 
 " Can we not contrive to make some litter?" 
 said the elder monk, looking to the men who 
 had aided their young loid up the hill. 
 
 " We will try," replied one of them. 
 
 And, taking an axe which hung upon his 
 shoulder, he began to cut down some of the 
 sapling trees. 
 
 Before, however, the materials were collected 
 to make the litter, there came a sound of 
 horses' feet going at a slow trot, and, an instant 
 after, a small party of cavalry appeared. 
 
 " Ha ! who have we here ?" cried the man 
 at their head. " A French knight womided ! 
 God save you, sir. I trust you will do well ; 
 but you must surrender, rescue or no rescue, 
 and give your faith thereon." 
 
 As he spoke, he dismounted, and approached
 
 310 AGNES BOBEL. 
 
 the little group, holding out his hand to Jcau 
 Charost. 
 
 " There is uo help for it," answered the 
 wounded man, giving him his hand. " Eescue, 
 or no rescue, I do surrender." 
 
 "Your name is the next thing," observed 
 the English officer. 
 
 " Jean Charost, Baron dc Brecy," replied 
 the yoivng man. " I pray you, tell me how goes 
 the battle ?» 
 
 "It is over, sir," answered the English- 
 man. " God has been pleased to bless our 
 arms. Your men will surrender, of course." 
 
 With them, too, there was no help for 
 it, as twenty or thirty spears were around 
 them ; and, when they had given their 
 pledge, the officer, an elderly man, turned 
 again to Jean Charost, saying, in a kindly 
 tone — 
 
 " You are badly hurt, sir, and I am sure 
 have done your devoir right knightly for your 
 king and country. I cannot stay to tend you ;
 
 AGNES SOREL. 311 
 
 but these good fathers will have gentle care of 
 you, I am sure. When you are well, enquire 
 for the Lord Willoughby. You will not find 
 him hard to deal with. The parole of a gentle- 
 man with such wounds as these, is worth prison 
 bars of three inch thickness." 
 
 Thus saying, he remounted his horse, and 
 rode away.
 
 312 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 A few brief glimpses, if you please, dear 
 reader — quiet, and calm, and cool, like the 
 early sunshine of a clear autumn day — a few 
 brief glimpses, to throw some light upon a 
 lapse of several years. 
 
 It may be asked, why are not the events of 
 those years recorded? Why are we not carried 
 through the details of a history in which the 
 w rit* r at least must have some interest ? 
 For this reason : In every life, as in every 
 country, there are spots of dull mono- 
 tony, where the waters stagnate on the 
 heavy Hats; and to linger amongst them is dan- 
 gerous t<> active i xistonec. 1 say, in every 
 life there are these flats on some period or an- 
 other ; for I can recall none, in memory or in
 
 AGXES S0REL. 313 
 
 history, where they have not been found. None 
 where all has been mountain and valley. 
 
 Take the most active life that ever was, that 
 of Napoleon Bonaparte ; carry him from the 
 military school to the command of armies ; go 
 with him along his comet -like career, from 
 glory to glory up to the zenith of his power, 
 and then on his course down to the horizon 
 with fierce rapidity. You come to the rock 
 in the Atlantic, and the dull lapse of impotence 
 and captivity at last ! 
 
 In a cell in the small priory of St. George of 
 Hesdin, and on the pallet-bed of one of the 
 monks, lay Jean Charost, pale and wan, but 
 still with the light of reviving life in his eyes. 
 By his side was seated a tall, thin, old man, or, 
 if not very old in years, old in the experience 
 of sorrows. 
 
 It is a strange thing, this life, and all con- 
 nected with it. Time, and joy, and grief, and 
 fear, and hope, and appetite, and satiety ! 
 Very, very strange ! The wise Eastern people 
 
 vol. ir. p
 
 314 i&NEl 80EEL. 
 
 h ■■ said thai at the root of tin' tree of lilt 
 lie two worms continually preying on it : the 
 one blacky the other white. Bui alas, alas ! 
 many another maggol pierces the bark, eating 
 into the core, drying up the sap, bringing on 
 decaj and destruction. I have named a few 
 em. 
 
 One of the most blessed conceptions of the 
 soul LS, that in its immortality none of tie 
 things i an touch it. 
 
 I)e Brecy's companion seemed an old man, 
 though probablyhe had not yet beheld sixtyyears 
 of age; bul upon his face were many harsh lines 
 — not suchas are drawn by hard, oarking cares 
 and petty anxieties — not such as are imprinted 
 on the countenance by the claws of grasping, mer- 
 cenary selfishness; hut the deep, strong brands 
 of burning passions, fierce griefs, fierce joy-. 
 and strong, unruly thoughts. Yet the eye was 
 subdued. There was not the light in it that 
 had oik- • been then — the wild, eager light, too 
 
 intense to ho Polly sane. There was sadness 
 
 enough, hut little fire.
 
 AGNES SOREL. 315 
 
 It would seem that the two — they were the 
 only tenants of the cell — had been talking for 
 some time, and that one of those pauses had 
 taken place, in which each man continues for 
 himself the train of thought suggested by 
 what has gone before. The old man looked 
 down upon the ground, with his shaggy eye- 
 broATs overhanging his eyes. Jean Charost 
 looked up, as if catching inspiration from 
 above. It was Hope and Memory. At length, 
 the old man spoke. 
 
 " When one looks back," he said, " upon 
 the path of life, we lose in the mistiness of the 
 distance a thousand objects which have influ- 
 enced its course. We see it rum hither and 
 thither, and wonder that we took not a course 
 more direct to our end. We perceive that we 
 have gone far out of the way ; but the obsta- 
 cles are not seen that were ? or seemed, insur- 
 mountable — the stream, too deep to be forded 
 — the rock, too high to be scaled — the thicket, 
 too dense to be penetrated ; and the mists and 
 p 2
 
 310 A'.M - JOBEE, 
 
 darkness too — the mists and darkness of the 
 mind, for ever blinding ns to the right way. 
 Oh, my son, my son ! Beware of the eye-sight 
 of passion ; for yon know not how false and 
 distorting it is. Things as plain as day 
 become all dim and obsenre, false lights glare 
 around ns, and nothing is real but onr own 
 sensations. 7 ' 
 
 Jean ( liarost smiled. 
 
 "I have escaped as yet, father," he said. 
 
 • I: is true, indeed, that when I look baek on 
 
 some passages of my life — on the actions of 
 
 oilier men, and on my own — I sometimes 
 
 wonder how I could view the things around me 
 
 T did at the time, and all seems to me as if 
 
 I had been acting in a dream." 
 
 •• Passion, passion," interposed the monk, 
 
 II the dream of passion !*' 
 
 •• Eappilyl have had no cause to regret that 
 1 did not see more elearly," resumed Jean 
 Charest. f fBut let me turn to other matters, 
 good father. There are many things that I
 
 AGNES SOREL. 317 
 
 wish to ask you : many that are necessary for 
 me to know." 
 
 "Ask me nothing," replied the monk, 
 quickly. Then, laying his hand upon Jean 
 Charost's arm, he added, in a low, stem voice, 
 " There is a period in memory on which I dare 
 not tread. By struggle and by labour I have 
 reached firm ground, and can stand upon the 
 rock of my salvation ; but behind me there is 
 a gulph of madness. You would not drag me 
 back into it, young man ?" 
 
 " God forbid I" exclaimed Jean Charost. 
 " But yet—" 
 
 The monk waved his hand, and, an instant 
 after, the door of the cell opened, and Martin 
 Grille appeared, booted and spurred, with his 
 dress covered with dust, and every sign about 
 him of long riding over parched and sandy 
 roads. 
 
 " Well, Martin," ejaculated his master, as 
 soon as he saw him, "what says the Lord 
 Willoughby ?" 
 
 '• But little, and not pleasant," replied Mar-
 
 318 AGXES S0KEL. 
 
 tin Grille. " However, lie has writ ten. I Ion- 
 Is his letter." 
 
 Jean Chaiost took the paper which the man 
 held out to him, and tore it open eagerly ; but 
 his face turned pale as he read, and he ox- 
 olainied — 
 
 "Fifteen thousand crowns for a Baron's 
 ransom ! This is ruin." 
 
 " I think he cannot help himself," said Mar- 
 tin Grille ; " for he seemed very much vexed 
 when he wrote. Indeed, he told me that the 
 ransoms had been fixed by a higher power." 
 
 "Ay, ay! A mere excuse," returned Jean 
 ( 'barest. "This greedy Englishman is resolved 
 to make the most of the capture of a wonnded 
 man." 
 
 " Passion, my son — passion !" interposed the 
 monk. "AVliat the good lord says is true, I 
 do believe, 'Tis the ambition and policy of his 
 master, not his own greed. I have hoard some- 
 thing of this, and feared the result. King 
 Henry is resolved that all' those who might 
 serve France best against him, should cither
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 319 
 
 pay the expenses of his next campaign by their 
 ransoms, or linger out their time in English 
 prisons, while he goes forth to conquer France." 
 
 " Shame be upon him ?" cried Jean 
 Charost. 
 
 " Would' st thou not do the same, wert thou 
 the King of England !" asked the monk. 
 
 Jean Charost mused for several minutes, but 
 returned no answer to the monk's question. At 
 length he said — 
 
 " There is nought for me but a prison. I will 
 not impoverish my poor mother, nor my sweet little 
 Agnes. It has cost enough to furnish me forth for 
 this fatal battle. Oh, that Frenchmen had cool- 
 ness as well as corn-age, discipline as well as ac- 
 tivity ! Oh, that they had won the day ! I would 
 not have treated my prisoners so. Well, God's will 
 be done ! I will cross the seas, and give myself 
 up to captivity. Let me have things for writing, 
 Martin Grille." 
 
 "Nay, my son, you are not fit," said the monk. 
 
 " It must be done," persisted Jean Charost. 
 " What matters it to any one if I die ? He
 
 320 L&SES 30REL. 
 
 <;ii mot coin my clay into golden pieces. I will 
 not pay this ransom so long as my mother liv 
 Let me have ink and paper." 
 
 Jean Charost wrote, but was soon obliged 
 to abandon the task ; for he was still too feeble. 
 The next day he wrote again, however, and two 
 Utters were accomplished. The one was seril 
 off to his mother, the other to the Lord "Wil- 
 loughby. From the latter he received an answer 
 courteous and kind, desiring him not to hurry 
 his departure for England, but to wait till he 
 was well able to bear the journey. One sen- 
 tence, somewhat confused in expression, seemed 
 intended to convey a regret that the ransom 
 fixed upon the prisoners of his rank was so 
 high ; but Joan Charost was irritated, and 
 threw tin' letter from him. 
 
 The other letter, which he had writlrm 
 brought his mother to his side with all speed, 
 and Agnes with her; for she had a notion that 
 the presence oj" Che child would be balmy to him. 
 
 Let us pass over her remonstrances, and how 
 she urged him to sell all, and pay his ransom.
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 321 
 
 For her sake he was firm. He would not im- 
 poverish his mother ; and, though there were 
 bitter tears, he departed from his native land. 
 
 Now let us change the scene. 
 
 Between three and four years had passed 
 since the field of Azincourt had received some 
 of the best blood of France, and thinned the 
 ranks of the French chivalry. Every city, 
 every village, almost every family, was full of 
 trouble, and the place that was at one day in 
 the hands of England, was another day in the 
 hands of France, and a third in the hands of 
 Burgundy. All regular warfare might be said 
 to have come to an end. Each powerful noble 
 made war on his own account, and linked him- 
 self by very slender ties to this faction or to that. 
 His enterprises were his own, though they 
 were directed in some degree to the benefit of 
 his party ; but, if he owned hi any one a right 
 to command him, it was only with the reserva- 
 tion that he should obey or not, as he pleased. 
 Armed bands traversed the country in every 
 direction. Hardly a field between the Loire
 
 322 AGNES SOliEL. 
 
 and the Sommc was not at some time a scene 
 of strife. None knew, when they sowed the 
 ground, who would reap the harvest ; and the 
 g •< mIs of the merchant were as often exposed to 
 pillage as the crop of the husbandman. 
 
 Yet it is extraordinary how soon the mind 
 of man, and especially the gay, volatile mind 
 of the Frenchman, accommodates itself to cir- 
 cumstances. Here was a state almost intoler- 
 able, it would seem, to any but savages ; yet in 
 France the skilful cook plied his busy trade, and 
 the reeking kitchen sent up fragrant fumes. The 
 aiib<rr/e, the ctdxirrt, the </i/c, the repiie, all the 
 places of public entertainment, in short, were 
 constantly filled with gay guests. The tailor's 
 needle was never mere employed, and as much 
 ornamenl as ever was bestowed upon forms, 
 which might be destined a few days after to 
 moot with a bloody death. The village bolls 
 called people to prayer and praise, as usual, 
 and rang out merrily l'"r the wedding, even 
 when hostile spears were within sight of the 
 
 -■[Jo.
 
 AGNES S0REL. 323 
 
 Such was the state of the country, when one 
 day, in the latter part of the summer, of one 
 thousand four hundred and nineteen a young 
 man, dressed in the garb of a monk entered a 
 small town near the city of Bourges. His feet 
 were sandaled ; he carried the pilgrim staff in 
 his hand, and he was evidently way-worn and 
 fatigued. The greater part of the peasantry 
 were in the fields ; and the street of the little 
 place, running up the side of a small hill, lay 
 almost solitary in the bright sun-shine. The 
 master of the gite or small inn, however, was 
 sitting at his own door, with an ancient com- 
 panion, feeble and white-bearded, and they 
 made some comments to one another upon the 
 yoimg stranger as he approached, which w< x 
 not very favorable to monks in general . 
 
 " Oh, he is going to the Gray Friars' 
 monastery, certainly," said the host to his com- 
 panion ; " and doubtless they fare well there. 
 He will have a jovial night of it after his journey, 
 especially as this is Thursday." 
 
 " Ay, that's the time they always ap- 
 point for the women to, come to confess,"
 
 32 ( &GHES SOSEL. 
 
 said the other ; " and I dare say they talk over 
 all the sins they hear pleasantly enough. Sec 
 lie seems tending tins way." 
 
 " Not he," observed the landlord. u We have 
 but little custom from the brethren, though 
 they can pay well when they like. Upon my 
 life, though, I believe he is coming hither ; 
 but perhaps 'tis but to ask his way." 
 
 The stranger, however, did walk straight up 
 to mine host at the hm, and, instead of asking 
 his way, inquired whether he could lodge 
 there for the night. 
 
 " Assuredly, good father," replied the land- 
 lord in a very much altered tone. " This is I 
 public ///A, though the prices are rather highei 
 than they used to be, because the country has 
 been so run down." 
 
 "Thai matters not," rejoined the stranger. 
 " When can I sup ?" 
 
 " In an hour, father, slipper will be on 
 the table." an I the host. " Would you 
 
 like to go and wash your feel ? they are mighty 
 dusty."
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 325 
 
 " Not yet," replied the stranger. " If I 
 knew where to place my wallet in safety, I 
 would go on a little farther, to see the sun set- 
 ting from the hill." 
 
 u Come with me — come with me," said the 
 host. " I will show you your chamber, where 
 you will have as good a bed as a Baron could 
 wish for, though the room is not much bigger 
 then a cell, it is true; but you will not mind that, 
 for it is fresh and airy, and, moreover, it has a 
 lock and key, which is more than many rooms 
 have." 
 
 The stranger followed in silence, was ad- 
 mitted to his room, and laid down the wallet. 
 Then, taking the key — almost as big as that of 
 a church-door in modern times — he issued forth 
 from the run again, and, saying he would be 
 back soon, walked on to the other end of 
 the street, where it opened out through a low 
 mud-wall upon the brow of the hill, upon 
 which the town was built. 
 
 When, clear of all houses, with his foot upon 
 the green turf, and the rocky descent below 

 
 326 A9NES S0KEL. 
 
 him, the young stranger crossed his arms upon 
 his chest, and stood gazing upon the scene 
 around with more the air of a warrior than of a 
 m<>nk. lie held his head high, and seemed to 
 expand his chest to receive fully the evening 
 breeze, looking like a tine horse when tirst 
 turned forth from a close stable, and snuffing 
 the free air before he takes his wild, headlong 
 career around the meadow. 
 
 But the expression soon changed. Casting, 
 his eyes to the eastward, he just caught sight, 
 iVum behind the shoulder of the hill, of the 
 towers and battlements of Bourges : and, a little 
 farther on, but more to the north, on the other 
 side of theAngis river, he perceived a wooded 
 liill, with a large stpiare tower, and sonic other 
 buildings crowning the summit. A look of 
 deep melancholy came upon his countenance. 
 A ft it gaffing for several minutes, he turned his 
 eyes towards the ground, and fell into a deep 
 lit of thought, as if debating some important 
 question with himself. 
 
 " It will be a painful pleasure," he said.
 
 AGNES S0REL. 327 
 
 at length ; " but I will go, let it cost me what 
 it may." 
 
 Onee more he gazed over the prospect on all 
 sides, and then, turning his steps, he retraced 
 his way back to the inn, where he found the 
 landlord still seated at the door. 
 
 a Can you tell me," he said, " if Messire 
 Jacques Cceur is now in Bourges ?" 
 
 " jS t o, that he is not, sir," answered the 
 landlord, with great respect, dropping the title 
 of father, which he had previously bestowed 
 upon his guest, in consideration of the grey gown. 
 "He is away somewhere about Monterreau 
 with his Highness the Dauphin" 
 
 " That is imlucky," said the other, just re- 
 marking, and no more, the landlord's change of 
 manner towards him, and the substitution of 
 the word "sir," for "father." 
 
 "Well, I will sup, and go on upon my 
 way." 
 
 "Had you not better sleep here, sir ?" asked 
 the landlord, again avoiding the word father.
 
 128 V'..\LS SOREL. 
 
 " Perhaps they arc not prepared for you, and 
 you must have travelled far, I suppose." 
 
 The other held to his resolution, however, 
 without taking any verbal notice of the 
 great alteration in the man's demeanour ; hut, 
 when he retired to his chamber to wash his 
 feet before supper, he found confirmation of a 
 suspicion, that the vaunted lock of Iris door 
 hud more keys than one. Nothing was ab- 
 stracted, indeed, from his wallet ; but the con- 
 tents had been evidently examined carefully 
 since he left the house. Small as was the 
 amount of baggage it contained, several 
 articles bore the name of Jean Charost de 
 
 Brecy. 
 
 Night had fallen by the time that supper was 
 over, and the stars shone out brightly and clearly, 
 when the young wanderer once more resumed 
 his journey, and took Ids way direct towards 
 tlu- castle he had Been upon the hill. Onward 
 he went at an unflagging pace, descended from 
 the higher ground into the valley, crossed tin'
 
 AGNES SOREL. 329 
 
 little river by its stone bridge, and approached 
 the foot of the eminence where the tower 
 stood. Large dogs bayed loudly as he came 
 near the entrance of the castle, and one or two 
 men were seated under the arch of the Bar- 
 bican. 
 
 But Jean Charost's impatience had been 
 growing with every step ; and, without pausing 
 to put any questions, or to ask permission, he 
 passed the drawbridge, crossed the little court, 
 and mounted the steps leading into the great 
 hall. One of the men had followed him from 
 the Barbican, but did not attempt to stop him. 
 Two of the dogs ran by his side, looking up in 
 his face, and a third gambolled wildly before 
 him, whining with a sort of anxious joy. 
 
 Though the great hall was quite dark, he 
 found his way across it easily enough, mounted 
 a little flight of five steps, and opened the 
 door just abovse. Lights were in that room, and 
 Madame de Brecy was there seated, embroider- 
 ing, while little Agnes, now greatly expanded 
 
 %
 
 33 1 > A ONES B0EEL. 
 
 both in form and beauty, sat beside Jean's 
 
 mother, sorting the various colored silks. 
 
 Jean ( 'harost's feet were shod with sandals; 
 but his mother knew the tread. She started 
 ii]) and gazed at him. The instant after, her 
 anus were round his neck, and Agnes was 
 clinging to his hand, and covering it with 
 kisses. 
 
 " "Welcome, welcome home, my son !'' cried 
 Madame dc Brecy. "lias this hard lord then 
 relented ' J . We heard that you were ill — very 
 ill ; and, ere three days more had passed, Agnes 
 and I would have set off to join you in England. 
 We waited only for safe conducts to depart." 
 
 "I have been ill, dear mother," replied the 
 young man; "and that obtained me leave to 
 return for a time; but do not deceive yourself. 
 I have not come back to stay. Indeed, SO 
 brief must be my absence from my prison, so 
 hopeless is the errand on which I came, that I 
 had doubts whether 1 ought to pause even here 
 to give you the pang of parting with me again. 
 T have only obtained leave upon parole, to ab-
 
 AGXES SOEEL. 331 
 
 sent myself from London for three months in 
 order to seek a ransom. My only hope is in 
 Jacques Cceur. He, perhaps, may help ns on 
 easier terms than any one else will consent to. 
 I find, however, that he is not in Bonrges, and I 
 must go on to-morrow to Monterreau to seek 
 him ; for well nigh three weeks of my time is 
 already expired. 'Tis a long journey on 
 foot from England hither." 
 
 •f Ah, my poor son !" cried Madame de 
 Brecy. " Our fate has been a sad one, indeed. 
 Yet why shoidd we complain ? We share but 
 the unhappy fate of France ; and Heaven knows 
 she has deserved chastisement, were it for 
 nothing else but the bloody and unchristian 
 feuds which have brought this evil upon her." 
 
 " Let us hope yet, mother — let us hope yet," 
 said Jean Charost. " The very feeling of 
 being once more at home — in this dear home, 
 where so many sunny days have passed — re- 
 kindles the nearly extinguished fire, and makes 
 me hope again in despite of probability."
 
 .MiNI.s 30EEL. 
 
 " But why did you come on foot, dear Jean ?" 
 cried Agnes, clinging to him. " It was not 
 
 tor want of money, was it? Oh, I would 
 gladly have sold all those pretty things yon 
 gave me long ago to have bought a horse for 
 you ; though our dear mother says we must 
 Bave every thing we can in order to pay your 
 ransom.*' 
 
 " No, dear child ; no," replied Jean Charost. 
 " There were other reasons for my coming on 
 foot. I could not come with my lance in my 
 hand, and my pennon and my men behind me; 
 and for a solitary traveller, well dressed, and 
 mounted on a good horse, it is dangerous to 
 cross the country between Harfleur and 
 Bourges. But it is vain to think of saving my 
 ransom. My only hope is to get it diminished, 
 and then to obtain the means of paying it — 
 lx«tli through Jacques Cocur." 
 
 " Diminished !" said Madame de Brecy, 
 eagerly. k * Is there a chance of that '.-"' 
 
 Eer bob explained to her that a conference
 
 AGXES SOREL. 333 
 
 had already taken place between the Dauphin 
 and the Duke of Burgundy, with a view to 
 arrange the terms of peace. 
 
 " -Jacques Cceur," he added, "has great influ- 
 ence with our own Eoyal Prince, and I believe 
 that I myself stand not ill with his Highness of 
 Burgundy, although, Heaven knows, I have 
 never sought his favor. If the Dauphin will 
 condescend — as perhaps he ought — to make the 
 liberation, upon moderate ransom of several 
 gentlemen taken at Azincourt, a stipulation in 
 the treaty, I think I have a fair claim to be 
 amongst them. There is another interview, I 
 find, to take place in a few days, and I must 
 not miss the opportunity. I bear his High- 
 ness letters from his cousin the young Duke 
 of Orleans, and from several other gentlemen of 
 repute. Let us hope, then, my mother; at 
 least till hope proves vain. Here will I rest 
 to-night, and speed onward again to-morrow. 
 Perhaps I may lose my labor, and have to 
 travel back to England and to captivity." 
 
 Then we will go with you, Jean," said 
 
 a
 
 AGNI> S()Ki:i.. 
 
 Madame de Brecy. ''You shall stay no more 
 alone in a prison." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; let us go with you," cried Agnes, 
 
 »erl] drowning Jean Charost's reply ; " we 
 can all be as happy there as here. It is nol 
 the walls or the earth that make a cheerful 
 home. It is the spirits thai are in it." 
 
 ••Thou art a young philosopher," said -Iran 
 Charost, with a smile. " But we will see." 
 
 The next morning, Jean Charost was upon 
 his way towards Monterreau, still dressed in his 
 monkish garb; but he was now mountadonan old 
 mule,theyery beasl that had carried the Duke of 
 Orleans on the night of his assassination. It 
 had been given to him by the Duchess when 
 
 Lasl "!;*• saw her. and when she felt the hand oi 
 death pressing heavily upon her. 
 
 journey was too much for one day — 
 twenty-three leagues, as they courted them is 
 those days, when leagues were Leagues, and 
 they had Kings in Prance — but Jean Charosl 
 resolved to push on as fast as possible ; and,
 
 AGNES SOEEL. 335 
 
 by night of the second day, he had reached the 
 small town of Moret, whence a short morning 
 ride would bring him to Monterrean. 
 
 It was dark when he arrived ; but the small 
 village was full of armed men, and round the 
 doors of many of the houses were assembled 
 gay groups, some seated on the ground, some 
 on benches, some on empty barrels, laughing, 
 drinking, and singing, with all the careless mer- 
 riment of soldiery in an honr of peace. Lights 
 burned in the windows ; lanterns, and some- 
 times torches, were out at the doors ; and the 
 yellow harvest moon was rolling along the sky, 
 and shedding from her golden chariot-wheels a 
 glorious flood of light. 
 
 Doubtless there was a good deal of ribaldry 
 in the words, doubtless there was a good deal 
 of licentiousness in the hearts, of those aroimd ; 
 yet there was a joyous exuberance of life, a 
 careless, happy, thoughtless confidence, an in- 
 fectious merriment that was difficult to resist. 
 The ringing laughter, the light song, the gay
 
 A&TSCEB -OREL. 
 
 jost. the cheerful laces, all seemed to ask Jean 
 Charost, as he passed along — 
 
 " Why should you take thought for the mor- 
 row, when you can never tell that a morrow 
 will be yours? Why should yon have care for 
 the future, when the future is disposed of by 
 hands yen cannot see? Rejoice, rejoice in the 
 pre- nt day ! Eat, drink, and be merry ; for 
 to-morrow you die." 
 
 Many a ji si assailed the seeming friar and his 
 mule as he passed along ; but Jean Charost was 
 in no mood to suffer a jest to annoy him. His 
 hopes had increased as he came near tin 3pol 
 where they were to he fulfilled or extinguished; 
 and the scene around him was certainly not 
 calculated to bid them depart too soon. 
 
 A.1 tlie door of a small inn, he stopped and 
 asked if he could find entertainment. 
 
 The landlord rolled out a fat laugh., .and De- 
 plied — 
 
 •• No, not it' you could make yourseli as 
 small as tin- Constable's dwarf. We are all as
 
 AGNES S0REL. 337 
 
 full here," he added, " as we can hold, and 
 running over, with the Dauphin's men-at- 
 arms ; I doubt whether you will find a quarter 
 of a bed in the whole place. At the great 
 gite there — that place which looks so dull and 
 melancholy — you will have a better chance than 
 anywhere else ; for Maitre Langrin has raised 
 his prices, because he expects the lords and 
 commanders to stay there ; but I don't think 
 they will prefer his bad wine to my good, and 
 pay more for it." 
 
 Thither, however, Jean Charost turned his 
 mule ; but here the answer was much the same 
 as before, combined with the saucy intimation 
 that thev did not want any monks at that 
 house ; and the wanderer was turning away, 
 thinking, with some anxiety, how he could feed 
 and stable his beast, when he saw a man, 
 dressed apparently as a superior officer, ex- 
 amining, somewhat closely, the mule which he 
 had left tied to the tall post before the inn. He 
 was not fully armed, although he had a 
 
 vol. ii. a 

 
 agm;s sorel. 
 
 liuubcrgcon on ; and his head was only covered 
 with a plumed cap. Though tall and well 
 formed, ho stooped a little, and, as he drew back 
 a stop or two when the traveller approached to 
 mount, he seemed to move with some difficult)', 
 and limped as he walked. 
 
 •loan Charost put his foot into the stirrup, 
 mounted, and was about to ride away, when 
 the stranger called to him, somewhat roughly, 
 
 saying— 
 
 " Whore got you that mule, monk?" 
 
 " It was a gift," replied Jean Charost, in a 
 quiet tone, turning his face full towards tin. 
 -[•raker. 
 
 •• A gift — not from a palmer to a convent," 
 retorted the other; "but from a lady to a 
 soldier." 
 
 In a moment after, his arms were thrown 
 round Jeen Charost, while he exclaimed, with 
 a Laugh — 
 
 "Why, don't you know me, de Brecy V I 
 am n<»t so niueli metamorphosed as you in all
 
 AGNES SOREL. 339 
 
 your monkery. In Heaven's name, what are 
 you about in this garb, and in this place? 
 Where do you come from? What are you 
 doing ? Some said you were killed at Ajzin- 
 court. One man swore to me he saw you die. 
 Another told me you were a prisoner in Eng- 
 land ; and I have always supposed the latter 
 to be correct, for I have found in my own 
 case how difficult it is to get killed. They 
 have nearly chopped me to mincemeat; but 
 here I am — what is left of me, that is to 
 say." 
 
 Jean Charost gave his old companion all the 
 information he desired, telling him, moreover, 
 not without some hopes of assistance, the diffi- 
 culties under which he just then labored. 
 
 " Oh, come with me — come with me," said 
 Juvenel de Eoyans. u Iam Captain of a com- 
 pany of Horse Archers, and every one bows 
 down in reverence to me here. You shall have 
 half my room, if they will give you none 
 other." 
 
 Q 2
 
 340 aoxes soBEfc. 
 
 Then, leading him back into the inn, he 
 called loudly for the host. 
 
 "Here, faster Langrin !" he exclaimed, 
 when the uncivil functionary whom Jean 
 Chamst had before seen made his appearance 
 again. " This gentleman is a friend of mine. 
 He must have accommodation — there, I know 
 Avhat yen would say — you must make it, if you 
 haye not got it." 
 
 " I took the gentleman for a monk, sir.'* said 
 the host, with all humility. 
 
 " A monk !" echoed dc Eoyans. " The gown 
 does not make the monk. Where were your 
 eyes ? 1 will answer for it he has got a steel 
 coal on under that gown. 1 >nt he musl have 
 some re ins, at all events." 
 
 "There are none empty, but those for 
 Madame de ( Jiac," observed the landlord; "and 
 all the men are obliged to sleep four or five in 
 a bed." 
 
 "AWH, pul him in Madame dc Giac'.s 
 rooms," cried de Royans, with a laugh. " I 
 dare say neither party will object to the ar-
 
 AGNES SOREL. 341 
 
 rangement. At all events, you must find him 
 some place ; I insist upon it. I will quarter all 
 my Archers upon you, if you don't ; eat out 
 all you have got in the house, and drink up all 
 your wine. Take ten minutes to consider of 
 it, and then come and tell me in the den where 
 you have put me. feid some of my people 
 look to Monsieur de Brecy's mule, and look to 
 it well ; for, before it carried him, it earned as 
 noble a prince as France has seen, or ever will 
 see. Come, old friend, I will show you the 
 way." 
 
 When Jean Charost was seated in the room 
 of Juvenel de Royans, with a lamp lighted, and 
 his companion stretched out at ease, partly on his 
 bed, and partly on a settle, the latter assumed 
 a graver tone, and de Brecy perceived, with 
 pain, that he was both depressed in mind, and 
 sadly shattered in body. Twelve years of 
 almost incessant campaigning had broken down 
 his strength ; and many wounds had left him 
 a suffering and enfeebled man. 
 
 " God help me !" he said. " I try to bear
 
 342 AGNES 80BEL. 
 
 u]» well, de lirecy, and cannot make up my 
 mind to quit the old trade, I must die in 
 harness, I suppose ; but I believe what I 
 ought to do would be to betake me to my castle 
 by the Garonne, adopt my sister's son — OCT 
 husband fell at Azincourt — and toed upon 
 bouillons and Modoc wine for the rest of my 
 life; for] am never without some ache. But 
 now tell me what are your plans; for, as I am 
 constantly on the spot, I can give you a map of 
 the whole country." 
 
 ■lean Oharost explained to him frankly his 
 precise situation ; and de Royans thought over 
 it for some time in silence. 
 
 "You must make powerful friends,*' he 
 said, ai Length. " Don't you know Madame de 
 Giac? Every one suspected that en that 
 fatal nighl you had been sent to her by the 
 
 Duke. OUT lord, and, if so, she must be under 
 
 some obligation to you for your discretion 1 ." 
 
 "I have remarked, de Royans," replied the 
 
 other, "that ladies generally hate those who 
 have the power to be discreet."
 
 ii 
 
 AGNES S0REL. 343 
 
 " That could soon be seen," said de Eoyans. 
 We can test it readily." 
 
 " I see no use," observed de Brecy. " She is 
 the avowed mistress of the Duke of Burgundy ; 
 and of him I am not going to ask any favor." 
 
 " She may be his avowed mistress, and no 
 less the dear Mend of his Highness the 
 Dauphin," answered de Eoyans. " She was 
 the Duke's avowed mistress, and no less a dear 
 friend of his Highness of Orleans." 
 
 Jean Charost gave a shudder. 
 
 " Heaven forgive mo," he said, "if I lack 
 charity. But there is a dark suspicion in my 
 mind, de Eoyans, which would make me sooner 
 seek a boon of the Devil than of that woman." 
 
 "Ha!" exclaimed de Eoyans, raising himself 
 partly from the bed. " If I thought that — 
 but no matter, no matter : we will talk of her 
 no more." 
 
 " What does she here ?" asked Jean Cha- 
 rost. 
 
 " I will tell you all about it," replied the
 
 344 AGXT.S S0REL. 
 
 other. " A conference took place some time 
 ago, in regard to the general pacification of the 
 Kingdom. The Duke of Burgundy promised 
 great things, which he has never performed, 
 nor ever will ; and his Highness, the Dauphin, 
 has summoned him to another conference at 
 Monterreau, hard by. The Duke has hesitated 
 for more than a month. Sometimes he would 
 come, sometimes he would not ; and often urged 
 that the Dauphin himself should come to 
 Troyes, where he lay with his forces, and the 
 poor King and Queen. The Dauphin said nay ; 
 but promised all security if he would come 
 hither. 'John without Fear' has shown him- 
 self 'John with great Fear,' however, well 
 considering that there are twenty thousand 
 men with his Prince in and round Monterreau. 
 Nothing would serve him, bu1 he must have 
 the castle given up to him for security, and 
 accordingly 1 arid my men, who kept it for his 
 Highness the Dauphin, were turned out to 
 make way for — who do you think?"
 
 AGNES S0KEL. 345 
 
 " Nay, I cannot tell," replied Jean Charost. 
 " Perhaps James do la Line, master of the 
 cross-bow men, who I hear is "with the Dnke." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind," declared de Eoyans; 
 " bnt for Madame de Giac, her household and 
 servants — not an armed man amongst them. She 
 arrives here to-night ; goes on early to-morrow ; 
 and the Dnke himself, they say, will arrive 
 in the afternoon. He came as far as Bray-snr- 
 Seine five or six days ago; but there he stopped, 
 and hesitated once more ; and one camiot tell 
 whether he will come after all, or not. If he 
 does, he will come well accompanied ; for it is 
 clear that his heart fails him." 
 
 "Is there any reason for his fear, except 
 that general donbt of all men, which the 
 wicked have from the pictnre in their own 
 heart ?" asked Jean Charost. 
 
 Jnvenel de Eoyans raised himself com- 
 pletely, and sat upon the edge of the bed, 
 bending slightly forward, and speaking in a 
 lower tone. 
 
 Q 5
 
 340 AGNES SOItEL. 
 
 "I cannot tell," he said, slowly and thought- 
 full}' ; " but there is a general feeling abroad 
 — no one can tell why — that if to-morrow's 
 interview does take place, something extra- 
 ordinary will happen. It is all vague and 
 confused: no one knows what he expects ; but 
 every one expects something. We have no 
 orders for extraordinary preparation. The side 
 of the castle next to the fields is to be left 
 quite free and open for the Duke and his 
 people to -come and go at then* pleasure, and 
 everything seems to indicate that his High- 
 ness meditates nothing but peaceful con- 
 ference ; yet I know that, as soon as I hear the 
 Duke is in the castle of Monterrcau, I will 
 have every horse out of the stable, and every 
 man in the saddle, in order to act as may be 
 needed." P 
 
 u But you must have some reason for such 
 apprehensions," said Jean Charost. 
 
 " Xonc — none, upon my word," replied 
 Juvencl de Royans. "The only way I can 
 account for the general feeling, is, that every 

 
 AGNES SOEEL. 347 
 
 mau of our faction knows that John of Bur- 
 gundy is an enemy to France — that his am- 
 bition is the great obstacle to the union of all 
 Frenchmen against our English adversaries — 
 and that it would be good for the whole 
 country if he were dead, or in prison. Perhaps, 
 what every one wishes, every one thinks may 
 happen. But now, de Brecy, once more to 
 your own affairs. Your plan is a good one. 
 His Highness, in consenting to any peace, 
 ought to stipulate for the liberation, of his 
 friends upon a moderate ransom — and yours is 
 certainly unreasonable. But how to get at him 
 is the question, in order to ensure that your 
 name may be amongst those stipulated. You 
 will not use Madame de Giac." 
 
 " Nay, but I have two means of access," 
 answered Jean Charost. " I have a letter for 
 his Highness from the young Duke of Orleans, 
 my fellow-prisoner ; and I hear that my good 
 friend, Jacques Coeur, has very great influence 
 with the Eoyal Prince."
 
 348 ai.m:- SOftEL. 
 
 Juvehel de Ifcoyans mused before he 
 answered. 
 
 " The letter may not do what you want," 
 he said, at length ; " for you must see the 
 Prince before this interview takes place ; and 
 when you present the letter, a long distant day 
 may be appointed for your audience. Jacques 
 ( our could doubtless procure you admission at 
 once, if he be in Monterreau. lie Mas there, 
 certainly, three days agoj and supplied his 
 Highness liberally, to his great joy, they say, 
 for he was well nigh penniless. But the rumour 
 mil that he was to depart for Italy as yester- 
 day." 
 
 " Then the case is hopeless," 1 said Jean 
 Charost, with a sigh. 
 
 A silence of some minutes succeeded \ hut 
 then de Royans looked up with a smile. 
 
 " XoJ hopeless," he said, " not hopeless. I 
 havejusl thought of a way more sure than any 
 other. First, I will give yon a letter to my 
 friend and cousin, Tanneguy <lu ( 'hatch who is
 
 AGNES SOREL. 349 
 
 high in the Dauphin's confidence. There, how- 
 ever, you might be put off ; but other means 
 are in your own hand. Do you remember 
 Mademoiselle de St, Geran — the beautiful 
 Agnes ? People used to think that you were in 
 love with her, and she with you, though she 
 was but a girl, and you little more than a boy 
 in those days." 
 
 " I remember her well," replied Jean Charost, 
 " and have a high regard for her." 
 
 " So has the Dauphin," returned Juvenel de 
 Royans, with a meaning smile. 
 
 " You do not mean to say," cried Jean 
 Charost — but his companion interrupted him. 
 
 " I mean to say nothing," replied De Royans. 
 11 In fact, men know nothing but what I have 
 said. It is clear his Highness has a great re- 
 gard for her, reverences her advice, follows it, 
 even in affairs of Avar and policy ; and, were it 
 not that his wife reverences and loves her just 
 as much, there would be no doubt of the matter ; 
 for her exquisite beauty — " 
 
 VOL. II. R
 
 350 AGNES SOREL. 
 
 " I never thought her very beautiful," inter- 
 rupted Jean Charost. " Her form was fine, 
 and her face intelligent ; but that was all." 
 
 " Oh, but there has been a change," 
 answered De Koyans. " She is the same, and 
 yet another. It is impossible to describe how 
 beautiful she has become. Every line in her 
 face is now fine and delicate. The colours have 
 grown clear and pure : the roses blossom in her 
 cheek ; the morning star is sparkling in her 
 eyes : warm as the summer, yet dewy as the 
 day -break. But that is not all. There is an 
 inconceivable grace in her movements, unlike 
 anything I ever saw. Her quickest gesture is 
 so easy that -it seems slow, and her lightest 
 change of attitude brings out some new per- 
 fection in her symmetry ; and through the 
 whole then seems a soul, a spirit shining like 
 a light upon everything around. Why, the old 
 Bishop oi' Langres himself said the other day, 
 that, from the parting of her hair to the sole of 
 hex foot, she was all beauty. The good man,
 
 AGNES S0EEL. 351 
 
 indeed, said he did not know whether it was 
 the beauty of holiness ; but he hoped so." 
 
 " Why, you seem in love with her yourself, 
 de Eoyans," observed Jean Charost. 
 
 " Go and see, go and see," rejoined his com- 
 panion. " She will greet you right willingly ; 
 for she is mild and humble, and ever glad* to 
 welcome an old acquaintance." 
 
 " But where can I find her ?" asked Jean 
 Charost. 
 
 " Oh, you will find her at the stranger's 
 lodging at the Abbey," answered de Eoyans. 
 " The Dauphin has his head-quarters there 
 with the Dauphiness, and two or three of her 
 ladies. Were I you, I would go to her the first ; 
 for her influence is certain, however it comes. 
 But you must change your monk's garb, man ; 
 for, though they lodge at the Abbey, the Court 
 is not very fond of the friars. — Ah ! here comes 
 our landlord. Now, Monsieur Langrin ; what 
 has made you so long ?" 
 
 " The arrival of Madame de Giac, sir," 
 r 2
 
 152 v,M> SOBEL. 
 
 replied the host. " I can but give the gen- 
 tleman a mere close* to sleep in, which I 
 destined' for another; but, of course, as your 
 friend he must have it. And as for supper, it is 
 on the table, with good wine to boot." 
 
 END OF VOL. TT. 
 
 T. C. Newby, I'rinter, 30, Welb.ck Street, CavendisL Squui
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 N6N-R£ 
 
 
 *. 
 
 RON 
 
 DUE2WK 
 
 NOV 3 199!I| 
 
 MCA'ABLE 
 
 Jf 
 
 n. 
 
 /ID ED 
 
 -y\ 
 
 1<- 
 
 orm LO 50m L.'i ' I I \4 I :
 
 L 007 327 844 2 
 
 PR 
 4821 
 J4as 
 v. 2 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 369 826 3
 
 * iRr- 
 
 r ■■■<: 
 
 i ** 
 
 ''"•*