feffl^ 
 
 ivV'- 
 
 
 
 3Mj

 
 
 
 
 
 L.
 
 The person charging this material is re- 
 sponsible for its return to the library from 
 which it was withdrawn on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons 
 for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from 
 the University. 
 To renew call Telephone Center, 333-8400 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
 
 CHANTILLY. 
 
 f i/>'ii^. 
 
 Dans sa pompe elegante, admirez Chantilli, 
 De heros en heros, d'age en age embelli." 
 
 Dblillf.. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EDWARD BULL, HOLLES STREET. 
 
 1832.
 
 London : Printed by Samuel Bentle\ , Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
 
 rY TO 
 
 HER ROYAL HIGHNESS 
 
 THE PRINCESS 
 
 LOUISE-MARIE-THERESE-CHARLOTTE-ISABELLE 
 
 D'ORLEANS, 
 
 THESE VOLUMES ARE (bY PERMISSION) 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 
 a^* BY 
 
 L HER ROYAL HIGHNESSES 
 
 VERY OBEDIENT AND DEVOTED SERVANT, 
 
 GEORGINA ALICIA L . 
 
 London, February 1832.
 
 Hail, old Patrician trees, so great and good I 
 
 Hail, ye Plebeian under-wood ! 
 
 MTiere the poetic birds rejoice. 
 And for their quiet nests and plenteous food 
 
 Pay with a grateful voice. 
 
 Sylvan Waxdf.rer.
 
 D'ESPIGNAC, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 DES PIGN AC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ** Sa gloire avail pass^ comme une ombre legere," 
 
 VOLTAIKE. 
 
 It has often been observed, and perhaps with 
 justice, that the human heart becomes hai'dened 
 by a long course of prosperity, and that there 
 are men whose dispositions were mild and ge- 
 nerous while in obscurity, who become sud- 
 denly harsh and cruel when raised to distinc- 
 tion and power. Such a man was Henri de 
 Valois. As Duke d'Anjou he was adored bv 
 the French nation, to whom the victories of 
 B 2
 
 4 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Jarnac and Moncontour had early endeared his 
 name. His renown for valour and moderation 
 quickly spread throughout Europe, and in- 
 duced the Poles, upon the death of Sigismund 
 Augustus, to choose him for their king. Here 
 too, during the short time he occupied the 
 throne, his prudence and love of justice ren- 
 dered him the idol of the people ; but, unable 
 to resist the stirrings of ambition, upon the 
 death of his brother, Charles the Ninth, he 
 quitted the country over which he had pre- 
 sided in peace and happiness, in order to enter 
 upon the more difficult task of wielding the 
 sceptre of France ; a country torn by political 
 factions and civil discord, which raged with 
 violence, in a sanguinary war between Catho- 
 lics and Huguenots. No sooner, however, 
 was his brow encircled by a diadem which ex- 
 tended his influence and augmented his power, 
 than a change was at once wrought in the 
 heart and mind of the youthful monarch. The 
 amiable and gallant Duke d'Anjou degenerated
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 5 
 
 into the mere indolent chief of a crowded and 
 dissolute court : the humane and generous 
 King of Poland became a cruel and capricious 
 tyrant, whose arbitrary measures soon raised 
 up enemies even among his own subjects. It 
 was then that distrust and suspicion super- 
 vened, which were ultimately followed by the 
 blackest acts of injustice, in banishing or in^ 
 carcerating all whose Views and opinions were 
 obnoxious to his interests. 
 
 The death of the Duke de Guise, his de- 
 tested and formidable rival, murdered by his 
 command at Blois, instead of strengthening his 
 own party, as he had expected, only served to 
 exasperate the people, and heighten the guilty 
 terrors of the monarch. Of the most devoted 
 partisans of De Guise within his power, some 
 were secretly removed, by lettres de cachet, to 
 the Bastille, others were banished, and some 
 sought a voluntary exile ; and yet, as though 
 La guerre des trois Henris was not destined 
 to end even with the death of their distin-
 
 6 CHANTILLY. 
 
 guished leader, the adherents of De Guise be- 
 came more powerful than ever. 
 
 But soon all, save the mere name of sove- 
 reign, was wrested from the young king. Van- 
 quished and denounced by the insulted nation, 
 he was compelled, in order to keep up even 
 the least shadow of greatness, to take refuge in 
 one or other of the few country palaces that 
 were left him, where, surrounded by his disso- 
 lute court, consisting of those whose ambition 
 led them to hope for high recompense when 
 the storm should subside, or of others, weak 
 and trifling as himself, who cared for nothing 
 but present amusement, he resigned himself to 
 that habitual indolence which soon banishes 
 from the mind its noblest energies, while dis- 
 cord and rapine laid waste his fair and fruitful 
 kingdom. The bravest warriors and proudest 
 nobles had fallen victims to the cabals of party, 
 or had been sacrificed to the gloomy suspicions 
 of the sovereign while in the plenitude of his 
 power.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 7 
 
 Among the latter was the brave Count d"'Es- 
 pignac, one of the personal friends and most 
 zealous partisans of De Guise. Doubly formi- 
 dable, by his disinterested love for the house 
 of Lorraine, and his never-wearying vigilance 
 in its cause, De Yalois had long felt that no 
 plot against the former could succeed while 
 D'Espignac was reckoned among the Ligueur 
 chieftains. No sooner was this discovered, than 
 it was deemed expedient to announce that he 
 stood arraigned of treason ; and shortly after 
 no one was surprised to learn that the whole 
 of his estates were confiscated, and that he had 
 died, leaving to his only son the charge of his 
 revenge. 
 
 Thus it was that the beautiful chateau of 
 Avilly, the ancient patrimony of that noble 
 family, had long remained uninhabited, exhi- 
 biting a picture of complete desolation, as if in 
 sympathy with the sorrows of its owner. Its 
 spacious forecourts and magnificent avenues 
 were fast yielding to the rank luxuriance of
 
 8 CHANTILLY. 
 
 briar and bramble ; the beautiful gardens, 
 which had long been the boast of Avilly, were 
 overrun with weeds, and presented a most de- 
 plorable aspect ; and the traveller, who had 
 often before paused in admiration, now turned 
 aside in sorrow, as he remembered its former 
 splendour, and thought on the unhappy fate of 
 its once envied possessor. The inhabitants of 
 Avilly venerated the name of D'Espignac : from 
 time immemorial the manor had been the pro- 
 perty of his house. They had been taught to 
 look upon him, not as a harsh unfeeling op- 
 pressor, but as a kind friend and generous 
 benefactor, and, contrasting his conduct to- 
 wards them with that of other great seigneurs 
 towards their dependents, hereditary love and 
 veneration for the family soon quickened into 
 the most devoted personal attachment. His 
 name was never pronounced save with a bless- 
 ing, and that his son might one day resemble 
 him was the earnest prayer of these faithful 
 and unsophisticated foresters.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 9 
 
 It cannot, then, be matter of astonishment 
 that the news of the downfall of so kind a 
 master should be received with the most heart- 
 felt grief by his tenants. They sorrowed for 
 the father, — they trembled for the son, — and 
 their worst fears were soon realised ; for, but a 
 short time elapsed, ere they learned, with bitter 
 regret, that the young man himself was become 
 an object of the tyrant's persecution. A re- 
 ward was offered for his apprehension ; and for 
 many weeks were the peace and quiet of Avilly 
 invaded by the numerous emissaries of the 
 King, who lingered about the spot, in hopes 
 that a knowledge of its deepest shades might 
 lead the object of their pursuit to make it his 
 place of refuge. But in this they were dis- 
 appointed ; and after in vain traversing the 
 forest in every direction, they withdrew to 
 renew their search elsewhere, to the no small 
 delight of the inhabitants of Avilly. And yet 
 these simple villagers had but little knowledge 
 of the young Count, for, owing to the troubled 
 B 5
 
 10 CHANTILLY. 
 
 state of the kingdom, he had left his home, 
 long before the usual period, to fight by his 
 father's side, and being subsequently appointed 
 first page of honour, and afterwards Captain of 
 the body-guard, to the Duke de Guise, they 
 had for many years enjoyed but few opportu- 
 nities of beholding him. They remembered the 
 gallant and generous boy, however, with fond 
 affection, and while listening to tales of his 
 dauntless and fiery valour, they would fre- 
 quently think with pride how well he had real- 
 ised all their hopes. But now they dared not 
 even so much as breathe his name : the decree 
 which had gone forth to deprive him of his 
 lands and titles had released them also from 
 their allegiance ; he was no longer their lord ; 
 they were no longer his vassals. Still no ty- 
 ranny could thus dispel at once from their minds 
 all the fond reverence which had been instilled 
 into them, even with their earliest lessons, by 
 their fathers. They watched with feverish anx- 
 iety every turn in party politics, in the vague
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 11 
 
 hope that some change might again restore him 
 to their love ; and when they learned that he 
 had succeeded in joining the other Ligueur 
 chiefs, who were shut up in Paris, they re- 
 joiced, and thought that all care for his safety 
 might now be at an end. 
 
 For some time they had securely imagined 
 that they would not have to belie their feelings 
 by swearing fealty to any other than D'Espig- 
 nac ; and from the length of time, which had 
 elapsed, since the first imprisonment of the old 
 Count, and the gradually decaying state into 
 which the chateau was falling from being so 
 long uninhabited, they hoped that among the 
 numerous cares and troubles by which the King 
 was beset, he might have forgotten Avilly. 
 But this was impossible: it was somewhat too 
 near his own palace at Chantilly not to be a 
 matter of the deepest importance that it should 
 be occupied, while he was there, by some one 
 on whose attachment he could rely; and ac- 
 cordingly, towards the close of winter, it was
 
 12 CHANTILLY. 
 
 duly and formally announced, that his Majesty 
 had been pleased to bestow the domain of the 
 traitor D'Espignac upon the true and loyal 
 Count de la Vallce. The intelligence was re- 
 ceived with gloom and disappointment. No 
 shouts of welcome greeted the new comers as 
 their gorgeous equipages and liveried attend- 
 ants drove through the village to the chateau. 
 Curiosity alone was depicted on the countenance 
 of each loiterer as for a moment he paused to 
 gaze on the splendid cavalcade, and then, hav- 
 ing made his obeisance, turned aside to resume 
 his employment with a sigh and a prayer for 
 the absent Adhemar. 
 
 The haughty air of aristocratic pride which 
 characterised the Count, formed a striking con- 
 trast to the benevolent smile of D'Espignac, 
 and augured little future sympathy between 
 the proud Lord and his vassals ; while the 
 vacant stare and listless yawn of the Countess 
 demonstrated perfect indifference and thorough 
 contempt for the good-will of such plebeian 
 rustics.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 13 
 
 In spite of prejudice, however, it was ad- 
 mitted that night, when the villagers were all 
 assembled at the veillee, and the conversation 
 naturally turned upon the new comers, that 
 there was still one among them who appeared 
 to view them with interest, and who had re- 
 turned their humble salutations with ready 
 good-nature. This was no other than the 
 beautiful daughter of the Count, the fame of 
 whose personal charms had even spread to the 
 retirement of Avilly. Report had affianced her 
 to the young Duke de Montbel, one of the most 
 powerful nobles of the kingdom, and high in 
 favour with the King; and it was moreover 
 understood, that as soon as the court removed 
 to Chantilly, the nuptials were to be solemnized 
 with the greatest splendour, under the auspices 
 of his Majesty. 
 
 Perhaps it might be these first impressions 
 which rendered Estelle de la Vallee at once the 
 most beloved of the family ; and these kindly 
 feelings being found to increase upon a closer 
 acquaintance, it was soon deemed utterly im-
 
 14 CHANTILLY. 
 
 possible to extend to so mild and gentle a 
 being the prejudice that existed against all of 
 her name, as the successors of D'Espignac. 
 Many of those to whom the misfortunes of the 
 latter had doubly endeared him, and whose 
 hearts now clung to him with fonder love than 
 ever, would often detect themselves loitering to 
 gaze on the light and graceful form of Estelle, 
 as with fairy steps she wandered through the 
 shadowy paths and verdant lawns of Avilly. 
 It was remarked too, that she alone seemed to 
 take delight in her new abode. The Count 
 was absorbed in state affairs, and but seldom 
 left his study ; while the Countess, although, 
 when surrounded by the splendour and gaieties 
 of the Court, she was ever expressing the great- 
 est love for the retirement of the country, now 
 frankly confessed, that unless the old chateau 
 underwent a thorough change, it would never 
 suit her taste as a residence; and accordingly 
 she instantly commenced devising plans for 
 improvements, whereby to dazzle and surprise
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 15 
 
 the crowds of visitors with whom she kindly 
 meant to share her solitude during the ensuing 
 summer. 
 
 To speak truth, the King's choice of a tenant 
 for Avilly had excited some surprise, and per- 
 haps more discontent, among the herd of cour- 
 tiers who had been long anxiously watching for 
 its appropriation. Some had already enjoyed, 
 by anticipation, the merry sport which its green 
 forest would afford ; while others had long 
 ago begun to reckon how far the axe and bill- 
 hook would enable them to replenish their cof- 
 fers and re-establish their credit ; and that so 
 rich a prize should, at last, have been bestow- 
 ed on an old Breton nobleman, who cared not 
 for the chase, and had no debts, excited uni- 
 versal murmuring. 
 
 But Henry was just now in difficulty and 
 distress ; under such circumstances he cared 
 not what price he paid for ready counsel ; and 
 this no one was so fitting to give as the Count 
 de la Vallee.
 
 16 CFIANTILrLY. 
 
 It had often been said of the latter, that his 
 appearance at Court was a sure token of coming 
 evil ; for the real fact was, that he was never 
 summoned thither save when the King needed 
 advice or assistance, which he would have found 
 difficult to obtain from any other source. He 
 had passed his life in crouching, and fawning, 
 and plotting, and planning. He perpetually 
 saw some mighty prize almost within his grasp, 
 and yet, with all his artful policy and calcula- 
 ting ambition, he was as perpetually doomed to 
 see hope after hope, and chance after chance, 
 pass away to others far less artful and ambitious 
 than himself. In fact, he was too cunning even 
 for his own interests — for by disdaining to con- 
 ceal the full extent of this quality, he had ren- 
 dered even his employers wary and distrustful ; 
 and although ready to yield their admiration at 
 the depth and prudence of his schemes, they 
 were nevertheless careful not to allow him to 
 retain too great a degree of power. 
 
 Catherine de Medicis, who could fathom the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 17 
 
 human heart with all the tact of the ablest 
 philosopher, had never permitted the Count de 
 la Vallee to obtain undue ascendancy in her 
 counsels. He was the very man to succeed in 
 baffling the deep and well-digested intrigue of 
 the adversary, by one yet more subtle and 
 better planned ; but, this service rendered, 
 the recompense was always some high post of 
 confidence, in some distant province, far from 
 Court — a kind of honourable banishment — 
 where he was suffered to remain, until his 
 assistance was again required. He had assist- 
 ed in all the dark plots under Charles the 
 Ninth, and shared the odium and stigma with 
 all who had participated in them : yet, by the 
 same chance, which ever seemed to follow him, 
 and for which he himself was at a loss to ac- 
 count, he had not been allowed to reap any 
 solid advantage from their success ; but was, 
 as usual, obliged to content himself with a 
 mere government of some emolument, but lit- 
 tle real power, in Bretagne, where he had
 
 18 CHANTILLY. 
 
 ever since remained, watching the course of 
 events, until once more summoned by the 
 King, to assist in extricating him from his 
 embarrassments. 
 
 It would have appeared that the gift of the 
 rich domains of Avilly had now placed the 
 Count at the very summit of his wishes. None 
 breathed the word, but aWfelt, that it was the 
 reward of some guilty service ; and when it 
 was rumoured that Adhemar d'Espignac had 
 been compelled, through the cabals and fac- 
 tions of the Ligue, to quit Paris, each fancied 
 that he had discovered the clue to the nature 
 of that service. It was well known that emis- 
 saries, in the pay of the Royalists, lurked 
 within the very walls of the capital ; moreover, 
 it needed but little reflection, to convince those 
 acquainted with the King, that he would feel 
 no disposition to cease from persecuting one, 
 whom like Adhemar, he had injured beyond 
 all redress. They doubted not, that La Vallee 
 was employed to get the youth into his power ;
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 19 
 
 and they could not but marvel at the peculiar 
 fatality which had thus made his own heritage 
 the price of his blood. But Henry, who in- 
 herited much of his mother's dread of over- 
 cunning counsellors, was far from yielding at 
 once, all the power that so large an estate 
 could bestow, into the hands of the Count. 
 With a prudent foresight, almost worthy of 
 Catherine herself, he had given it as the dowry 
 of Mademoiselle de la Vallee, that the prime 
 favourite, the Duke de Montbel, to whom she 
 was betrothed, might claim it at his pleasure ; 
 and La Vallee, who was now determined upon 
 advancement, preferred it, even thus shackled, 
 to the prospect of another dull and powerless 
 exile. 
 
 But to return. While the Count and Coun- 
 tess were thus occupied by their own plans with- 
 in doors, Estelle was suffered to wander alone 
 in the forest, and to ramble amid its solitudes 
 without restraint. With the fearlessness of 
 innocence, she would roam whole days among
 
 20 CIIANTILLY. 
 
 its deepest recesses, charmed with their beau- 
 ty, so different from La Vallcc ; which, being 
 laid out under the superintendence of the 
 Countess, presented nothing but an assemblage 
 of rectangular flower-beds and quadrangular 
 grass-plots. Not a single path in tlie neigh- 
 bourhood of the chateau, however solitary, how- 
 ever gloomy, was left unexplored by the de- 
 lighted Estelle ; and soon every object became 
 as familiar to her as the haunts of her child- 
 hood. There was Saint Hubert's holy foun- 
 tain, where she would sit and read, from her 
 book of golden legends, the history of this 
 patron of huntsmen ; and the round-table, in 
 the very thickest of the wood, where, each suc- 
 ceeding year, the huntsmen of the forest would 
 meet to celebrate the festival of their Saint 
 by drinking and carousing : the cottage of old 
 Jacqueline, too, so buried among the trees as 
 to be scarcely perceptible, where she v^ould 
 stay and watch the humming wheel, as it spun 
 beneath the venerable housewife's still nimble
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 21 
 
 fingers. To one, who had been accustomed 
 from her earliest infancy to the humble sub- 
 serviency of all around, there was novelty 
 even in the shrewd observations and frank 
 replies of the aged woman, whose prejudices 
 against the "' new family ,'"' as she called the 
 tenants of the chateau, were strong and deeply- 
 rooted. She had lived with the Countess 
 d'Espignac, from her marriage to her death, 
 and how could she bear to see a stranger tread 
 those halls, which that beloved and beautiful 
 lady had once graced with her presence ? She 
 had nursed and fondled the young Adhemar : 
 through years of absence and sorrow she still 
 retained for him all a mother's love ; and she 
 could view with little favour, the heiress of 
 La Vallee, now roaming, joyous and happy, 
 through the forest and solitudes of Avilly, 
 while he was forced to wander, homeless and 
 persecuted, and perhaps, even now, suffering 
 the pangs of misery and want. At first, the 
 presence of Estelle seemed to give her pain and
 
 22 CHANTILLY. 
 
 annoyance; but lier irritation excited mirth, 
 rather than anger, in the bosom of the laugh- 
 ing girl, who was bent on conciliating her ; 
 and by degrees, won by this gentleness, she 
 relaxed much of her reserve ; and finally, 
 seemed to take pleasure in her visits. 
 
 It was then that Estelle would sit for hours 
 and listen, while Jacqueline good-naturedly 
 unfolded her store of legendary tales, all con- 
 cerning the prowess and feats of arms of the 
 valiant heroes of the " old family :" at the 
 remembrance of whose renown, her eye would 
 kindle with pride; and then, forgetting who 
 was her listener, she would revert to the now 
 mournful state of the house of D'Espignac : 
 the sire, alas ! no more ; the heir a homeless 
 wanderer, — until tears stole down her aged 
 cheek, as she thought of their unhappy destiny. 
 Thus hour after hour would pass unheeded 
 by, while Estelle, now lost in wonder at the 
 marvellous adventures of the early lords of 
 Avilly ; anon, to the unspeakable admiration
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 23 
 
 of Jacqueline, moved to tears by the misfor- 
 tunes of the present, — sometimes forgot how 
 the moments flew, until the sound of the ves- 
 per bell, borne on the evening breeze, warned 
 her to repair to her devotions, ere she returned 
 to the chateau. 
 
 One evening, after listening to one of Jac- 
 queline's most melancholy stories, her cheek 
 still moist with tears, she proceeded, as usual, 
 to the Chapel, situated in a solitary and ro- 
 mantic glen of the forest, and unsought by 
 any, save a few peasants from the distant vil- 
 lage, or the casual passer by, whose piety 
 might lead him to enter, when summoned by 
 the solemn tolling of the bell. Every thing 
 about the little sanctuary was well calculated 
 to inspire the deepest devotion. The loneli- 
 ness of its situation, the overhanging dark 
 green foliage, so thick as almost to exclude 
 light from the little Gothic windows, and, 
 above all, the mournful stillness which pre- 
 vailed around, unbroken, save by the low
 
 24 CHANTILLY. 
 
 moaning of the wind through the lofty trees, 
 filled the mind with melancholy, and raised the 
 heart in humble aspiration to Heaven. Three 
 friars belonging to the Chapter of Benedictines 
 at Beauvais officiated by turns, and composed 
 the whole of the humble establishment. 
 
 The good old fathers all knew and loved 
 Estelle, as the most guileless and devout of 
 their little flock ; and since her arrival at 
 the chateau she had never failed to present 
 herself at the Chapel to join in the vesper 
 hymn ; but on the evening in question she had 
 tarried over long with Jacqueline, and, as she 
 slowly approached the little sanctuary musing 
 on the mournful story to which she had been 
 listening, the small silvery sound of the tink- 
 ling Angelus bell was alone heard, and an- 
 nounced that vespers had concluded. She 
 quickened her pace, with a feeling of shame 
 at the unusual lateness of the hour, and soon 
 distinguished, through the open door, the so- 
 norous voice of old father Paul chaunting the 
 prayer which ended the service.
 
 d'espignac, a. tale. 25 
 
 The little font at the entrance was never 
 passed unheeded by her, and she now stopped 
 to make the sign of the cross before she en- 
 tered. While thus engaged, her attention was 
 attracted by an unusual object in the porch on 
 the outside of the chapel. No sabots were 
 there, nor implements of husbandry, as was 
 usually the case, when the pious peasants had 
 entered on returning from their work ; a richly 
 ornamented rifle now stood against the wall, and 
 by its side were negligently flung the baldric 
 and powder-horn. Estelle started at sight of 
 the weapon : she knew it could not belong to 
 any of the poor huntsmen of the forest, for it 
 was magnificently decorated, according to the 
 fashion of the period, and the golden studs and 
 massive silver ornaments were such as could 
 only be attainable by persons of the highest 
 distinction. 
 
 " It must be my father's,"' thought she, 
 pausing on the threshold ; '' he is no doubt 
 within. He must not see I have been weep- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 CHANTILLY. 
 
 ing; he would seek to know the cause, and 
 what would he say were he to find I could 
 weep for the sorrows of a D'Espignac ?" She 
 dried the tears from her cheek, and drawing 
 aside the scarlet curtain in the doorway, she 
 ventured in and looked anxiously round. A 
 glance sufficed to show that her father was not 
 there, for the high seat near the altar, always 
 reserved for the lord of the manor, was vacant. 
 She advanced with more confidence, yet with a 
 soft and stealthy step, up the aisle, and sank 
 on her knees just as the holy functionary 
 turned to bestow his farewell blessing. 
 
 It appeared as though none of the usual 
 congregation had lingered after vespers, for 
 the Chapel seemed deserted by all save the 
 friars, who were busily engaged in arranging 
 it for the next morning's service ere they 
 departed for the night. With all a woman's 
 curiosity, the eye of Estelle, even while telling 
 her beads, sought around for the owner of the 
 rifle ; but the tapers were extinguished ; the
 
 27 
 
 silver lamp which swung before the altar was 
 not yet lighted ; the uncertain twilight from 
 without illumined but faintly the more distant 
 parts of the building, and barely enabled her 
 to discern that a figure was kneeling in the 
 shadow of one of the stone pillars at the en- 
 trance, apparently deeply absorbed in prayer. 
 It was the figure of a man : but what might be 
 his age, or station, it was impossible to dis- 
 cover ; and she was preparing to leave the 
 chapel, with her curiosity ungratified, when, 
 just as she had gained the door, the lamp was 
 suddenly raised, and the brightness of the 
 blaze causing her to turn, she distinctly be- 
 held, in the same attitude of absorbing devo- 
 tion, the object of her attention. 
 
 He was a young man, clad in the modest 
 garb of the forest hunters, of the brightest 
 emerald green, fitting tight to his figure, and 
 with no ornament to distinguish the wearer, 
 except that the belt which encircled his waist 
 was clasped by a large buckle of massive gold. 
 c 2
 
 28 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Another circumstance, still more remarkable, 
 and which served at once to convince Estelle 
 he was a stranger, was, that by his side, in- 
 stead of the high furred cap of the foresters, 
 lay the large slouched hat and drooping fea- 
 thers which had ever distinguished the Li- 
 gueurs of De Guise ! 
 
 Now, it is well known that the only passion 
 which solitude has not power to subdue is curio- 
 sity, and, moreover, that it frequently operates 
 with most violence in the breasts of those who 
 live in seclusion. It is not material to inquire 
 if such were the case with the gentle Estelle ; 
 but it is nevertheless certain, that in this in- 
 stance she appeared to find unusual difficulty 
 in uniting the clasps of her richly-bound bre- 
 viary, and her parting obeisance before the 
 altar was lower and more solemn than usual. 
 In short, had it not been for fear of observa- 
 tion, she would probably have lingered yet 
 longer to catch a glimpse of the young stran- 
 ger's features.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 29 
 
 This, however, seemed impossible ! he raised 
 not his eyes, nor appeared in the slightest de- 
 gree conscious of the presence of any one in 
 the Chapel. It was difficult to decide whether 
 he had been all this while engaged in prayer, 
 or merely endeavouring to decipher the rude 
 illegible characters engraven on the brassy 
 tomb near which he knelt ; for his head was 
 bent low upon his bosom, and the long shining 
 ringlets of jet black hair, falling forward, com- 
 pletely hid his face from the stealthy glances of 
 the inquisitive maiden, who, with her thoughts 
 still fixed on this mysterious young stranger, 
 was at length compelled to hasten her steps 
 homeward. 
 
 " Who can he be ?" thought she, as emerg- 
 ing from the dark overhanging wood she entered 
 one of those broad, light avenues which led 
 to the chateau. '' He is a stranger here, and 
 the slouched hat and drooping plumes are 
 those of the Ligueurs. They are now more 
 bold and numerous than ever, and yet it seems
 
 30 CHANTILLY. 
 
 not over prudent in one of their number to 
 be found upon my father'^s land.**"* A sudden 
 idea darted through her mind at this reflection : 
 — " Heaven grant he be not here on any evil 
 errand !" she murmured in alarm. " It is said 
 that the murder of De Guise has roused all that 
 is dark and deadly in the minds of the Li- 
 gueurs, and deep desire of revenge against the 
 Royalists. My father is one of the King's 
 staunchest adherents ; — I tremble but to think 
 what even now may be his danger ! But no — 
 how earnestly he prayed ! It looks not as if 
 he came with evil intent thus to seek the Cha- 
 pel first. How foolish was my fear ! — he is 
 merely some follower of the D'Espignacs re- 
 turning to his home after long absence, and ig- 
 norant of the changes which have taken place. 
 When he has concluded his orisons, Father 
 Paul will doubtless inform him of them, and 
 to-morrow he will be found, with the other 
 foresters, at the rendezvous de chasse.''^ 
 
 Thus endeavouring to allay her fears, she
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 31 
 
 quickened her pace, and would soon have 
 gained the chateau, had not her progress been 
 arrested by an incident, which, trifling as it 
 may appear, had a prevailing influence on the 
 issues of her after life. 
 
 She was just in the act of traversing one of 
 those sweet, delicious bosquets by which the 
 mansion was surrounded, when a little bird, 
 which she had observed for some time ho- 
 vering over her head, suddenly alighted on 
 her shoulder, and before she had recovered 
 from her surprise, the little flutterer, creeping 
 beneath the folds of her dress, nestled fondly 
 in her bosom. In an instant she recognised 
 the martin belonging to the Chapel in the forest, 
 which had ever been the object of her particu- 
 lar care, and which she had been in the daily 
 habit of feeding when she repaired thither. 
 But on this evening she had been so much en- 
 gaged by her thoughts concerning the stranger, 
 that she had forgotten her little favourite, who 
 after having waited in vain for the food which
 
 32 CHANTILLY. 
 
 he was accustomed to receive from her hand, 
 had followed her homeward in the hope of at- 
 tracting her attention. 
 
 Every one must be aware of the high vene- 
 ration which in France all classes, even to this 
 very day, bear towards the martin. It has 
 been held sacred from time immemorial, and its 
 fondness for the human race has formed the sub- 
 ject of many a superstitious legend. Even the 
 idle schoolboy, that sworn enemy to the feather- 
 ed tribe in all other countries, in France would 
 scorn to molest the mild and innocent oiseau da 
 hon Dieii. It is found the constant occupant 
 of the village church, where its clay-built nest 
 remains for ever undisturbed beneath the con- 
 secrated rafters. It is no wonder, then, that 
 at Avilly, where every living thing loved Es- 
 telle, one of these tame familiar birds should 
 have soon learned to distinguish her from the 
 other visitors of the Chapel ; nor that the 
 gentle maiden, whose kind heart overflowed
 
 d'espjgnac, a tale. 33 
 
 with love towards the whole creation, should 
 view with fondness such a universal favourite. 
 
 Forgetting her haste, she paused to feed and 
 soothe the little trembler, who, nestling with 
 confidence in her bosom, returned her caresses 
 with many a chirp of joyous satisfaction. She 
 feared, however, to detain it long, for the 
 shades of evening were fast stealing over the 
 dark forest, and should the friars have left the 
 Chapel, the door would be closed, and her tiny 
 protege be doomed to pass a night of danger 
 and distress, excluded from its snug warm nest 
 under the high beams of the roof. She there- 
 fore extended her hand to let it fly, prepared 
 to watch v.dth interest the marvellous instinct 
 which taught it to direct its flight homeward 
 without assistance. 
 
 She little dreamed of the alarm that awaited 
 
 her ; and her horror may be well imagined 
 
 when, upon turning, she beheld a large and 
 
 fierce night-hawk already beginning to describe 
 
 c 5
 
 34 CHANTILLY. 
 
 its charmed circle around the affrighted bird, 
 whose plaintive cries reached her ear in the 
 still silence of twilight, even from the height 
 to which it had soared, in the vain hope of 
 eluding its rapacious enemy. 
 
 Those who are aware how nearly akin to 
 love is the feeling with which, from long habit, 
 we are induced to regard any member of the 
 dumb creation, when tame and dependent upon 
 our kindness for its comforts, can best under- 
 stand the distress of the tender-hearted Estelle 
 at the peril of the holy oiseau du bon Dieu. 
 Almost overcome by affright, she screamed 
 aloud, hoping to attract some gardener or 
 woodsman to the spot. But in vain ! No one 
 came. Still wheeling round and round, the 
 fell night-hawk kept on his course, each circle 
 bringing him nearer to his helpless victim, who, 
 stupified and fascinated, seemed to have lost all 
 power of attempting to escape. 
 
 " Ah Heaven ! he is lost — he is lost !"" she 
 cried, as the hawk closed around his prey ; and,
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 35 
 
 clasping her hands, she remained gazing in 
 agony on the convulsive flutterings of the little 
 creature who, but a nioment before, had reposed 
 with such happy security in her bosom. Its 
 mournful cry penetrated to her very soul, as 
 its feeble struggles served but to hasten the 
 fate to which the terrible beak and talons of 
 its cruel foe threatened in another instant to 
 consign it. Already were its weak efforts to 
 accelerate its flight becoming fainter from ex- 
 haustion, while its pursuer appeared to gather 
 fresh strength with every turn ; and the ter- 
 rified maiden, who at that moment would have 
 given all she possessed to shield her little fa- 
 vourite from the horrid death with which 
 it was threatened, had ceased to entertain 
 hopes of its escape, when suddenly the loud 
 report of a gun rang through the wood — the 
 savage hawk fluttered for a moment in the air, 
 then — for the bullet had reached its mark — 
 fell lifeless and bleeding at her feet. 
 
 She saw him fall. She beheld her beloved
 
 36 CHANTILLY. 
 
 martin fly towards the Chapel, and yet, as if not 
 assured that the danger was over, she remain- 
 ed gazing upwards, as if she could still behold 
 the fierce struggle which had caused her so 
 much distress. 
 
 She was, however, recalled to herself by a 
 voice from amid the thicket, immediately be- 
 hind her. It was that of a man; and whether it 
 was the joyful intelligence it conveyed, or the 
 tone in which it was uttered, is uncertain, but 
 Estelle thought it the softest and sweetest she 
 had ever heard. 
 
 '^ Be not alarmed. Mademoiselle de la Val- 
 lee,*" were the words pronounced; " your fa- 
 vourite has escaped unhurt. It is his enemy 
 that is now lying dead at your feet.'** 
 
 " Thank you, thank you !" said the maiden, 
 as she sank half breathless against a tree ; and, 
 with ready generosity, she was in the act of 
 drawing forth her purse to reward the hand 
 which had so opportunely relieved her from 
 her alarm, when the rustling of the boughs
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 37 
 
 announced the approach of hhn to whom she 
 owed this unexpected aid; and looking up, she 
 beheld, to her no small astonishment, the 
 figure of the young hunter, whom she had just 
 before left in the Chapel. He made her a low 
 obeisance as he passed, and proceeding at once 
 to where the hawk lay, he raised it, appearing 
 to regard with all the keen interest of a sports- 
 man, the wound inflicted by his own murder- 
 ous weapon. 
 
 Estelle shrank back, for the sight of the 
 Ligueur at that hour, and so near to the cha- 
 teau, renewed all the fears she had before en- 
 tertained for her father's safety ; and filled 
 with these impressions, she fixed a searching 
 glance on the face of the stranger, as if she 
 would have read his intentions in his counte- 
 nance. His person, although youthful, was 
 tall and martial, and, altogether, bore the im- 
 press of having participated in the fierce party 
 struggles of the period. His features were 
 strikingly handsome, and little calculated to
 
 38 CHANTILLY. 
 
 excite distrust, even in the most timid bosom ; 
 still there was a bold, resolute expression, in 
 his proud dark eye, which overawed Estelle, 
 and made her feel conscious that she should 
 tremble beneath its glance. Her courage, how- 
 ever, seemed little likely to be put to the test, 
 for the youth appeared scarcely aware of her 
 presence. The instant he had perceived her, 
 he had raised his hat from his head, and with 
 well-bred courtesy remained uncovered ; but 
 afforded no other proof of a consciousness that 
 he was standing before one of the fairest ladies 
 of the Court. This slight homage was evident- 
 ly extorted by her sex alone — not by her rank 
 or beauty, although he had already pronounced 
 her name, and could not fail to know her fa- 
 ther"*s exalted station. Neither were his looks, 
 for a single moment, directed towards herself; 
 but in spite of his endeavours to appear en- 
 gaged in examining the hawk, his eye would 
 wander, with an expression that almost made 
 her shudder, to an opening in the trees, which
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 39 
 
 afforded a view of the chateau, whose nume- 
 rous casements, reflectmg the rays of the set- 
 ting sun, shone in the distance like burnished 
 gold. 
 
 " It is even so," thought Estelle, as she 
 caught one of those significant glances, " my 
 father is in danger; how fiercely the young 
 hunter turns his eye towards the chateau ! 
 Ah ! doubtless there lies the object of his visit 
 to this spot." 
 
 She still held the purse in her outstretched 
 hand ; the stranger having placed the hawk in 
 the gibeci^re by his side, was already pre- 
 paring to depart, without further notice than 
 the same low obeisance which he had made 
 upon entering her presence. " Stay ! stay !*" she 
 cried, in a timid voice, as he was about to dis- 
 appear among the trees. The youth turned 
 instantly, and advanced towards her. " Here, 
 take your reward," she continued, holding the 
 purse towards him. She would have placed it 
 in his hand, but her own was arrested by the
 
 40 CHANTILLY. 
 
 dark frown which had gathered on his brow, 
 as waving back the gift, he replied sternly, 
 " When the sportsman's bullet has sped aright, 
 he needs no other recompense : and even when 
 the aim is missed, it is not gold that can soothe 
 his disappointment." 
 
 Estelle was piqued at the reply ; it was an 
 endeavour to undeceive her respecting his mo- 
 tive in shooting the bird ; a wish that she 
 should not imagine it was for her sake he had 
 done so ; and, accustomed as she had been all 
 her life to the polished gallantry of the most 
 polite court in Europe, this want of courtesy 
 surprised her not a little. 
 
 Perhaps the young man himself might be 
 aware of her thoughts at that moment ; for co- 
 louring slightly, he added, in a milder tone, 
 and with some embarrassment, " that having 
 had the honour of serving Mademoiselle de la 
 Vallee by accidenf — he evidently laid a stress 
 upon the word — "he must decline all recom- 
 pense, hoping one day to render her more sig- 
 nal service."
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 41 
 
 " Nay ! nay ! refuse it not !"' said the mai- 
 den meekly ; for there was something of sar- 
 casm in the stranger's speech which intimi- 
 dated her ; " take it now, lest you depart from 
 Avilly while I am still your debtor ; for I 
 know you are a stranger here : you wear not 
 the breast-knot of crimson ribbon, by which my 
 father's foresters are all distinguished."" 
 
 The youth started, as though her words had 
 given him pain. He again fixed a long, earn- 
 est look towards the chateau, and replied, in 
 a softened voice, " True, true, — you speak 
 truly. Mademoiselle ; 1 am a. stranger, even at 
 Avilly !" and leaning, with his hands crossed 
 over the muzzle of his rifle, he again appeared 
 lost in contemplation of the superb mansion, 
 which, seen through the long unbroken avenue 
 of trees, terminated the landscape. 
 
 There was another pause ; and when he 
 spoke again he had resumed the sullen and 
 haughty tone which was so entirely new to the 
 high-born maiden whom he addressed. 
 
 " You say rightly. Mademoiselle," said he ;
 
 42 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " 1 am a stranger here, unknown to any : and 
 yet, look you, already do I know you well; 
 you are the daughter of the Count de la 
 Vallee ; — yonder lordly mansion is your abode. 
 They are happy who thus dwell in palaces ; 
 thei/, at least, are known to all, — even to the 
 poor wayfarer, whom chance may lead through 
 their proud domains. The sun, in all his 
 glory, causes not so much joy as their pre- 
 sence among those whom they justly reckon 
 among the number of their slaves. Fortune 
 has placed them on a lofty pinnacle, that they 
 may be the more easily distinguished, — the 
 more deeply adored. Their gilded smiles have 
 the magic power of the conjuror, whose spell 
 can force the strongest bolts and bars to fly 
 asunder ; even thus can a word from the lips of 
 the rich man sever the ties of friendship, of love, 
 of kindred. Nay, by the blood of the most holy 
 martyrs ! what can it not accomplish, since it 
 has already wrested from D'Espignac the once 
 faithful hearts of his followers ! Do they not
 
 d'espignac, a talk. 43 
 
 already bow the knee to the stranger ? — and 
 think you there can dwell the smallest particle 
 of love for him in bosoms that throb beneath 
 the colours of La Vallee ? No, no ! the spell 
 of wealth and power has rooted out all grati- 
 tude, remembrance,— nay, even courage, from 
 their time-serving, faithless souls." 
 
 Estelle shrank from the withering glance 
 which shot from his dark eye as he concluded, 
 although it was not directed towards herself, 
 neither was his speech addressed to her. It 
 was evidently the outpouring of a lacerated and 
 indignant spirit, roused anew by the sight of 
 the haunts of his early days ; and seeking re- 
 lief in bitter and scornful upbraidings against 
 the cowardice of those who had submitted to a 
 change of masters without a struggle. 
 
 There was a pause of some moments; and 
 when at length it was broken, it was by the 
 soft voice of Estelle : she would gladly now 
 have made her escape ; but the hunter stood in 
 the narrow path-way, so as to intercept her
 
 44? CHANTILLY. 
 
 passage, and she spoke, in order to recall his 
 attention. 
 
 " Breathe not thus loudly the name of 
 D'Espignac," said she ; " you return from afar 
 and know not all that has befallen him ; he has 
 long ago followed De Guise, and been pro- 
 nounced a rebel and traitor — He—-" 
 
 " 'Tis false !" suddenly interrupted the stran- 
 ger, striking the butt-end of his rifle against the 
 turf, with a violence that made the silent forest 
 echo, '' 'Tis false ! false as the coward hearts 
 of those who told you so !" 
 
 For the first time he turned his looks full on 
 Estelle, who stood pale and terrified at wit- 
 nessing the sudden transport of his anger, 
 which she had involuntarily excited by her 
 simple observation. His passion, fierce as it 
 was, seemed checked at sight of that lovely 
 and innocent being; for he placed his hand 
 upon his brow as if to still its wild throbbings ; 
 and when he withdrew it, his countenance was 
 more calm and composed. He spoke again,
 
 d'espignaCj a tale. 45 
 
 soft and low, in the same sweet tones which 
 Estelle had heard at first ; and every word sank 
 deep into her heart. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said he, " they wrong 
 D'Espignac who call him traitor. Beliold, how 
 yonder sun now sinks below the distant horizon ; 
 so did the fortunes of De Guise wax dim amid 
 the false friends and open enemies by whom he 
 was surrounded ; and even as the shades of the 
 forest grow darker as the sun declines, so the 
 true heart of D'Espignac grew fonder, through 
 the fading fortunes of his master. But mark 
 the issue — death was his reward I They gloried 
 in his fate — they revel in his possessions, and 
 — but there yet lives one who is prepared to 
 avenge his wrongs ; and they who now slumber 
 in fond security, basking in the sunshine of 
 power, on his very threshold, shall find that — " 
 
 " Ah, no ! say it not ! say it not !" cried Es- 
 telle, almost shrieking, and bursting into tears, 
 " you cannot, you will not seek to injure my 
 father !" She would have sunk at his feet, but
 
 46 CHANTILLY. 
 
 he gently withheld her, gazing the while in 
 mute admiration upon her lovely face and 
 form, as, overcome by terror, she leaned on his 
 outstretched arm. 
 
 " You have mistaken me," said he gently ; 
 " on the faith and honour of a soldier, none 
 of the race of D'Espignac will seek to harm 
 your father. It would give, indeed, but small 
 pleasure to Adhemar, to know that evil should 
 befall any for his sake. It cannot save his fa- 
 ther noio ; and he comes of a race who love 
 the pitched tent and open field, but use not the 
 poisoned bowl, or assassin's dagger, to avenge 
 their wrongs." 
 
 " I know it ! I know it !" exclaimed Estelle, 
 still sobbing with agitation ; " Jacqueline, who 
 loves them well, has ofttimes told me so." 
 
 "Hal" exclaimed the youth, his features 
 suddenly lighting up at the name — " do you 
 know old Jacqueline ? Does she ever speak of 
 D'Espignac ? She has not then forgotten him, 
 like the rest of those who had sworn to follow 
 him till death .?"
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 47 
 
 " Ah, no ! she ever mentions Adhemar with 
 all a mother's love. She loves to tell of his 
 valiant deeds, and often — " 
 
 " Hark !" said the youth, interrupting her, 
 " I hear voices approaching ; they are seeking 
 you through the forest: they are as yet far 
 distant ; but danger has sharpened my sense of 
 hearing, and already can I distinguish your 
 name." 
 
 " Fly !" said Estelle eagerly, '' you know 
 not my father ; he is good and generous, but 
 it is not natural that [he should view with fa- 
 vour those who openly follow the party of 
 De Guise ; here, I pray you take this purse, 
 and hasten to depart in safety." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you,"' said the young 
 man, smiling kindly, " I do not need it. In 
 short I—'-' 
 
 " Nay, nay, refuse it not ; — take it, then, 
 as a small token of acknowledgement for the 
 service you rendered me in shooting the cruel 
 hawk." 
 
 He again put it aside. " You must — you shall
 
 48 CHANTILLY. 
 
 accept it," she continued ; and dropping it at 
 his feet, she rushed past him, and fled up the 
 avenue which led to the chateau. 
 
 The hunter leaned upon his rifle, and stood 
 to watch her till she was out of sight. " How 
 gentle, — how lovely she is !" he murmured to 
 himself; " how unlike the race from which she 
 springs ! — a very dove in the eagle's nest !" 
 
 His eye was dim, and he proceeded to 
 leave the spot. " Ha ! the silken purse — she 
 threw it at my feet !" he exclaimed, as the glit- 
 tering bauble caught his sight. " Well, well ! 
 'twas kindly meant, and 'tis not seemly to re- 
 fuse a lady's gift ; and — and — they come but 
 seldom now." 
 
 Thus saying he stooped to raise it, and, 
 contemptuously flinging out the gold, with 
 which it was well-stored, he placed the empty 
 purse in his belt, and disappeared amidst the 
 depths of the forest.
 
 D'ESPIGNAC, A TALE. 49 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " On peut qiielquefois etre plus fin qu'un autre, mais pas 
 plus fin que tons les autres." La Rochefoucauld. 
 
 On arriving at the chateau, Estelle was not 
 slow in perceiving that some extraordinary 
 event had taken place during her absence. The 
 Countess, secluded in her own apartment with 
 Mademoiselle Taquine, her confidante; the do- 
 mestics hurrying to and fro, their countenances 
 expressing unusual importance ; the bright 
 smiles and sparkling glances which met her at 
 every turn, all served to convince her that some 
 unlooked-for news had been received that day 
 Her curiosity was on the stretch ; but this feel- 
 ing soon gave way to fear, on being summoned 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 CHANTILLY. 
 
 to attend her father in his study. It was the first 
 time she had ever felt alarm at the command ; 
 but she knew his hatred of the Ligueurs, and 
 it was with one of the party that she had just 
 been conversing almost beneath the very walls 
 of the chateau. It was her duty to let him 
 know this, that measures might be taken for 
 the intruder's apprehension. But no — he had 
 sworn he came not to injure La Vallee, and 
 she could not willingly consign to ruin one who 
 had rendered her a kindly service, and of whom 
 she knew nothing, save that he already ap- 
 peared wronged and unhappy. It was thus 
 that the resolve was taken to conceal from every 
 one her interview with the hunter; — and how- 
 ever the stern moralist may condemn this reso- 
 lution as an act of filial delinquency, it was 
 nevertheless a fault which leaned to virtue's 
 side. It cannot be said that she sought to dis- 
 guise from herself the fact, that she already 
 felt interested for the young stranger, for she 
 knew it not. But such, however, was the case. 
 A single glance of her own mild blue eye had 
 
 r^r
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 51 
 
 subdued the fierce and stormy passion of a 
 dauntless Ligueur. -who dwelt with all the bit- 
 terness of party animosity on her father's name, 
 and, moreover, used no endeavour to conceal 
 his prejudice. Such involuntary homage was 
 worth all the hackneyed flattery of the Court ; 
 but, at the moment, she dreamed not that gra- 
 tified vanity had any share in the secret hope 
 which she entertained that he might escape her 
 father's power. 
 
 With trembling step and beating heart she 
 entered the Count's apartment. He was alone, 
 and seated at a table ; upon it lav an open 
 packet, which he had evidentlv been engaged 
 in perusing, and Estelle, all unpractised as she 
 was in state affairs, instantly perceived that it 
 bore the royal signet. 
 
 The Count was apparently absorbed in me- 
 ditation, with his head resting on his hands, 
 and his eyes fixed on the writing before him. 
 He knew not of her entrance until she had 
 softly approached and laid her hand on the arm 
 D 2 
 
 ^!C\ 
 
 -Tt»*) ••
 
 52 CHANTILLY. 
 
 of the chair in which he was seated. " Ha, 
 Estelle ! is it thou ?" he said, as he raised 
 his eyes ; " come hither, love, and sit thee 
 down beside me. I have much to tell thee 
 concerning thine own good fortune." 
 
 Estelle drew a stool, and seated herself at 
 her father's feet. She took one of his hands, 
 and, pressing it between her own, looked up 
 tenderly into his face, and thus awaited his 
 commands in silence. The Count gazed at 
 her with fondness : he parted the golden hair 
 from her forehead, and looked with pride on 
 her beautiful countenance. Denied by Provi- 
 dence that great boon of male progeny, which, 
 with those possessing wealth and titles, is ever 
 considered the one great blessing, all the love, 
 all the gentler affections of his stern, ambitious 
 nature were centred in his beauteous daughter. 
 He exulted in that surpassing loveliness which 
 had won the love of the highest nobleman of 
 the Court ; and, as his eye wandered over that 
 sweet blushing face, he rejoiced that it was
 
 d'esptgnac, a tale. 53 
 
 his child who laid claim to the distinction of 
 the richest and most beautiful heiress in the 
 kingdom. 
 
 " Thou hast tarried long in the forest to- 
 night, love," said he ; ''I began to fear for thy 
 safety, when I heard the gun of the garde- 
 chasse close to the chateau ; wert thou not also 
 alarmed, dearest ?" 
 
 " I was, dear father, and hurried home,'"' 
 said Estelle, blushing at her oa\ti disingenuous- 
 ness. 
 
 " Thy mother heard it not ; she is doubtless 
 engaged with Taquine, devising the fashion of 
 a new court robe, for the King will shortly ar- 
 rive at Chantilly. Ha ! what thinkest thou, 
 my little Duchess de Montbel ? Does that 
 name sound welcome in thy ears, Estelle .'^" 
 He fondly patted her cheek, and endeavoured 
 to smile. " It will soon be thine, love," he 
 continued ; '* Montbel accompanies the King, 
 and he bids me tell thee his nuptials must not 
 be delayed : and hearken ! thou must meet with
 
 54 CHANTILLY. 
 
 becoming pride the affected airs of yonder 
 haughty popinjay. "Forget not — thy dowry, 
 this lordly chateau, with its broad domains, 
 joined to the sweetest face and fairest form in 
 Christendom, may well weigh against all he has 
 to offer — high favour and sounding titles, al- 
 though another has just been added to the list, 
 and he be now hailed Grand Chamberlain.""* 
 
 Estelle started, for she knew that her father 
 had long coveted this appointment, and had, 
 moreover, relied on the King's professions of 
 friendship for the realization of his wishes. 
 She keenly felt his disappointment, and could 
 not help regretting that it had been bestowed 
 upon her future husband. But La Vallee 
 appeared anxious that his daughter should not 
 witness his irritation; he therefore hastened 
 to resume his discourse, although the gloomy 
 frown, which the mention of De MontbePs name 
 had excited, was still visible upon his brow. 
 
 " It was to bestow advice concerning thy 
 future deportment, that I summoned thee here.
 
 d'esfignac, a tale. 55 
 
 love,'' said he : ' I speak not of courtly grace 
 and majesty of presence, concerning these thy 
 mother will give thee fitting counsel ; but thou 
 knowest that the eyes of the whole Court will 
 henceforward be fixed upon thee, as the pro- 
 mised wife of the Duke de Montbel, bosom 
 friend of the King, and Grand Chamberlain ; 
 and in that high station, second to none in the 
 kingdom, but the Sovereign himself, there is 
 much wherein a father's experience may guide 
 thee. Thou art aware how sanguine was my 
 hope to obtain the charge with which De Mont- 
 bel has so lately been honoured ; yet, think not 
 there exists in my bosom the slightest jealousy 
 at the preference shown to him ; it was but 
 for thy sake I desired it, — that the world 
 might consider thee in every respect his equal." 
 This Estelle knew to be false ; she was but 
 an inexperienced judge of human nature, yet 
 the bitterness with which her father spoke, and 
 the dark cloud upon his countenance, betrayed 
 but too plainly the indignation he felt at
 
 56 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Henry's injustice and neglect. He pondered 
 for awhile, and then resumed. 
 
 " Remember, love, the Duchess de Montbel 
 will have other cares and duties than those 
 which occupy the thoughts of Estelle de la 
 Vallee. She can and will greatly aid her 
 fond father in the many plans he has formed to 
 realize most important ends, and in which, she 
 may rest assured, ambition has no share.''^ 
 
 The heart of the maiden sank within her. 
 Of all the world, she was the most unfit for 
 court intrigues or party machinations ; and 
 she shrank with dread at the prospect of being 
 forced to take a part in those dark and busy 
 plots in which, at that time, all near the throne, 
 the fair sex not excepted, were deeply engaged. 
 She listened with [feverish eagerness as the 
 Count continued. 
 
 " From this very hour thou mayest yield me 
 thy assistance ; — nay, start not, the task is not 
 difficult. For the sake of yonder beardless De 
 Montbel, I have been unjustly deprived of the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 57 
 
 high office which the King had encouraged me 
 to expect ; but if thou wilt aid me, I may yet 
 rise to greater power than even that could 
 confer. I have good reason to believe that 
 the retreat of the outlaw Adhemar d'Espignac 
 is known to many of the peasants of Avilly ; 
 but I were a fool to think that either threats or 
 promises could compel them to betray him. 
 Nevertheless, there is a sure way to discover 
 it : thou, love, hast won the hearts of these 
 wild foresters by mingling amongst them, 
 while the Countess and myself were fully occu- 
 pied in endeavouring to gain influence else- 
 where ; and, with all thy artlessness, it is plain 
 that thou hast pursued the wiser path."" He 
 cast a gloomy look at the open letter before 
 him, and continued. " Now, this intimacy 
 thou mayest turn to good account; it is but 
 feigning sorrow for the hard fate of the youth, 
 and promising secrecy — a promise which of 
 course thou wilt be ready to break when call- 
 ed upon ; — and I warrant me, thou wilt do more 
 D 5
 
 ^B CHANTILLY. 
 
 towards raising thy father to dignity and ho- 
 nour, than he has been able to accompHsh by a 
 life of perseverance and study. Henry hates 
 D'Espignac ! the young man is the most tur- 
 bulent among the Ligueurs. De Guise incited 
 him to revenge his father's death, and now that 
 the former is no more, Adhemar has sworn not 
 to rest till he has avenged them both. Now, I 
 would wager my right hand, that the King 
 would wellnigh bestow his throne on the man 
 who would deliver up the Count into his power, 
 so that he might feel himself once more free 
 from danger. Such was his dread of the rebel, 
 that he has had emissaries in Paris to keep an 
 eye upon his movements : even De Lognac 
 has lent his aid ; and thus they became ac- 
 quainted with all he did ; until suddenly they 
 missed him from the capital, and no one can 
 now tell whither he is gone. We thought he 
 had returned to raise the peasants on his own 
 land, and it is but this moment I learn, that 
 while we have been seeking him in holes and
 
 d'espignac, a. tale. 59 
 
 corners through his native woods, (forgetting, 
 in our haste, that none but cowards fly to soli- 
 tary hiding-places,) he has fled in secret from 
 the Ligue, in hot desire of revenge, and even 
 joined the King of Navarre, while the rebels 
 remain inactive within the walls of Paris, that 
 he might lose no chance of wreaking venge- 
 ance on his father's and De Guise's murderer. 
 In disguise, and under a borrowed name, he 
 has worked marvels for De Bourbon ; but now 
 they have again lost all trace of the youth, he 
 being doubtless in dread (so De MontbeFs 
 silly letter hath it) of the King's power. Ha ! 
 ha ! as if Adhemar d'Espignac, who, by all ac- 
 counts, has the spirit of the untamed lion, 
 should be daunted by the dread of death, or 
 know any thing more of fear, than the mere 
 name." 
 
 The scoffing tone and bitter sneer did not 
 escape Estelle, and she was convinced that some 
 grievance, yet untold, lurked in her father's 
 mind. At another time it would have passed
 
 60 CHANTILLY. 
 
 unnoticed, but now each word and look was 
 scrutinized with trembling attention. 
 
 " Nay, but why should his fear be greater 
 now than heretofore?" she asked; "is he not 
 as safe as ever with Henry of Navarre ?" 
 
 " No," replied the Count, changing colour as 
 he spoke ; " none of those who loved De Guise 
 can now be secure with the King of Navarre : 
 his forces are united with those of the King, 
 and together they hope shortly to crush for 
 ever De Mayenne, the chief of the Ligue, and 
 restore peace and happiness to France. It is at 
 Chantilly that they intend to ratify the treaty- 
 De Montbel it is whose schemes have thus 
 brought them together, and the dignity / so 
 long have coveted is his reward !" 
 
 He paused for a moment, as if musing, 
 then suddenly exclaimed, in a hurried tone, 
 while his eye flashed fiercely, " But, by Hea- 
 ven ! it must not long remain thus. Thou wilt 
 do as I bid thee : exert thy influence among 
 the women of the hamlet, — they have loving
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 61 
 
 hearts, but busy tongues, and will not so much 
 as dream of treachery in one of their own sex. 
 There is old Jacqueline, the vachere, for in- 
 stance; I warrant me she knows well enough 
 where the young Count may be found : feign 
 but the slightest interest in his fate, and she 
 will tell thee, were it but to hear him pitied for 
 the poorness of his lodging ! Fear not for thy 
 father ; Adhemar is helpless, — helpless as the 
 new-born babe ! The chiefs of the Ligue have 
 fancied, like headstrong fools, that he had de- 
 serted their cause to fly to the standard of 
 Henry of Navarre ; even Guillaume Rose, the 
 Bishop of Senlis, in whose diocese this estate 
 lies, who has known him from his birth, and 
 loved him as his own son, has now refused to 
 grant him aid. Thus thou seest he would fall 
 an easy prey. Once let me be master of the 
 secret of his retreat, and my success is certain : 
 the glorious issue now floats before my fancy 
 in true and vivid colours !*" 
 
 He waved his arm proudly aloft, while with
 
 62 CHANTILLY. 
 
 one hand he grasped, with more and more 
 violence as his energy increased, that of his 
 daughter, who, silent and breathless, listened 
 with feelings of horror to her father's injunc- 
 tions. 
 
 " Yes, I see it all," he continued : " thou 
 wilt discover, — I will betray : — D'Espignac 
 mounts the scaffold, — the haughty spirit of the 
 Ligueur chiefs is humbled with the dust, — 
 Henry is grateful ; — and then, — ha ! ha ! — and 
 then," he laughed and looked wildly round, 
 " why then, De Montbel, sweet son-in-law, thy 
 artifice is vain : La Vallee will yet be the 
 greater man !" 
 
 The imagination, once excited by the soaring 
 dreams of ambition, is not easy to be checked ; 
 and the Count paused, while visions of future 
 greatness floated through his brain. But a 
 scalding tear fell upon his outstretched hand, 
 and soon awoke him from his trance : he start- 
 ed, and turned to his daughter : one single 
 look, and all his airy schemes had vanished like 
 mist before the morning sun. Her head rested
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 63 
 
 on his knee, and her face was buried in the rich 
 folds of his velvet surcoat, while the gushing 
 tears forced their way through her slender fin- 
 gers, and her whole frame shook with the vio- 
 lence of her agitation. The Count stared, as 
 though he had doubts of the reality of what 
 he saw. 
 
 " Why, Estelle, thou art not, surely, weep- 
 ing ?'^ he said at length, in a tone of astonish- 
 ment, o 
 
 A deep bursting sob was the maiden's only 
 answer. He raised her head, and gazed upon 
 her face ; it was pale as marble, and bathed in 
 tears. 
 
 " It is well," said he gloomily ; " I thought 
 of thee only as my child, and forgot thou wert 
 a woman. Never dreaminoj thou wert so large 
 a sharer in the maudlin weakness of thy sex, I 
 was fool enough to imagine thee capable of 
 aiding me to regain that which I have lost, — 
 power and influence with the King; trusting 
 that the blood which flows in thy veins would 
 not fail to keep alive that pride and love of
 
 64> CHANTILLY. 
 
 distinction which have ever belonged, as of 
 right, to our ancestors. It matters not,— I 
 have been deceived. Wise was he who spoke 
 the word, ' Put not thy faith in woman :' it was 
 well said, few indeed are they who can be 
 trusted ; and go, thou art not of the number. 
 Thou would st make truly but a sorry spy ! 
 I doubt much, wert thou even to meet one of 
 the accursed Ligueurs here on our own land, 
 whether any consitteration for my interest 
 would induce thee to give the alarm. In truth 
 I should not wonder, such is thy milky nature, 
 to see thee take part with my enemies. I war- 
 rant me they will be luckless enough, ere long, 
 and greatly need the pity thou art so ready to 
 bestow." 
 
 He arose, and pushed back the chair with 
 violence, and Estelle, missing the support, 
 sank from the low stool on her knees before 
 him ! 
 
 Had he at that moment cast his eyes towards 
 his daughter, he would have seen her start, and 
 turn even paler than before, when he uttered
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 65 
 
 his concluding observation ; but he did not 
 notice her : with his arms folded, he paced the 
 apartment to and fro, and for a few moments 
 the sound of his footsteps on the chequered 
 floor, and the low sobs of the maiden, were 
 alone heard. At length he stood still, and turn- 
 ed again to Estelle :— " Go!" said he, in that 
 calm, deliberate tone, which seemed even more 
 terrible than the direst transport of anger ; 
 " I seek not your assistance. Mademoiselle de 
 la Vallee. Without it, I may not be able to 
 accomplish all I had hoped for. But, Heaven 
 be praised ! alone, unaided, and unrewarded, 
 except in the accomplishment of my object, 
 can I punish my rival, De Montbel, the man 
 whom I hate beyond all upon earth ; and 
 verily, did I think 'twould grieve his heart to 
 lose, thee, as I live thou shouldst not wed 
 him ! for the pleasure of such revenge, would I 
 forego even the honour of calling the King's 
 own Chamberlain my son-in-law." 
 
 He paused ; for rage choked his utterance. 
 Estelle raised her eyes, and gazed in wild
 
 66 CHANTILLY. 
 
 amazement on his countenance. In an instant 
 her tears were dried, while a burning blush of 
 shame, indignation, and wounded pride, man- 
 tled in her cheek, and tingled through every 
 vein. The Count recoiled a few paces ; he 
 perceived her confusion, but mistook the cause. 
 " Ha ! I see it all," he exclaimed ; " thou 
 lovest De Montbel ! Nay, blush not a deeper 
 red. I did not think it had been so; but no 
 matter — 'tis natural that the young should 
 take part with the young. — Besides, is not I)e 
 Montbel handsome ? ay, marry, is he hand- 
 some ! and well does he know it, too. Ha, ha ! 
 I doubt much if he would yield the palm of 
 beauty even to thee, my girl, all lovely and 
 blooming as thou art ! My senses must have 
 wandered, when I fancied thou wouldst aid me 
 to rival thy lover in the King's favour ; in 
 truth, I might as well, and with as much suc- 
 cess, have craved to share with him thine own 
 affections ; it would seem over bold in me to 
 claim the smallest place in the heart which he 
 occupies so largely."
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 67 
 
 " Nay, but, dear father, I love him not,'"* 
 said Estelle, at length stung to the quick by 
 the cruel taunts ; " but say, it is not long 
 since thou thyself didst bid me view him with 
 kindly feelings, and even while striving to 
 obey, I thought not once of love." 
 
 The Count eyed her for a moment, as if to 
 assure himself she was not seeking to deceive 
 him ; but although his ever restless and vigi- 
 lant ambition, and the uncertainty of court 
 favour, had rendered him a keen observer of 
 the slightest shades of the human countenance, 
 he could not detect the least symptom of de- 
 ceit on her open brow. 
 
 " She is mine once more !" he thought, sur- 
 veying her in triumph ; " she loves thee not, 
 De Montbel ; yet a little patience, and still 
 can I mould her to my purpose. She shrinks 
 from the task with the childish pity of her sex 
 and age, but soon will I overcome her scru- 
 ples, and my object will be gained at last." 
 
 Hope once more revived within him. He 
 was not the man to abandon a project of so
 
 68- CHANTILLY. 
 
 much importance to his interests, for the sake 
 of indulging in useless and unavailing trans- 
 ports of passion ; and appearing at once to for- 
 get all cause of displeasure, he reassumed the 
 insinuating tenderness of manner, which he 
 so well knew would not fail to soothe, in the 
 guileless bosom of Estelle, all those feelings of 
 disgust, which his previous remarks might 
 have excited. He bent low over her graceful 
 form as she knelt, and folded her in his arms. 
 
 *' Come to my heart once more, my own 
 sweet Estelle,"' said he ; "I wronged thee 
 sorely, in thinking thee unwilling to aid my 
 designs. It was fear that made thee say thou 
 wouldst not use thine endeavours to discover 
 young D'Espignac : was it not, dearest ?" 
 
 " Nay; but I said not so," replied Estelle; 
 entirely thrown off her guard by the artful 
 manner of the Count. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed the latter, with well- feign- 
 ed surprise, " can it be possible that thou 
 really didst not say this just now ? What —
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 69 
 
 didst thou not refuse me ? Then art thou still 
 m}^ own darling child; still wilt thou be the 
 means of preserving Avilly to thy father ! 
 Remember, love, it is thy dowry, and this it is 
 that has caused all my terror, lest it should 
 depart from us. I know well that Henry of 
 Navarre loves the young Count ; he has fought 
 beneath his standard, and rely upon it, he will 
 not sign the treaty which is to bind him to the 
 King, except the latter agree to pardon this 
 young Ligueur, and restore him to his posses- 
 sions. The King will not dare refuse. Avilly 
 would thus be lost to us; and thou wouldst 
 lose De Montbel. He is sordid and ambitious, 
 ever on the watch to climb to wealth and 
 power, and would not hesitate to forsake thee 
 for a wealthier bride ! Couldst thou bear this, 
 Estelle de la Vallee ? couldst thou bear to see 
 all thy father's hopes in thee pass away like a 
 dream ? Is it not worse — ay, worse a thousand 
 times than the very fate we are compelled, for 
 our own sakes, to prepare for Adhemar ? How
 
 70 CHANTILLY. 
 
 could we bear the taunts and sneers of the 
 Court — the triumph of our enemies — or, what 
 is worse, the drivelling compassion of our mere 
 professing friends ? No, no ! — Heaven be prais- 
 ed ! such evil will be avoided by thy perseve- 
 rance ; it is now thou canst show thy affection 
 for thy doting father, by following his coun- 
 sel ; wilt thou do so, sweet love ?" 
 
 He had clasped her in his arms while he yet 
 spoke, and his voice had sunk almost to a 
 whisper ; he could feel lier tremble in his em- 
 brace, but yet she wept not, and seemed 
 scarcely conscious of the purport of his speech. 
 
 " Now is my time to urge her farther," 
 he thought ; '' she is passive, and will soon 
 consent." 
 
 He pressed her closer to his bosom — her 
 heart was beating with violence, although her 
 face betrayed no emotion. 
 
 " Speak, Estelle, dearest,'' he continued 
 aloud, and more vehemently than before; 
 " think, if Avilly be wrested from us, then
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 71 
 
 will De Montbel wed another : thou wilt never 
 be his bride." 
 
 The words seemed to act like a spell upon 
 his daughter ; she started from her trance, and 
 raising her eyes, fixed them upon his dark 
 but softened lineaments, while she answered 
 with a firmness which he had little expected : 
 
 " Yes, I will do in all, dear father, as thou 
 hast desired." 
 
 The tone of her voice was deep and almost 
 hoarse, but La Vallee noticed it not amid the 
 tumult of delight with which he listened to her 
 reply. 
 
 " What ! in all, didst thou say ? in all ?" he 
 exclaimed in breathless eagerness. 
 
 " In all, dear father," returned Estelle, with 
 the same apparent calmness as before. 
 
 " Now, Heaven bless thee, my own Estelle !" 
 cried the Count in raptures ; " still art thou 
 well worthy of all the love which is felt for thee 
 by thy fond, thy idolizing father !" 
 
 Estelle answered not, nor returned the pres-
 
 72 CHANTILLY. 
 
 sure of his hand, but remained still on her 
 knees, silent and motionless, beside him. The 
 Count raised her ; he well knew that this seem- 
 ing firmness was but the effect of overstrained 
 emotion ; and, with subtle policy, resolved she 
 should depart while it yet lasted, that he might 
 not witness the first burst of anguish when re- 
 collection returned, and the promise she had 
 given, so contrary to her mild character and 
 gentle disposition, recurred with all its horror 
 to her mind. 
 
 " Now, hie thee to thy chamber, love," said 
 he : " to-morrow thou shalt repair to Jacque- 
 line ; but now, speed to thy rest, thou art agi- 
 tated and weary. Seek not thy mother to- 
 night ; and, above all, be not seen of that busy 
 meddling Taquine, who, were she once to see 
 that thou hadst been weeping, would not leave 
 thee, till she had drawn from thee the cause of 
 thy sorrow." 
 
 Estelle, still in silence, prepared to obey the 
 Count's injunction, but she appeared unable to
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 73 
 
 walk without support, and he therefore led 
 her from the room, dreading lest her long sup- 
 pressed agitation might burst forth before she 
 could gain her apartment, and thus afford 
 cause of wonder and speculation to the domes- 
 tics of the chateau. He would have been 
 pleased had she but given the slightest token 
 that she was sensible of all the kind expressions 
 of endearment with which he endeavoured to 
 soothe her in their way to the chamber ; but 
 she appeared scarcely conscious of external ob- 
 jects, and although a deep hectic flush had suc- 
 ceeded to the paleness of her cheek, her counte- 
 nance had undergone no other change ; and 
 still insensible to her father's caresses, she suf- 
 fered him to close the door and depart without 
 betraying the least sign of consciousness. 
 
 It was not until the Count''s footsteps had 
 died away in the corridor, that Estelle first 
 moved from the spot where he had left her. 
 There was no light in the apartment, except 
 that afforded by the moonbeams, which streamed 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 CHANTILLY. 
 
 through the painted casement, towards which 
 she suddenly advanced, as if to gaze on the 
 landscape without. Her breathing was short 
 and thick, and she trembled violently; while 
 with hurried fingers she tore the scarf from 
 her throat, as though its removal would give 
 her relief. It was stained with the blood of 
 the hawk, which the young hunter had shot in 
 the forest. At another time, she would have 
 regarded the deep red spots as an evil omen ; 
 but now her mind was so full of the recollec- 
 tion of her present misery, that she cared too 
 little for the future to notice it. She leaned 
 her head against the gothic frame of the case- 
 ment. 
 
 " My fond father !" she exclaimed at length, 
 while an expression of withering scorn over- 
 spread her agitated features, " My idolizing 
 father ! who loveth me better than his life ! — 
 ha ! ha !" and she laughed hysterically ; — " he 
 has said in his heart, I alone can deceive, 
 and none else beside me! — Estelle is mine:
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 75 
 
 she will love at my bidding, and hate when I 
 command. She will for my sake betray an in- 
 nocent stranger to the scaiFold, that she may 
 riot in his possessions, and w^ed the man — 
 whom I despise beyond all upon earth !" 
 
 She gasped convulsively. " Ah, 'tis want of 
 air that chokes me thus!" she said, and flinging 
 back the casement with violence, and leaning 
 out, she suffered the chill night-blast to blow 
 upon her cheek. It was one of the cold nights 
 in the early part of spring ; a white sheet of 
 frost, rendered whiter by the moonlight, en- 
 veloped the budding trees and the greensward 
 of the park ; but Estelle shrank not from the 
 keen and cutting north breeze ; she fancied it 
 would bring relief to her burning brow, and 
 dispel the painful sense of suffocation she ex- 
 perienced. " 'Tis false !" again she murmur- 
 ed ; " my father loves me not. — No — no — 'tis 
 false — 'tis false! — for himself alone does he 
 feel the all-engrossing love which he feigns for 
 me. But I too can deceive, I too can play 
 E 2
 
 76 CHANTILLY. 
 
 a double part, and feign compliance when I 
 mean it not : never will I betray to death the 
 rightful heir of Avilly — may it be his once 
 more ! This is my most fervent prayer, since 
 to such condition is attached the chance — nay, 
 to me is it not a hope ? — that De Montbel may 
 wed another. To-morrow I will obey my 
 father, and seek out Jacqueline ; not to draw 
 from her the secret of Adhemar's retreat, but 
 to warn her of his danger." 
 
 This resolve appeared somewhat to soothe 
 her agitation ; she arose, closed the casement, 
 and continued to muse, until sorrow gradu- 
 ally succeeded to indignation, and she wept 
 in bitterness of spirit, unchecked and unre- 
 strained, over her disappointed hopes and chill- 
 ed affections. Until this hour Estelle had 
 loved, nay, almost idolized her father ; she 
 had hitherto regarded him as the model of all 
 human excellence. With those confiding feel- 
 ings so usual in persons of her timid nature, 
 she felt admiration for the very qualities which
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 77 
 
 she did not herself possess, — the boldness and 
 decision of his character, so unlike the gentle, 
 feminine weakness of her own ; with firm re- 
 liance on his keen-sighted and vigilant affection, 
 she had accepted her future husband at his 
 hands, nor once dared to question the fitness 
 of his choice. 
 
 " De Montbel is vain and frivolous," she 
 would often say, " but my father can judge 
 better than I of the man to whom he intrusts 
 my happiness. He who is himself so generous 
 and noble, cannot fail to discover honour and 
 faith in others."" 
 
 Such had once been her thoughts concerning 
 him, and in proportion to this love were now 
 the grief and disappointment she felt, when the 
 conviction of his utter selfishness forced itself 
 upon her mind. He could sacrifice her to 
 one whom he himself pronounced sordid and 
 worthless, for the sake of his own aggrandize- 
 ment ; but even this he would forego for the 
 sake of a mean and dastardly revenge. And
 
 78 CHANTILLY. 
 
 in all this struggle between grasping pride and 
 jealousy, her feelings were not considered ; she 
 was as nothing in her father's calculations. 
 This it was which harrowed up her soul ; and 
 that night she retired to rest with her mind 
 full of such bitter thoughts as she had never 
 before experienced. 
 
 It was early the next morning when she 
 arose, still weary, and unrefreshed from her 
 sleepless pillow. She felt unequal to the pain 
 of beholding her father: she knew that she 
 could as yet but ill support his scrutinizing 
 glance ; and fearing that her wan and haggard 
 looks would warn him how little faith could be 
 placed in her promises, she hastened to leave 
 the chateau, hoping that the Count might have 
 sought his study before she should return. 
 
 She walked slowly across the park to the 
 wood, and took the path which led to old 
 Jacqueline's cottage. The remembrance of the 
 young hunter crossed her mind, as she drew 
 near to the spot where she had met him on the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 79 
 
 previous evening. The marvellous skill he had 
 displayed in shooting the hawk — his noble and 
 gallant bearing — the glance of his proud, dark 
 eye — all rushed to her recollection, accom- 
 panied by a vague, undefined interest in his 
 fate, that even the opposite emotions by 
 which she had since been agitated, could not 
 entirely banish ; while the thought of his 
 danger, should he be discovered, in her father's 
 present state of irritation, caused her to 
 quicken her step. It was evident he knew 
 Jacqueline — he had visited her cottage ere 
 this ; and had he not yet taken his depar- 
 ture from Avilly, the old woman would find 
 means to warn him of the peril in which he 
 stood. As she entered the dark and narrow 
 pathway, by which she had escaped home- 
 ward, her heart beat somewhat faster than 
 before ; for the same loud rustling was heard 
 among the trees as had then preceded his ap- 
 proach. She paused to listen, and a faint 
 blush rose to her cheek, as she distinguished
 
 80 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the sound of footsteps advancing over the 
 crackling underwood. She doubted not that 
 it was the stranger concerning whom her 
 mind was occupied at the moment. She hesi- 
 tated for an instant, uncertain whether to re- 
 trace her steps or to await his presence, 
 again to renew her solemn entreaties that he 
 would fly, and not loiter to abide her fa- 
 ther's resentment. She paused, while the foot- 
 steps drew nearer. Presently she could hear 
 the short, thick breathing as of one who had 
 been running fast ; and the next moment, 
 with a surprise not unmingled with disap- 
 pointment, she beheld first the goodly cap 
 and pinners, and then the twinkling grey eyes 
 and rubicund nose of Mademoiselle Taquine, 
 elevated above the bushes. 
 
 " Ah ! what," she exclaimed, after stopping 
 to take breath, '' I have overtaken you at last ! 
 Why, truly, one would think you had bor- 
 rowed Fortune's wings ! Even by forcing my 
 way through the tangled coppice- wood, I verily
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 81 
 
 believe, had you not suddenly stopped, I 
 should have gained nothing for my pains but a 
 tattered kirtle." 
 
 She held up her arm, laughingly, to show 
 the rent in her sleeve, and again proceeded, 
 with infinite toil and difficulty, to exti'icate 
 herself from the few remaining brambles. Es- 
 telle prepared herself, with most heroic forti- 
 tude, to endure the volley of questions, sup- 
 positions, and wonderments which she knew 
 Taquine had in reserve; for nothing but the 
 discovery of some important secret, she was 
 well assured, could ever have tempted the 
 good lady to wander thus early from the cha- 
 teau, she being usually engaged at this hour 
 in watching and tormenting the domestics, and 
 prying with the greatest minuteness into all the 
 affairs of the household. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! I am free," said she, at 
 length, when, after much squeezing and push- 
 ing, she had succeeded in forcing an entrance 
 into the open path ; " and now, I hope I have 
 E 5
 
 82 CHANTILLY. 
 
 not toiled in vain. One gains much knowledge 
 by rising betimes. I once thought the Count, 
 your father, impenetrable ; but now 1 have 
 found out all his secrets ! — he-he ! Nay, look 
 not so alarmed : I warrant I can keep them, 
 at any rate, as well as he, who, lest he should 
 be tempted to tell them to others, unburthens 
 his mind by talking to himself!" 
 
 " Good Heavens ! Taquine, you have been 
 listening ! — what have you overheard ?" ex- 
 claimed Estelle, now really alarmed, and think- 
 ing of her conversation with her father on the 
 preceding evening. 
 
 '' Nay, nay," replied Taquine, " I have as 
 yet only heard the riddle ; it is to you I come 
 for the solution." 
 
 Estelle breathed more freely; but Taquine 
 gave her no time to reply, for she proceeded 
 to detail, with uncontrollable volubility, the 
 circumstances which had raised her curiosity. 
 
 " You know, Estelle, love," said she, " that 
 I have hitherto been considered the earliest
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 83 
 
 liser in the chateau ; but this morning, as I 
 descended the great staircase, I heard some one 
 already stirring in the gallery. Now, there 
 could not be the least harm in looking to see 
 who it could be ; so 1 peeped through the door, 
 which stood ajar, and judge of my surprise 
 on beholding the Count de la Yallee standing 
 at the open casement, and gazing intently to- 
 wards the forest. I knew him too well to 
 fancy that it was merely the beauties of a fine 
 spring morning which occupied his attention : 
 no, no, with all reverence be it spoken, he 
 cares no more for such beauties than I do 
 myself. Well, I stole gently in, and walked to 
 another window ; and, looking in the same 
 direction, I instantly perceived my little Es- 
 telle tripping through the park. I must con- 
 fess I was somewhat disappointed in my hopes 
 of having discovered a mystery ; for in the 
 country one often lacks food for conversation ; 
 even the Countess and myself are sometimes 
 at a loss. But alas ! there was nothing to
 
 84 CHANTILLY. 
 
 wonder at, to find a kind father engaged in 
 watching his darling child ; so I was just prepar- 
 ing to depart, to overlook the maids at their 
 churning, when suddenly I heard some one 
 speaking behind me— I turned — it was the Count 
 himself — only think, Estelle ! Your father, 
 so grave, so taciturn, talking to himself! Now 
 here, indeed, was matter for astonishment. 
 There could be no harm in trying to know 
 what he might have to say, so I stopped to 
 listen." 
 
 " What said he ? what said he T^ exclaimed 
 Estelle, forgetting in her eagerness the im- 
 propriety of encouraging this breach of con- 
 fidence. 
 
 " 'Twas all concerning you," returned Ta- 
 quine. ' My own Estelle !"* said he, fondly, 
 ^ how quickly she speeds on her errand ! may 
 Heaven prosper the undertaking she — ! ' " 
 
 " Ha ! said he so ?" exclaimed Estelle, almost 
 breathless — " then Heaven will surely heed 
 a father's benediction !"
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 85 
 
 '' But what hast thou undertaken, dear 
 Estelle ? it is that I would know,'"* interrupted 
 Taquine, whose curiosity seemed whetted by the 
 manner in which her communication had been 
 received ; "I can surely aid thee in any — " 
 
 " Nay, nay, what did he say more ?" ex- 
 claimed Estelle, impatiently. 
 
 '' Ah ! there lies the mystery !" returned 
 Taquine, drawing close to Estelle, and whis- 
 pering in her ear; "he gazed after you till 
 you had entered the forest : ' Ha !' said he, 
 ' she takes the very path ! I dared not hope 
 such quick obedience in one of her gentle 
 nature ; but verily it gives me joy : I find 
 she is, in heart and soul, a daughter of La 
 Vallee. I seem to have touched the right 
 chord in her bosom : the fear of losing Mont- 
 bel and Avilly has quickened her steps, even 
 on an errand of treachery !" And then he 
 laughed so loud, that I was enabled to traverse 
 the gallery, and gain the door, unheard and 
 unnoticed.''
 
 86 CHANTILLY. 
 
 *' My father knows me well," said Estelle, 
 gloomily, as her cheek assumed the hue of 
 death. " But said he nothing more, Taquine ?" 
 
 " I have told you all, Estelle; now you 
 will tell me your secret. What is the under- 
 taking of which your father spoke? Come, 
 now, and sit at the foot of yonder tree, and 
 I will give you my advice." 
 
 Estelle was too much agitated to answer, 
 and Taquine led her to the place she had 
 pointed out. It was the very tree against which 
 she had stood on the evening before, when 
 she met the hunter ; and the first object which 
 now greeted her sight, was the night-hawk, 
 which then caused her so much alarm, already 
 nailed against the trunk. She was startled — 
 it was a proof the young man still lingered 
 about the spot ; and, for the moment, her 
 own cares were absorbed in anxiety for his 
 safety. It was cruel to neglect the means of 
 preserving him from the fate which awaited 
 him, should he be discovered by her father^s
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 87 
 
 emissaries. A sudden thought struck her. 
 Taquine, although busy and inquisitive, was 
 tender-hearted; and she could rely with secu- 
 rity on her ready aid to apprise him of his 
 increasing danger. Taquine, moreover, could 
 act without suspicion ; her behaviour had long 
 ceased to be accounted strange by any within 
 the chateau, and no one now took notice of 
 her actions. She resolved to ask the good 
 lady's advice, and act as she should direct; 
 besides, it would serve to draw her attention 
 from more important matters, of which it was 
 of the utmost consequence that she should 
 know nothing. She accordingly seated herself 
 "at the foot of the tree, and was preparing to 
 reveal her secret, when, to her great astonish- 
 ment, instead of listening with all the eager- 
 ness of curiosity, Taquine suddenly started 
 up, and uttering a scream of joy, sprang for- 
 ward to the bushes opposite, through which 
 the hunter had passed, and which yet showed 
 traces of his progress.
 
 88 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " Gold, as I live !" she exclaimed, thrusting 
 her hand into the long grass, and, presently 
 drawing it forth, displayed to the astonished 
 eyes of Estelle a broad piece of some value. 
 The lucky finder almost shrieked with delight. 
 " Only see what a sum ! La bonne Sainte 
 Vierge ! was ever such good fortune ! The 
 first thing in the morning, too ! Depend on it, 
 I am destined to find a treasure ere noon, and 
 be a princess ere night. Look, Estelle ! broad 
 pieces, gold angels, and silver marks, without 
 number ! Oh, I must run home this instant, 
 to show my good luck to those envious maids 
 in the dairy. Besides, it will be goodly proof 
 of the advantage of early rising." 
 
 Thus saying, away she flew towards the 
 chateau, leaving Estelle to pursue her path 
 unmolested, in the enjoyment of her own re- 
 flections. It would be difficult to imagine the 
 tumult of emotions which assailed her hitherto 
 peaceful bosom. She rejoiced, but alas ! with 
 a bitter joy, in the certainty that her father
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 89 
 
 was so completely deceived; and she sped on 
 her errand with a surer prospect of success. 
 She would spare no endeavour to save Adlie- 
 mar : she would hurry on to Jacqueline, to bid 
 her seek out the young Ligueur also, and 
 warn him to depart, ere yet the Count should 
 discover that he was in the forest. Perhaps 
 he would yield to the entreaties of one who 
 was known, through all changes, to befriend 
 his party ; although he had despised those 
 which she herself had pressed upon him ; 
 nay, had even refused all assistance at her 
 hands ; for it needed but a moment's thought 
 to enable her to solve the mystery of the gold 
 that Taquine had found beneath the tree. She 
 knew it was the same which she had forced 
 upon the young man as a recompense for his 
 opportune aid : he had disdained to accept it ; 
 she resolved, nevertheless, that this should not 
 deter her from rendering him every assistance 
 in her power. 
 
 It was yet early, but Jacqueline rose with
 
 90 CHAN TILLY. 
 
 the sun to drive her herd through the forest 
 to the open plain, and must have returned to 
 her solitary labour at the cottage. All was 
 still and quiet as Estelle entered the nook 
 in which her lowly dwelling was situated. It 
 was a dark and lonely spot, whose solitude 
 was seldom broken by the gaily-attired pea- 
 sants of Avilly ; for Jacqueline was a lone and 
 melancholy woman, and one for whom the 
 society of the tattling commeres of the village 
 possessed no charm. Even the solitary woods- 
 man, whom chance might lead that way, would 
 pause amid his labour, to pity poor Jacqueline, 
 and wonder how she could ever make that 
 isolated cottage her abode. But Jacqueline 
 cared little for the good opinion of others ; she 
 sought no assistance ; she asked no pity ; she 
 had been born and bred in the solitude of the 
 forest, and pined not now for lack of company. 
 During the course of a long life she had been 
 attached to few, but these she had loved with 
 that all-enduring affection which knows no
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 91 
 
 change. Such had been her love for the Coun- 
 tess d'Espignac, that when that kind mistress 
 died, the heart of Jacqueline was buried in her 
 grave ; and still was Adhemar dearer than all 
 beside upon earth. She had rejoiced in his 
 prosperity ; she had exulted in his glory ; and 
 now that he was exiled and unhappy, she too 
 was wretched and desponding. 
 
 It was thus that Estelle had found her when 
 she arrived at Avilly. Prejudice had at first 
 rendered the old woman blind to the mild and 
 winning manners of the beautiful heiress ; but 
 time and perseverance effect much ; and she 
 herself, who once thought that all save Adhe- 
 mar were becoming hateful, would wonder 
 why she felt such pleasure in gazing on the 
 lovely features of Estelle, or why she took 
 such delight in repeating to her the legends of 
 her youth. She was surprised that she felt no 
 dread that the lovely heiress of La Vallee 
 would betray her, for her attachment to the 
 name of d'Espignac ; she would marvel why
 
 92 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the days seemed longer, and more dull, if she 
 came not, while the hours flew so swiftly by 
 when the blooming maiden was at her side. 
 But Jacqueline was too old long to deceive her- 
 self; and she was soon sensible of the real 
 truth, that Estelle de la Vallee now claimed a 
 portion of that love which had hitherto been 
 solely engrossed by Adhemar. 
 
 " I too am false,'"* said she to herself one day, 
 as she sighed to detect herself watching with 
 eagerness the path by which Estelle usually 
 arrived at the cottage ; " I too am false ! I love 
 this damsel although her name be La Vallee, 
 and her father has usurped the place of him 
 whose ancestors have dwelt for ages honoured 
 and beloved at Avilly. But she is gentle and 
 affectionate, and none could choose but love 
 her. Even as Melanie d'Espignac, is she kind 
 and tender-hearted ; even like her, will she 
 weep at the bare recital of sorrow, although 
 the sufferer may have been an enemy.*' 
 
 It was thus that, beguiling herself with this
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 93 
 
 fancied resemblance, she had suffered the high- 
 born Estelle to twine around her heart, and 
 gradually to insinuate herself into her tenderest 
 affections. 
 
 As she drew near to the cabin of the ve- 
 nerable forester, Estelle was somewhat sur- 
 prised to remark that the door was closed, 
 while no sign indicative of labour was yet 
 observable. Perhaps it might be that she had 
 never been in the habit of seeking Jacque- 
 line at this early hour ; but never before had 
 she been so forcibly impressed with the deep 
 solitude of the place, rendered more striking 
 by the contrast which it afforded to the light 
 and cheerfulness of the path which she had just 
 quitted, where every thing teemed with the 
 life and freshness of morning, where the dew- 
 drops glittered on the trembling boughs in 
 the sunbeams, and myriads of birds, awak- 
 ing from their slumbers, made the thickets 
 re-echo with their merry warblings. But here 
 no sound greeted the ear, save the gentle
 
 94 CHANTILLY. 
 
 murmur of the brook, and the soft sighing of 
 the wind amid the trees. Tt seemed as if all 
 nature were still buried in repose, or that every 
 thing possessing life had abandoned the spot, 
 and sought the genial warmth of the more open 
 glades. 
 
 At first she thought that Jacqueline was 
 absent with the flock, and would soon return. 
 But she was quickly undeceived ; for scarcely 
 had she tarried a moment in uncertainty whether 
 to go or remain, when the lowing of a cow, pro- 
 ceeding from one of the tenements at the back 
 of the cottage, struck her with surprise. It 
 alarmed her, for she knew that nothing, ex- 
 cept illness, could ever cause the old woman to 
 neglect her charge- She advanced slowly, and 
 with some trepidation : all was still silent ; 
 but a vein of blue smoke issuing from the chim- 
 ney, proved that some one was stirring within. 
 She laid her hand upon the latch, it was se- 
 cured on the inside, and yielded not to her en- 
 deavours to raise it. Jacqueline, who had been
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 95 
 
 used to flj as soon as she heard the step of her 
 youthful friend, now apparently heard it not, 
 for the door still remained unopened, although 
 Estelle could distinguish a busy whispering, as 
 of voices engaged in earnest debate ; and once, 
 too, she fancied the low suppressed growl of a 
 mastiff mingled its angry tones with those 
 of the speakers. 
 
 She tapped gently, but started in dismay, 
 for a loud and savage yell burst from the 
 watchful animal within, who springing for- 
 ward, scratched at the door in wild ungoverned 
 fury. At the same moment the curtain which 
 hung before the little casement, was drawn 
 aside, and a face, but not that of Jacqueline, 
 was perceptible for an instant amid the vine- 
 leaves, as of one endeavouring to catch a 
 glimpse of the intruder. The glance, all tran- 
 sient as it was, was apparently satisfactory, 
 for when the gazer withdrew, the heavy clank 
 of Jacqueline's sabots was heard approach- 
 ing the door. It was quickly opened, and
 
 96 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the old woman herself, whose countenance 
 beamed with delight, kindly bade her welcome. 
 Estelle drew back, for the hound, although 
 unnoticed by Jacqueline, still continued his 
 loud and furious demonstrations of rage at sight 
 of a stranger, and she had not courage to at- 
 tempt to pass him. 
 
 " Silence, good Perceforet,'' said a voice 
 from within, " Peace ! it is a friend r 
 
 In an instant the obedient animal, although 
 occasionally whining, as if not wholly pacified, 
 retired from the door and laid down upon the 
 hearth. And yet Estelle advanced not; she 
 blushed and trembled, and still remained upon 
 the threshold ; for even in this short sentence 
 she recognised the low, soft tones of the young 
 hunter ; the very same which had sunk so 
 deeply into her heart on the evening before, 
 and which she had since fancied would never 
 be effaced from her memory. 
 
 " There is a stranger within," said she in a 
 whisper to Jacqueline, " I will return anon ;
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 97 
 
 my errand is of importance, 'tis concerning 
 Adhemar d'Espignac, and must meet no ear 
 but thine/' 
 
 " Ah !'' exclaimed the old woman, *•' Estelle 
 de la Vallee is surely some guardian angel ; 
 it is Providence has sent you here, — I pray you 
 depart not : the stranger within is a tried friend 
 and companion in arms of the young Count ; 
 of all the world he is the most worthy to be 
 informed of any thing concerning our own 
 Adhemar."" 
 
 She took Estelle by the hand as she spoke, 
 and led her in, and it was not without some 
 slight degree of embarrassment that the latter 
 found herself again face to face with the hun- 
 ter. He was seated on Jacqueline's low pallet, 
 with his arm thrown negligently across the 
 chair from which she had just risen. He started 
 to his feet in evident surprise as Estelle en- 
 tered, and, bowing coldly, took up his hat, 
 and whistled to his dog, as if about to depart : 
 but Jacqueline interposed : " Nay, nay," said 
 VOL. I. P
 
 98 CHANTILLY. 
 
 she, " this is not a time to take leave ; thou 
 must tarry awhile. This fair and kind lady 
 is Mademoiselle de la Vallce, of whom thou 
 wert just now questioning me so closely." 
 
 The youth appeared confused ; he bit his 
 lip and coloured deeply, at the same time 
 glancing reproachfully at Jacqueline, who, 
 however, totally unconscious of having said 
 any thing amiss, continued, in a louder key, 
 and with a significant look, ••' And, hearest thou, 
 Julian? it is kindly interest in the fate of Adhe- 
 mar which has brought her hither.'"* 
 
 The youth raised his eyes in astonishment to 
 Estelle ; she, too, stood blushing and abashed, 
 nor once dared to look up, fearing to meet 
 his gaze. The colour which had tinged his 
 cheek suddenly gave place to the most dead- 
 ly paleness, and, to hide his agitation, he 
 sprang forward with eager, busy politeness, to 
 reach the low jointed stool which stood in the 
 chimney corner, and was the only seat in the 
 apartment, save the venerable bergere of the 
 hostess. He placed it for Estelle, and again
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 99 
 
 sat down on the edge of the humble couch from 
 which he had risen on her entrance. 
 
 There was a silence of a few moments, du- 
 ring which, apparently forgetful of all beside, 
 Jacqueline leaned back in her chair to gaze on 
 the stranger. A fond smile stole to her lip, as 
 her eye wandered with intense delight over his 
 manly features. But soon the smile vanished ; 
 she sighed deeply, and, turning hastily aside, 
 as if recollection had suddenly returned, said 
 to Estelle, " The name of this young cavalier 
 is Julian TEveque ; he is one of the earliest 
 friends of Adhemar, and loves him as a brother. 
 He has left the camp to seek Avilly, hoping 
 that here at least he should obtain tidings of his 
 comrade ; but, alas ! few are the followers of 
 De Guise who dare venture on their own es- 
 tates, except in disguise.'' 
 
 " Hush, good mother I" said the youth, 
 gently laying his hand on the old woman's 
 arm, " such allusions may seem uncourteous to 
 Mademoiselle de la Vallee." 
 F 2
 
 100 CHANTILLY. 
 
 '' Ha ! 1 see thou knowest her not, Julian,''^ 
 she whispered ; " in truth, how shouldst thou 
 know all the love and tenderness that dwell 
 within her generous soul ! Is it not enough, 
 unbeliever, that her errand even now concerns 
 one whose name is d'Espignac P*" Then again 
 addressing Estelle, she continued, "Julian is 
 quite a stranger here, Mademoiselle ; it is but 
 an hour ago that he arrived. He knows not 
 Avillj yet, but he is a sportsman, and I have 
 promised him such goodly sport in our forest, 
 that I warrant me he will be in no hurry to 
 depart." 
 
 Years had somewhat dimmed old Jacque- 
 line's sight, or she could not have failed to 
 observe the double embarrassment to which her 
 remark had given rise. It was evident to Es- 
 telle, that although she had formed the subject 
 of conversation before she entered, — and she 
 could not help blushing at the thought, — the 
 young man had kept her interview with him in 
 the forest a profound secret. She herself told
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 101 
 
 it not ; she would have deemed it the height of 
 imprudence once to revert to it in his presence ; 
 and it was thus that a treacherous, involuntary 
 confidence, even to the exclusion of their mutual 
 friend, was established between them, which 
 w^as of more effect in breaking through the 
 barrier of reserve, behind which the youth had 
 seemed resolved to entrench himself, than whole 
 months of constant intercourse. He spoke not, 
 but Estelle, with all a woman's quick percep- 
 tion, was sensible that her own continued silence 
 had dispelled the frow^n which had at first ga- 
 thered on his brow, and when next her eye met 
 his, she could not mistake the beaming glance 
 which he directed towards her. She was, how- 
 ever, soon interrupted in her musing by the 
 cottager, whose heart seemed so full of Julian, 
 that for once she appeared to have forgotten 
 Estelle, and, what was yet more astonishing, 
 the subject of her visit. " Yes, I trust thou 
 wilt tarry with us long, Julian," she said, taking 
 his hand, and again indulging in a long ardent
 
 102 CHANTILLY. 
 
 gaze of affection. She pointed to the hat and 
 plumes which lay at his feet, and continued, 
 " It is but doffing yonder badge of rebellion, 
 as the Royalists falsely call the Ligueur's hat, 
 albeit it has oftentimes covered heads far wiser 
 than their own, — and for the rest there is little 
 danger. In the hunter's garb all is safe at 
 Avilly.^' 
 
 " Oh no ! do not deceive him, good Jacque- 
 line,'' interrupted Estelle, colouring with agi- 
 tation, " do not deceive him. Avilly is not the 
 place where, in any dress, a Ligueur may 
 dwell in safety. Thinkest thou, when I came, 
 at this early hour, to speak of the Count 
 d'Espignac, that I came the messenger of wel- 
 come tidings ? Alas ! 'twas but to warn thee 
 of his danger ! If Monsieur I'Eveque be a 
 true friend, he should rejoice that he has not 
 found him. It is well he is fhus concealed. 
 Pray Heaven his enemies may meet with no 
 better fortune ! This have I to say : they are 
 again upon his track, and will hunt him to
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 103 
 
 the death, if there be no one at hand to ap- 
 prise him of his peril.'' 
 
 The dark eye of Julian flashed fire I He 
 started ; and as if by an involuntary motion 
 snatched up the rifle which stood against the 
 waU. 
 
 The brow of old Jacqueline was pale as 
 marble. The words of Estelle seemed sud- 
 denly to ha\e checked that exuberance of jov 
 in which she had been indulonno:, and nothingr 
 but fear and agitation were now imprinted on 
 her countenance. She clasped her hands, and 
 turned to Julian. 
 
 *' Fly!" she said, in tones of despair; •' flv, 
 my son. Even here there is no peace for thee. 
 Tarry not, but depart, while yet there is a 
 chance of safety."^ 
 
 " Nay, nay ;" said Estelle, interposing ; *' it 
 is not Monsieur TEveque who is in danger : I 
 named not him, Jacqueline. It is the young 
 Count Adhemar. Alas ! if he were here, thou 
 wouldst do well to bid him fly. His danger is
 
 104 CHANTILLY. 
 
 imminent, and might well alarm even a less 
 fond heart than thine. Already have they re- 
 solved to search through glade and glen round 
 Aviliy, still hoping to discover him. He has 
 many and bitter foes ; and right sure am I 
 that he would not escape them long, were 
 he to make this his abode." 
 
 Jacqueline again turned from Estelle to the 
 hunter, who stood seemingly unmoved, but 
 listening with profound attention. 
 
 " Wilt thou hear this, and linger yet ?" she 
 said, in a tone of intense feeling ; " go forth, 
 again, my son ! Seek safety where thou hast 
 ever found it, amid the turmoil and dangers 
 of the camp. Alas ! alas ! we have met but 
 for a moment, and hope shone bright the 
 while ; we must now part in sorrow, and per- 
 chance for ever ! Years have fallen heavily 
 on my withered frame since last I saw thee, 
 standing at my knee a blooming boy. Thou 
 hast returned, in the flower and the pride of 
 thy youth ; while I alas ! am hurrying to the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 105 
 
 grave : and when thou comest again, thou wilt 
 find a stranger sitting at my hearth. But go, 
 my son ! the sight of thee, even for so short a 
 space, has caused my old heart to throb as once 
 'twas wont, ere joy became a stranger to it ; 
 and now, I shall die content !" 
 
 She bent her head low on her bosom as she 
 concluded, and the tears fell thick and fast 
 upon her uplifted hands. Estelle sobbed, she 
 knew not why ; and the hunter gazed at his 
 aged friend in mingled love and admiration. 
 He spoke not, he shed no tear, but he hastily 
 flung back the dark locks from his pallid brow, 
 and turned aside, as if not daring to take ano- 
 ther glance. He trembled with agitation, and 
 when he moved, on the spot where he had 
 stood, the brittle tiles of the cottage floor 
 had crumbled beneath his iron-bound heel ! 
 
 But Jacqueline soon recovered her compo- 
 sure ; for in old age, as in early youth, violent 
 emotions are but of short duration. She dried 
 her tears, and arose. 
 
 F 5
 
 106 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " We must not waste the precious moments 
 in idle grief,'' she said. " Thou must depart, 
 and instantly. A\illy is not, as it once was, a 
 refuge for the weary and persecuted ; it is no 
 resting-place for thee, and thou must quit it 
 without delay." 
 
 " Never !" said the stranger in a firm voice, 
 as the colour again mounted to his cheek, and 
 his eye rekindled, bright and glittering as be- 
 fore ; " I leave this place no more ! Through 
 perils and dangers, through whole hosts of 
 enemies, and in disguise, have I sought it ; and 
 here will I remain till my destiny be accom- 
 plished ! Here, if it so please Heaven, will I 
 meet my fate. But mark you, not without 
 a struggle, ay, desperate and deadly ! Like 
 the boar which, when hunted to his last re- 
 fuge, can yet turn upon his enemies: so, if I 
 fall, I will not fall unrevenged !" 
 
 A dark cloud passed over his countenance as 
 he significantly touched the trigger of his rifle. 
 It clicked beneath the pressure of his finger,
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 107 
 
 and, roused by the sound he so well knew, old 
 Perceforet rose growling from the hearth, and 
 ran towards his master. But the hunter ap- 
 peared not to notice the faithful animal, al- 
 though he whined fondly, and jumped up to 
 lick his hand. Jacqueline, too, was silent, ap- 
 parently lost in astonishment at the young 
 man's determination ; but Estelle, still unable 
 to account for this total forgetfulness of Ad- 
 hemar, ventured to affirm that it was Adhemar 
 alone who had reason to be alarmed ; he alone 
 had enemies; but that Monsieur TEveque 
 would do well to depart, as no Ligueur would 
 now be safe in the forest, for any must find it 
 difficult to elude the vigilance of the spies sent 
 in quest of the young Count. 
 
 Her words seemed again to arouse the youth's 
 attention, and, for the first time during this in- 
 terview, he addressed her. " You are kind, 
 Mademoiselle," said he bitterly, " passing kind 
 thus to take an interest in the fate of Adhemar. 
 Where enemies are many, friends are few ;
 
 108 CHANTILLY. 
 
 and he owes you many thanks for such gene- 
 rous exertion to turn aside his evil destiny. But 
 it must not be — he must meet it like a man, 
 whatever it be. Adhemar is the last of his 
 race ; with him the name of d'Espignac sinks 
 into oblivion, and he must not be found want- 
 ing in that bold daring by which his ancestors 
 raised and maintained it so long among the 
 highest of the land. Neither will he perish 
 and leave no record of his death. He has long 
 been seeking renown in fighting the battles of 
 others ; here will he make his last stand, and 
 fight his own." 
 
 He stamped his foot vehemently, while his 
 lip quivered, and his brow grew darker. 
 
 " Oh, say not so !'' exclaimed Estelle, in evi- 
 dent distress ; " I pray you say not here. You 
 know not his danger. He has an enemy, so 
 terrible, that — '' 
 
 " He has, he has — I know it well," inter- 
 rupted the hunter, tossing his arm as if in de- 
 fiance, while an expression of mingled scorn and
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 109 
 
 fierce defiance overspread his features ; " and 
 perhaps,"" he continued, with a bitter sneer, 
 " you can tell me, Mademoiselle, who is that 
 enemy ?" 
 
 Estelle was unprepared for the question ; — it 
 went to her very soul. " It matters not," she 
 replied, with something of pride in her man- 
 ner, although her voice faltered, — " it matters 
 not ; in truth I — I scarce knew myself of 
 whom I meant to speak ; but it is already 
 suspected that Jacqueline is acquainted with 
 his retreat ; and knowing the love she has ever 
 borne him, I came but for his sake, that, if he 
 were really here, she might warn him betimes 
 of the sore peril in which he would stand should 
 he be seen near the chateau — near — near Chan- 
 tilly, I should have said — as the Court is com- 
 ing quickly; and — and he cannot fail to have 
 some enemy among the train of knights and 
 nobles by which the King and Henry of Na- 
 varre will be accompanied.'" 
 
 Estelle was yet but a novice in the art of
 
 110 CHANTILLY. 
 
 dissembling, and her painful embarassment was 
 so visible that it created something like a feel- 
 ing of regret in the bosom of Julian, as his 
 conscience whispered that he had been guilty 
 of injustice and ingratitude. He would will- 
 ingly now have made amends, but in his turn 
 he was confused, and sought in vain to remove 
 the maiden''s evident agitation. Jacqueline for- 
 tunately at that moment came to his assistance. 
 " You are right, sweet lady," she said ; " Ad- 
 hemar cannot fail to have bitter enemies at 
 Court; his old comrades, and even Guillaume 
 Rose, who has ever been to him as a father, 
 have now all turned against him ! You say 
 truly, he has indeed no friends — he is the out- 
 cast of all parties; — all are now become his 
 enemies." 
 
 But, while the old woman had been speaking, 
 the momentary awe had passed away from Es- 
 telle''s mind, and she scorned further subterfuge. 
 Her meek spirit rose at the thought of the 
 fierce sarcastic tone in which the hunter had
 
 d'espignac, a tale. Ill 
 
 addressed her. She felt indignant with herself 
 that she should have been betrayed into the 
 slightest demonstration of fear at his haughty 
 manner. She turned at once to Jacqueline, 
 nor took further notice of her companion. 
 She could not but perceive that the latter was 
 acquainted with the situation in which her 
 father stood vfith regard to Adhemar, and was 
 resolved he should not imagine that she had 
 been intimidated by his frown. How little was 
 she aware, when she spoke, that it was her 
 father's pride which caused her azure eye to 
 flash, and the roseate tint of her soft cheek to 
 deepen. 
 
 " You are deceived, dear Jacqueline," said 
 she, proudly and deliberately, that the youth 
 might hear with distinctness each word that 
 fell from her lips. " Thou hast a mother's 
 love for the young Count, and it is not fitting 
 thou shouldst be kept in ignorance of any 
 thing concerning him. Know then, that let 
 the Court be where it may, his danger is still
 
 112 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the same at Avilly. His enemy will ever be 
 nigh at hand ; and that enemy is, the Count 
 de la Vall6e, my father !" 
 
 She paused, but neither of her hearers ven- 
 tured to utter a word. Jacqueline could but 
 listen in astonishment, while the face of the 
 young stranger reddened to scarlet ; but she 
 appeared not to heed him, and continued 
 hastily — 
 
 '' Now blame me not if evil should betide 
 him. I have said, perhaps, more than may 
 seem prudent ; but thou, Jacqueline, hast often- 
 times told me, that Providence has many ways 
 of raising up friends to the injured and perse- 
 cuted ; and even now, thou seest Estelle de la 
 Vallee eager to rescue from ruin Adhemar 
 d'Espignac."'' 
 
 She turned as she concluded, and cast, per- 
 haps, an involuntary glance at the hunter. He 
 appeared deeply absorbed in thought, for he 
 stood leaning against the low breastwork of the 
 chimney, his head bent low, as if gazing upon
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 113 
 
 the dying embers on the hearth. The maiden's 
 courage was failing fast. She feared, lest by 
 remaining longer, it would abandon her altoge- 
 ther, and, therefore, hurriedly bidding fare- 
 well to Jacqueline, she prepared to depart. 
 The noise of her footsteps seemed to startle 
 the youth from his reverie, and he hastily 
 pressed forward to open the door. Estelle 
 raised her eyes to thank him. For an instant 
 her glance met his. She started at the altered 
 expression of his countenance. The fire which 
 had so lately flashed from his proud dark eye 
 was quenched, and a tear was seen to glisten 
 beneath the jetty lashes; but the next moment 
 he dashed it indignantly away, and when the 
 receding form of the lovely maiden was lost to 
 sight, he turned again to Jacqueline, calm and 
 composed as before. 
 
 The next day Estelle again sought the cot- 
 tage by her father's desire ; and the next, and 
 the next. Still were the hunter and his dog 
 found by old Jacqueline's side. Day after day
 
 114 CHANTILLY. 
 
 she left her proud home and hurried to the 
 lonely cabin of the vachere, until at length she 
 sought it in gladness, and left it with regret. 
 Jacqueline no longer tarried alone to watch 
 her coming. She was no longer the only 
 one who welcomed her with joy and — But 
 why detail what the reader must have anti- 
 cipated ere this? Long, long before the for- 
 est had yielded tlie vernal tints of spring to 
 the golden hues of summer, Estelle de la Val- 
 lee loved the dark-eyed stranger.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 115 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 *' Love in the tempest most alive, 
 
 Hath ever held that pearl the best 
 He finds beneath the stormiest water." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 More than three months now elapsed in this 
 manner, each succeeding hour bringing in- 
 crease of hope and happiness to Estelle. The 
 Count de la Vallee had been summoned to 
 the Court, to aid by his counsels the crafty 
 advisers of Henry de Valois, who were fully 
 prepared to take every advantage of the open, 
 unsuspecting nature of the young King of 
 Navarre, ere he ventured to conclude the 
 treaty. 
 
 In taking leave of his daughter, the Count 
 had strictly charged her not to omit her daily
 
 116 CHANTILLY. 
 
 visit to the cottage, exhorting her to patience, 
 and encouraging her to hope that, ere long, the 
 discovery of Adhemar's retreat would reward 
 their perseverance. 
 
 It is needless to say that his commands were 
 obeyed ; and it was thus that whole days were 
 spent in that calm deceitful intercourse, in 
 which love has so often glided into the youth- 
 ful bosom unknown and unawares. Power, 
 greatness, La Yallee, J)e Montbel, all were 
 alike forgotten by Estelle, as seated at old 
 Jacqueline"*s hearth, she listened to the stirring 
 details of the battles and deadly strife, the 
 proud triumphs and sad reverses of the Ligue, 
 which the hunter would relate for her amuse- 
 ment, nor once fancied that love for the nar- 
 rator mingled with the interest which she felt 
 in the recital. 
 
 It was, perhaps, well for his cause, that all this 
 time Julian breathed not one word, nor looked 
 one glance of love. It might have alarmed the 
 timid maiden, and have caused her to examine 
 betimes into her own feelings. But no, still
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 117 
 
 reserved in his manner, he suffered no sign 
 to escape him, to betray the struggle which 
 was already beginning to tear his proud heart 
 asunder. Unlike Estelle, he had not deceiv- 
 ed himself for an instant. He w^ell knew 
 what power had quelled the fierceness of 
 his tone when he now addressed her, so un- 
 like what he had at first assumed. Young 
 as he was, he possessed much of that stern 
 unyielding pride w^hich taught him to scorn 
 disguise, even with himself; and it was not 
 long before he began to reflect, sometimes with 
 a smile, at others with a sigh, that, had he met 
 Estelle amid the gaieties of the Court, her 
 beauty and innocence would have extorted ad- 
 miration, and perhaps nothing more ; but he 
 had met her in the lonely solitude of the forest 
 — he had heard her soft voice falter — he had 
 seen her blue eye glisten at the mention of 
 Adhemar ! and, with a gush of tenderness and 
 gratitude, an overflow of those gentler feelings 
 which had so long lain dormant in his bosom, 
 he owned to himself that he loved her.
 
 118 CHANTILLY. 
 
 It was thus that the time passed away until 
 the Count's return. Julian did not trust him- 
 self to look beyond the present : the future 
 was to him a dreary void. In his more gloomy 
 moments, he would fancy that Estelle had 
 been sent, like some beauteous but evil spirit, 
 to hurry him more quickly to despair. It 
 needed but the pangs of hopeless love to fill up 
 the measure of his darkening destiny. Even 
 these had not been withheld, even these he had 
 found at last, when he fondly thought that 
 all the golden dreams of youth and hope had 
 long passed away, and given place to sterner 
 thoughts — retribution and revenge ! And yet 
 there were times, when the day had declined, 
 and Estelle had departed, that, alone with 
 Jacqueline, he would unburthen to her all his 
 sorrows, purposely to hear, again and again, 
 those consolations with which she endeavoured 
 to soothe him, and with which he was never 
 wearied. She encouraged him to hope — she 
 bade him not despair: she told him that the 
 ways of Providence were inscrutable ; that
 
 d"espignac, a tale. 119 
 
 there might be the very happiness in store for 
 him which he had so long despised ; and Julian 
 was young, and such is the buoyant nature of 
 the youthful heart, however seared and blighted, 
 that even he, homeless and friendless, a wan- 
 derer and an outlaw, w^ould suifer hope again 
 to visit his bosom, and cheat him with fond 
 illusions. But the next moment, indignant to 
 be thus beguiled, the idle dream was chased 
 away, and again, brooding over his wrongs, 
 again would he swear to live but for revenge ! 
 
 The Court had already been some time ex- 
 pected at Chantilly, and all were deeply en- 
 gaged in extensive preparations for the recep- 
 tion of the King. Estelle had long ago, meek- 
 ly and distantly, hinted to the hunter the 
 danger in which he placed himself by remain- 
 ing thus near the palace; but he had smiled 
 at her fears, and she urged him no farther. 
 The name of Adhemar was breathed no more. 
 She remembered, with fear and trembling, the 
 darkening frown of Julian, and would not for 
 worlds have called it forth again; and thus.
 
 120 CHANTILLY. 
 
 as if by mutual consent, he seemed to be for- 
 gotten by all. 
 
 One warm and sunny afternoon the little 
 trio were seated in the garden at the back of 
 Jacqueline's cottage. Estelle and the hunter 
 had, as if unconsciously, taken their station 
 side by side beneath the shade of a spread- 
 ing hawthorn, whose blossoms, moved by each 
 breath of a gentle wind, fell in showers over 
 their heads, scattering rich perfume around ; 
 while Jacqueline, busy at her wheel, sat enjoy- 
 ing the genial warmth of the sunbeams at some 
 little distance. 
 
 The day had been one of tumultuous delight 
 to Estelle; for Julian had appeared, for once, 
 to have laid aside his habitual melancholy, 
 conversing with more freedom, and upon gayer 
 topics than usual. His stories, which had ever 
 been of the storni}^ battle and wary ambush, 
 now turned upon the fun and frolic of the Court 
 — the scenes of mirth which he had witnessed 
 when page to the Duke de Guise — the mis-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 121 
 
 chievous pranks and well-laid stratagems to 
 escape detection, by which himself and his 
 boyish associates had disarmed the anger and 
 overturned the gravity of the wisest greybeards. 
 The light heart of Estelle rebounded with joy, 
 and now and then the soft deep tones of the 
 speaker were interrupted by her bursts of inno- 
 cent merriment; and although he scarcely smiled 
 himself, yet she laughed the more, because it 
 evidently gave him pleasure to see her happy. 
 
 Lulled by the warmth and the stillness, Jac- 
 queline had dropped into a gentle slumber ; 
 and, as if fearing to disturb her repose, the 
 voice of Julian had gradually sunk to a 
 whisper. 
 
 " How calm and quiet is the forest," said he 
 after maintaining silence for a few moments ; 
 and seeming to enjoy the scene, he paused 
 to watch the gambols of Perceforet, who 
 was chasing in wild glee any stray bird or but- 
 terfly that chanced to light amid the flowers. 
 " And yet," he continued, more thoughtfully, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 CHA^NTILLY. 
 
 with a slight return of that bitterness with 
 which he always spoke, " even here, as in 
 crowded cities, there can dwell injustice and 
 oppression. Ay — and crushed spirits and 
 broken hearts too — even they are not ex- 
 cluded." 
 
 " Nay, Monsieur TEveque, are we not some- 
 what too near Chantilly to expect it other- 
 wise?" said Estelle. ''But — " and she hesi- 
 tated, " there are yet many parts of the wood 
 where injustice has not yet penetrated, and 
 where a broken heart may still find rest from 
 its sufferings." 
 
 She paused, and looked anxiously in his 
 countenance, in fear of his frown. But no, 
 none was there. The glance was kind which 
 he directed towards her, and she added more 
 earnestly, '' Now, is it prudent for one who 
 loves De Guise, to make his home thus near 
 Chantilly.?" 
 
 She pointed to the^cottage, and said no more. 
 But the hunter appeared to take her warn-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 123 
 
 ing kindly : " Think you I would involve my 
 aged friend, Jacqueline, in the ruin that till 
 lately I had cause to think must of a certainty 
 be mine ? No ; yonder cottage is not my 
 abode, INIademoiselle ; it is deep amid the 
 dark shades of the forest. Fear not — I know 
 each path of these solitary woods, and my re- 
 treat has been well chosen." 
 
 " Ah, then ! how falsely did Jacqueline 
 speak, when she said you were a stranger at 
 Avilly,'" said Estelle, smiling so bewitchingly 
 as she spoke, that Julian was fain to turn 
 aside, fearing to betray his feelings. 
 
 " We must forgive the pious fraud," he 
 returned ; " she knew I was a Ligueur, and 
 moreover stood in greater danger than any be- 
 sides ; for it was not the Ligue I loved, but 
 
 De Guise ; and when he died, I flew to But 
 
 I wander — Jacqueline knew my peril, and little 
 dreaming that it was to Mademoiselle de la 
 Vallee herself she owed my visit, she deemed her 
 little subterfuge the very masterpiece of policy. 
 G 2
 
 124 CHANTILLY. 
 
 I had not told — in short, I had not time to tell, 
 whose kindly information led me to her cot- 
 tage ; for verily, had you not said she yet 
 remembered Adhemar, I might have hesitated 
 But now I love this humble cabin as though it 
 were indeed my home. I leave it not till night- 
 fall, and return with renewed delight at dawn, 
 because — because" — he appeared confused. 
 The heart of the maiden beat wildly ; she trem- 
 bled violently, she knew not wherefore, and 
 awaited eagerly, between hope and fear, the 
 conclusion of his sentence. But he spoke not 
 again till he had recovered composure ; and 
 almost indignant with himself, he shook off the 
 momentary weakness, and continued hastily, 
 *' Because Jacqueline is the only friend left to 
 Adh6mar here on his own estate, where all had 
 once been friends and followers, and because 
 she alone remembers him with love, when all 
 else have forgotten him !" 
 
 He paused, and as if to cover his agitation, 
 he had drawn down a bough of the hawthorn
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 125 
 
 beneath which they were seated, and while 
 assiduously plucking the fragrant blossoms, 
 he resumed. 
 
 " But now, thank Heaven ! hope has 
 dawned at last ; and yet it cheers not now my 
 heart as it once did. It comes ere yet the 
 remembrance of long-continued grief has passed 
 away ; and like its emblem, this silvery flower, 
 which, when once nipped by the chill north 
 breeze, the sun has no longer power to revive ; 
 so is hope for ever chilled and crushed in the 
 bosom by the swift return of adversity." 
 
 His brow was saddened, and Estelle began 
 to fear that he would at length abandon him- 
 self to his habitual melancholy ; when sudden- 
 ly the branch which he had been holding flew 
 back with an elastic rebound, leaving a whole 
 cluster of the flowers in his hand. He turned 
 again to Estelle, and resumed with a kind of 
 reckless gaiety, " And yet, in spite of all 
 this, who has not clung to hope, though oft 
 and oft deceived ? Who loves not the flower-
 
 126 CHAMTILLY. 
 
 ing hawthorn, although its beauties fall with 
 each passing gale ? For me, I come of a race 
 •of greenwood foresters, and its snowy blossoms 
 have ever been my badge ! Amid the splen- 
 dours of De Guise's court I gazed on it, and 
 sighed for my peaceful home in the shady 
 forest ; and, in the raging battle, could my arm 
 ever fail while the hawthorn bloomed around 
 my beaver ? But here," and a wan smile light- 
 ed up his features, " here it was misapplied. 
 Emblem as it is of youth, and hope, and hap- 
 piness, it should adorn the brows of those 
 alone who still can hope — the young, the 
 happy." 
 
 As he finished speaking, he had placed, as 
 if unconsciously, a sprig of the hawthorn on 
 the golden hair of Estelle, and heedless of her 
 embarrassment, gazed with a kind of melan- 
 choly pleasure on her lovely countenance. 
 
 It was the first time that Julian had been 
 beguiled into the slightest gallantry towards his 
 beauteous companion. She felt secretly de-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 127 
 
 lighted ; and yet, with strange waywardness, 
 her hand was raised to tear away the flower, 
 but an exclamation from Jacqueline caused her 
 to turn. 
 
 " Reject it not,"* cried the old woman; "oh, 
 reject it not, Estelle de la Vallee ! Holy Vir- 
 gin ! it cannot but bode good ! It was thus 
 I just now beheld you in my dream, little did 
 I think to find it realized on waking." She 
 looked significantly at Julian. " Only think, 
 my son, how fancy can wander: in my sleep 
 I was kneeling in the Chapel down in the wood ; 
 many fair ladies were there, and Mademoiselle 
 de la Vallee in the midst, clad in robes of 
 spotless white ; it was something like a bridal. 
 And they offered her a splendid coronet of gold 
 and precious stones ; and I saw her — ah ! thou 
 mayest well smile, Julian — I tell thee, I saw her 
 cast it to the earth, and drawing forth a sim- 
 ple garland of our forest hawthorn, she placed 
 it in triumph on her brow." 
 
 Julian started, nor appeared less confused
 
 128 CHANTILLY. 
 
 than the blushing maiden beside him. But Jac- 
 queline continued, as she looked admiringly at 
 Estelle, 
 
 " Ah, Julian, does she not remind thee of 
 the Woodland Queen, on St. Hubert's day ? 
 Those were indeed merry times, in the days of 
 the old family, when the hunters chose the 
 fairest lass, and bore her, crowned with flowers, 
 down to the re?idezvous de chasse ; the bugles 
 sounding all the while so cheerily the fierce 
 challenge, the proud war-note, or the merry 
 hunting call of the d'Espignacs. Ah, would 
 I could hear it now ! it would recall those happy 
 times, even were it for an instant. Breathe it 
 but once, Julian, here is my cornemuse ; time 
 was, when it was sounded from a somcAvhat 
 nobler instrument." 
 
 " And why not now ? and why not now, 
 I pray, good mother ?" exclaimed the hunter, 
 suddenly starting to his feet, and drawing from 
 beneath his hunting-frock a small gilt bugle, 
 which till then had been concealed. " By my
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 129 
 
 father's soul ! it shall be heard once more at 
 Avilly, if I die for sounding it !"** he continued 
 fiercely. " Perchance it will be for the last 
 time, and by the spotless crest of the d'Espig- 
 nacs, it shall not be from the herds-woman's 
 cowhorn !" 
 
 The words of Jacqueline seemed to have 
 recalled all those recollections which never 
 failed to rouse him to fury. Placing the in- 
 strument to his lips, he stood proudly erect, 
 and blew with all his might a wild tremendous 
 blast, which echoed far and wide through the 
 silent glens of the forest. 
 
 Estelle was almost terrified at the scene; 
 the glance of fierce defiance which shot from 
 the eye of the hunter, so glittering and deathly 
 dark, together with the wildness of his look, as, 
 throwing his head back, the long raven hair fell 
 over his shoulders, inspired her with awe. Jac- 
 queline, too, seemed alarmed at the frenzy which 
 she had herself excited. 
 
 " Hush, my son !" said she softly, " or thou 
 G 5
 
 130 CHANTILLY. 
 
 wilt be heard ; and thou knowest not the issue 
 should that sound reach the village." 
 
 " What ! canst thou fear, Jacqueline, it 
 would rouse the faithless foresters ? Be not 
 alarmed, their souls have long ago been dead 
 to honour and d'Espignac; they have for- 
 gotten him and taken other oaths : they " 
 
 " But, dear Julian," said she soothingly, and 
 apparently much distressed, " thou knowest 
 well such sounds have power to rouse from 
 their graves those old retainers who followed 
 the d'Espignac to battle. Behold, even Perce- 
 foret knows well what means that challenge !" 
 
 She pointed to the hound. He was standing 
 near the hedge, his head extended, and his tail 
 erect, as if about to spring forward, while, as 
 he scented the air, a savage growl burst from 
 his broad chest, and his eyes glared with fury ! 
 
 " He is a faithful fool !" said the hunter, in 
 a faltering voice ; " a fond and faithful fool ! 
 His is the only heart save mine that can now 
 thus throb with eagerness at d'Espignac's sum-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 131 
 
 mons. But, alas ! thou saidst aright ; such 
 proud defiance is most unmeet ; and yet they 
 of that fallen house knew not a softer note, 
 save alone the last sad requiem which was ever 
 breathed when one of that long line of forest 
 chieftains was borne to his last resting-place. 
 But that were better suited to their sunken 
 fortunes, and ye shall hear it : it will never 
 more be sounded ; there is left but one of that 
 mighty name, and none are living who would 
 breathe it over his grave !" 
 
 He again placed the bugle to his lips and 
 blew a few notes, so low and mournful that 
 Jacqueline melted into tears, and Estelle gazed 
 in mute amazement on his countenance. To 
 the fiery flush of indignation, had succeeded a 
 death-like paleness, while, as the solemn tones 
 gushed forth, a cold shudder ran through his 
 frame, as though each note thrilled to his very 
 soul, and brought mournful recollections of 
 the past. 
 
 But this forgetfulness was not of long dura-
 
 132 CHANTILLY. 
 
 tion, for while yet the melancholy sound trem- 
 bled on the breeze, long ere its echo had died 
 away, the hunter had started from his reverie ; 
 the hand which held the bugle had fallen pow- 
 erless to his side, and he stood looking wildly 
 around, as the sound of a huntsman's horn, the 
 very answer to his own sad strain, was borne 
 from the bosom of the forest, and floated 
 slowly on the noontide air, as though the very 
 woods responded to the dirge of their fallen 
 masters f 
 
 The hunter stood immovable for a moment, as 
 if in doubt whether it might not be indeed the 
 woodland echoes, and fearful of destroying the 
 charm ; but, even while he paused, it was again 
 repeated louder and more near; and now the 
 tread of a steed, slow and cautious, as if its 
 rider were unacquainted with the mazy path, 
 was distinctly heard approaching the cottage. 
 
 " Holy Mother of Grace ! we are lost, we are 
 lost !'"* exclaimed Jacqueline, as she rose with 
 terror in her looks. "Julian, thy imprudence 
 has betrayed thee !"
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 133 
 
 But Julian moved not from the spot where 
 he had stood ; his eye was riveted upon the 
 hedge where the faithful hound had so long 
 betrayed his consciousness of the approach of a 
 stranger, and he withdrew not his gaze even 
 while she spoke thus earnestly. Estelle, too, 
 looked with breathless dread in the same 
 direction ; for above the little palisade of the 
 garden, which was raised high to protect 
 Jacqueline's stock of poultry from the attack 
 of the prowling fox, was seen a warrior's milk- 
 white plume, which danced and nodded gaily 
 as its wearer advanced steadily up the path, 
 seemingly heedless of the loud baying of the 
 hound, and carelessly whistling as he rode 
 along. 
 
 It was a moment of awful suspense to all, 
 when the stranger had turned the angle of the 
 projecting wall of the cottage, and the tramp 
 of his steed was heard no more. But yet the 
 hunter moved not ; lie listened with painful 
 eagerness during the momentary silence which 
 followed. The transient hope to which this
 
 134 CHANTILLY. 
 
 pause had given rise, that the stranger's visit 
 was not destined to the cabin, was, however, 
 but too soon dispelled by a heavy knock on 
 the outer door. Estelle and Jacqueline both 
 turned with one accord to Julian ; neither had 
 power to speak, but each looked imploringly 
 in his face, as though still urging his flight : 
 still he appeared unconscious of their anxiety 
 in his fate ; his countenance changed not ; he 
 spoke in a low, compressed tone, and to him- 
 self alone were his words uttered. 
 
 " The hour is come at last," he murmured 
 calmly, as he thrust the bugle, whose silvery 
 tones had thus betrayed him, back to its 
 hiding-place ; "he has tracked me to my last 
 covert ; but it is somewhat luckless for his 
 bloodhound thus to come, while the challenge 
 of the d'Espignac is yet ringing in my ears !*" 
 
 Another knock, louder and more peremp- 
 tory than before, was now heard. Jacqueline 
 wrung her hands, in an agony of terror ; as 
 without moving a muscle of his features, the 
 young hunter advanced to seize the rifle which
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 135 
 
 stood against the tree, beneath which he had 
 been seated. 
 
 " Fly !" said she, placing herself before him, 
 and speaking in quick, hurried tones, as though 
 she knew he would seek to interrupt her ; " be- 
 gone, my son ! — thou Malt leap yonder hedge, 
 "'twill be no hard task for thee then to ford 
 the brook. Thou wilt have time ; I will not 
 admit him till thou art safe ; the staple is up 
 at the front door, and he cannot enter ; — and, ha 
 ha ! thou wilt baffle thy pursuers even once 
 more ! The wood is thick and tangled — 'twill 
 afford thee safe refuge for awhile, till " 
 
 '' Say no more, good mother !" exclaimed 
 Julian, somewhat angrily, unable longer to 
 endure her well-meant importunity. " Thou 
 hast surely forgotten the name I bear, thus 
 to urge a cowardly retreat, while the means 
 are yet within my power to avenge my wrongs I 
 Who tells thee I must fly ? Thou canst have, 
 in truth, but small reliance on my arm, to 
 deem that it would fail !" 
 
 He sprang forward, and seizing the rifle in
 
 136 CHANTILLY. 
 
 his nervous grasp, brandished it aloft, as if in 
 triumph. At that moment, the knocking was 
 again heard, accompanied by a summons for 
 admittance not to be disregarded. 
 
 " Let them come," said he, drawing himself 
 proudly up ; " the danger is theirs, and not 
 mine, while my right arm has power to wield 
 my rifle!" 
 
 He shouldered the weapon as he spoke, and 
 placed himself before the open door, opposite 
 to that at which the stranger was battering 
 with redoubled vigour. Scarcely had he thus 
 taken his stand, when a loud shriek burst from 
 Jacqueline, as the worm-eaten staple, unused 
 to such rude attacks, snapped asunder, and fell 
 rattling to the floor ! Julian threw his foot 
 firmly forward and stood in the attitude of 
 taking aim : the heart of Estelle de la Vallee 
 almost ceased to beat ; but Jacqueline stepped 
 before him, and stood upon the threshold. 
 
 " Begone !" said she, dropping the tone of 
 humble supplication, which she had hitherto
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 137 
 
 assumed, and suddenly adopting that of stern 
 authority. " Begone !'' she continued, stamp- 
 ing her foot : " cross not this threshold, as 
 thou valuest our Lady's blessing. Go ! thou 
 art young, and a warrior, yet hast not the 
 foresight that I can boast, who am old and a 
 woman, or thou wouldst have known that he 
 who wears the glittering casque and dancing 
 plume comes not thus alone to meet this 
 danger. Thinkest thou he has not others at 
 command to fight, and slay, — ay, and die for 
 him, if they be so required ! Go, rash boy ! 
 nor suffer thy heart's best blood to deluge my 
 peaceful hearth in a vain, inglorious encounter. 
 Ungrateful and unfeeling ! is it thus thou 
 wouldst fulfil thy pledge to Henry of Navarre, 
 the generous friend who has already " 
 
 She finished not her sentence, for the latch 
 was already raised beneath the stranger's 
 touch, and nothing was now left to impede 
 his entrance. 
 
 With scorn imprinted on his lip and fire in
 
 138 CHANTILLY. 
 
 his eye, Julian still endeavoured to advance, 
 in spite of her remonstrances. There vyras not 
 another moment to be lost. She seized the 
 heavy door, and swung it with a violent effort ; 
 quick as lightning it closed with a loud report, 
 leaving him on the outside ! The iron bolt 
 within was drawn instantly, and thus any 
 further effort on his part to obtain admittance 
 was rendered wholly useless. Rage and disap- 
 pointment took possession of his soul. His 
 teeth were clenched, his bosom heaved convul- 
 sively, as still maintaining his threatening atti- 
 tude, he stood before the closed door, as 
 though he yet expected his pursuer to appear. 
 But when the murmur of voices was heard 
 from within, and no sound indicative of the 
 hostile intentions of the intruder could be 
 distinguished, tliis overpowering swell of fiery 
 wrath began somewhat to abate. Nature had 
 made him dauntless and haughty ; oppression 
 had rendered him fierce and unforgiving ; the 
 excitement of the moment had roused all the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 139 
 
 stormy passions of his fearless soul ; but nei- 
 ther injustice nor ingratitude could be laid to 
 his charge ; and even now, when his brain 
 had cooled, reason and recollection were not 
 slow to return, and he was soon seen to drop 
 the rifle. His next movement was to sling it 
 at his back, and turn from the cottage to seek 
 safety by the means which Jacqueline had 
 pointed out. He scrambled the high hedge, 
 and gained the summit in a moment. 
 
 " Jacqueline is kind," he murmured ; " she 
 has counselled me in kindness. Did I not 
 plight my faith to Henry of Navarre to re- 
 main concealed.'^ Would not my rash im- 
 prudence have ruined the just, the holy cause? 
 and, worse than all, have brought destruction 
 on poor Jacqueline ? But never again will 
 I place her thus in jeopardy for my sake. 
 Ho ! Perceforet, to thy master's side, and let 
 us to the woods once more !" 
 
 The faithful animal flew to his side, in 
 obedience to the summons ; and light and
 
 140 CHANTILLY. 
 
 agile as the squirrel, the hunter leaped the 
 hedge, and, aided in his descent by the shrubs 
 which grew from the side of the sandy bank, 
 alighted in another moment on the greensward 
 beneath. 
 
 " I shall return but to say farewell,"*"* said 
 he, as he tarried while the hound, panting 
 with eagerness, scrambled amid the brambles ; 
 " there is a curse upon my head — my presence 
 brings woe and misery wherever I appear. 
 I have sought Jacqueline but to disturb the 
 peaceful calm of her declining days, like the 
 dark and stormy thundercloud at set of sun. 
 But she shall not share the curse which ever 
 follows me ; I will fly once more to the bosom 
 of the forest, and forget the few, fond mo- 
 ments of brief joy, which have been mine 
 beneath her humble roof ; and all — ay, all, all 
 — save alone the love and kindness which she 
 has ever shown me !" 
 
 He turned hastily away towards the brook ; 
 one foot was already in its limpid stream,
 
 D'ESPIGNAC, k TALE. 141 
 
 when a faint cry met his ear from above. He 
 started, and raised his eyes, and, with asto- 
 nishment, beheld the lovely, the highborn 
 Estelle de la Vallee, forgotten amid all the 
 strife and danger, now standing on the high 
 bank, holding in her hand the hat and waving 
 plumes which had lain neglected beneath the 
 thorn where they had so lately sat together. 
 Her brow and cheek were pale as the snowy 
 flowers which he had himself entwined amid her 
 golden tresses, and which still bloomed there, 
 as if to reproach him with even that momen- 
 tary forgetfulness of his wrongs and sorrows. 
 He drew near. She flung the hat down upon 
 the grass ; " Fly, Monsieur TEveque ! fly !" 
 said she, in breathless accents ; *' see you it is 
 the Ligueur's badge, and would betray where 
 you had been !""" 
 
 She said no more, and before he had time 
 to breathe his thanks, she had disappeared. 
 But this was enough — the farewell look, the 
 faltering tones, the harrowing anxiety depicted
 
 142 CHANTILLY. 
 
 in her countenance, were more than enough to 
 unfold a tale of wonder and delight to the 
 bosom of Julian. They brought an unac- 
 countable sensation of mingled pain and plea- 
 sure; and when, at length, he turned from 
 the spot, his heart beat tumultuously ; but not 
 with coward fear, nor eagerness to fly — it could 
 not be these — for neither had ever before pos- 
 sessed the power to awaken a single throb. He 
 fled, with that last look engraven on his heart ; 
 he bore it with him to the silence and solitude 
 whither he was hurrying; and through long 
 hours of loneliness and gloom, like a ray of 
 holy light, the memory of that moment served 
 to revive his desponding spirit, and cheer him 
 with hopes of better days. 
 
 And Estelle, too, still agitated and per- 
 plexed, descended to wait for Jacqueline, her 
 mind filled with the thought of Julian ; and 
 forgetting all the terror she had suffered for 
 his sake, in the joy that he had at length 
 escaped the danger.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 143 
 
 It was not long before the old woman ap- 
 peared. She had got rid of the stranger, 
 without noise or trouble ; and yet, nothing but 
 alarm was visible in her countenance, and her 
 cheek was moist with tears. Her first thought 
 was of Julian. She crossed the garden hastily, 
 and flew to the spot whence he had descended. 
 
 *' Is he gone ?'' said she, looking anxioush* 
 around. " Did he fly in safety, Mademoiselle de 
 la Vallee ? Think you, he can escape pursuit ? 
 Is it certain he does not linger near, to rush on 
 death with fatal rashness ?""' 
 
 To all these questions, which were uttered in 
 a breath, Estelle endeavoured to soothe her 
 agitation bv the assurance of Julian's escape 
 in perfect safety. 
 
 " The Virgin's blessing be upon his head !'" 
 said Jacqueline, looking fondly towards the 
 path he had taken, " and bear him, scathless, 
 through the toils and snares which have been 
 spread for his destruction 1" 
 
 " And was it then an enemy r'"" said Estelle.
 
 144 CHANTILLY. 
 
 ^' Can he be any other than an enemy who 
 seeks my cottage?" returned the old woman 
 bitterly. " He essayed to beguile with crafty 
 speech, but he could not disguise the errand 
 upon which he came. He asked me if I knew 
 any thing of Adhemar ; and with a smile, too ! 
 It was well the gallant hunter stood not nigh 
 at hand ; he would have felled the hypocrite to 
 the earth ! But I wavered not. I was not to 
 be deceived by all the smooth words of the 
 cunning foe ; and— and — besides, could I tell 
 any thing of Adhemar, who know not where 
 he has taken refuge, even though I had closed 
 my hand upon the gold which the stranger 
 offered ?" 
 
 A loud and startling laugh was heard just as 
 she uttered these words; it proceeded from the 
 stranger himself, who, standing in his stirrups, 
 was enabled to look over the palisade. His 
 face was almost close to that of the affrighted 
 Estelle. She could read every line of his fea- 
 tures, as, motionless with terror, she stood
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 145 
 
 rooted to the spot, nor shrank from his ad- 
 miring glance. Jacqueline appeared to feel no 
 alarm, so great was her delight that Julian had 
 escaped ; she rather smiled in exultation that 
 the stranger had overheard her speech ; but 
 the Knight was evidently too courteous to in- 
 trude long. After seeming to enjoy their sur- 
 prise for a moment, he again indulged in an- 
 other hearty laugh, and addressing Jacqueline 
 with merry raillery, exclaimed — " Vive Dieu ! 
 reverend mother, thy daughter is fair as the 
 day ! Thou wert right, forsooth, to heighten 
 the garden fence, to keep out the hungry wolf. 
 Ah ! and what do I behold ? crowned with the 
 hawthorn, too ! — ha ! ha ! 'Tis well ;" — imi- 
 tating the tone in which the old woman spoke 
 — " the bank has been raised high on the other 
 side, likewise, to resist the waters of the brook 
 when in winter they overflow." 
 
 Thus saying, he galloped gaily off, leaving 
 Estelle in a state of agitation almost indescri- 
 bable ; while Jacqueline, although heedless of 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the stranger's presence, seemed to shrink as the 
 light laugh was echoed back upon her ear. She 
 was silent, till the sound of the retreating steed 
 had died away, and then she turned to Estelle : 
 — " He has spoken my very words, sweet 
 maiden !" said she. " I told him it was my 
 daughter's voice that he had heard ; and when 
 he asked me who had breathed the death-note 
 of the d'Espignacs, I told him that I heard it 
 not. He is a stranger amid these woods, and 
 easily beguiled, and thought he had not rightly 
 traced the sound. But see, suspicion did not 
 forsake him, or he would not thus have sought 
 to look over the fence. I did not wish him to 
 have beheld thee, dear Estelle, for he is on 
 his way to the chateau !" Estelle started and 
 grew pale, but Jacqueline proceeded—" It is 
 better thou shouldest hasten homeward, and 
 endeavour to arrive before him. He saw thee 
 but for an instant, and may not remember 
 thee." 
 
 Estelle thought well of Jacqueline's advice,
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 147 
 
 and resolved to follow it by departing instantly 
 from the cottage ; she paused not to take a 
 lengthened farewell, fearful that the stranger 
 might reach the chateau ere she herself should 
 arrive there. 
 
 It would, perhaps, argue a superstitious 
 fancy, when the alarm and agitation of the last 
 few hours are considered, to say that she felt a 
 strange and melancholy foreboding when she 
 had thus taken leave of the kind old peasant, 
 almost amounting to a belief that she should 
 never behold her more. She stood upon the 
 little hand-bridge, thrown across the gushing 
 brook, and turned to take another look at the 
 peaceful cottage, where so many hours of un- 
 conscious joy had of late been passed. She 
 leaned pensively upon the rail, while memory 
 traced all those strange emotions, hitherto for- 
 gotten amid the dreamy visions of happiness in 
 which she had indulged. The guilty errand 
 upon which at first she had been sent ; her 
 father's frantic wrath and heartless ambition ; 
 H 2
 
 148 CHANTILLY. 
 
 his cold hate of the very man to whom she was 
 to be united, and whom he had feigned to love 
 beyond every thing on earth ; all returned with 
 overwhelming power to her soul. And then 
 did her thoughts dive deep into her own heart, 
 and bring many hidden sentiments to light of 
 ■whose existence she had not dreamed. The 
 indignation, the desire of revenge, which had 
 hurried her in seeming eagerness to fulfil her 
 mission ; her heartfelt anxiety in the fate of 
 the hunter JuHan ; his wild and dauntless 
 bearing ; the bold energy of his thoughts and 
 language ; and, above all, that shade of bitter 
 melancholy, which never fails to excite the 
 warmest sympathy in the youthful bosom. 
 She dwelt on all these particulars, till the 
 dread lest he should fall into the hands of those 
 who were in such close pursuit of Count Ad- 
 hemar, filled her with dismay. There was a 
 mystery, too, about the youth, which served 
 to heighten this tender interest. He had been 
 persecuted by the King for his love to De
 
 d'erpignac, a tale. 149 
 
 Guise, and even now, that I)e Guise was no 
 more, these persecutions had not ceased! He 
 must then have been of some importance to be 
 thus hated by the monarch, when the cause of 
 that hate no longer existed. He was known to 
 Henry of Navarre ; for Jacqueline had hinted 
 that, in that Prince, he had found a steady 
 friend ; while his almost unearthly devotion 
 to the very name of d'Espignac, when it 
 was thus lowered with the dust, plainly de- 
 noted that he had once sided with that un- 
 happy family. Then, alas ! came the harrow- 
 ing reflection, that her own father would join 
 heart and hand in hot pursuit of any who still 
 possessed affection for that outlawed race ; and 
 she could not deceive herself, as once she had 
 done, with the fond thought of his generous 
 mercy. She now knew his cold unyielding cha- 
 racter. The spirit of Julian was fierce and un- 
 tamed ; her heart swelled to think of all he 
 might yet have to suffer, already chased down 
 and hunted to desperation by unrelenting ene-
 
 1 50 CHANTILLY. 
 
 inies, until, overcome by grief and fearful fore- 
 bodings, her head sank on the rustic balus- 
 trade, and she burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 " Why weep you, maiden ?" said a voice 
 immediately behind her : she started ; it was 
 that of Jacqueline. By one of those strange 
 sympathies which can often startle timid minds 
 into a belief in supernatural forewarnings, she 
 had followed Estelle, to say farewell once more, 
 as though she too feared it would be long ere 
 they met again. 
 
 She gently took the snow-white hand of the 
 damsel, and looked wistfully in her face : she 
 fancied she could read the cause of sorrow in 
 her eyes, and her own filled with tears. The 
 garland of hawthorn, which Julian had, in 
 playfulness, wreathed among the maiden's hair, 
 just then arrested the attention of her aged 
 companion. 
 
 " Holy Maria ! it is well I came thus soon, 
 ere yet thou wert lost to sight," she exclaimed, 
 taking the flowers from amid the glossy curls.
 
 d'espignag, a tale. 151 
 
 where they were softly reposing ; " it would 
 tell more tales than even the Ligueurs hat.'' 
 
 Estelle felt uneasy ; she would have been de- 
 lighted to take them from her hand, but dared 
 not, lest it might be thought they were valued 
 for the giver's sake. 
 
 But the old woman appeared absorbed in 
 thought. She leaned against the rail and gazed 
 on Estelle with that long, ardent gaze, which 
 has power to imprint each feature vividly on the 
 memory. 
 
 " Fare thee well, sweet Estelle de la Vallee!" 
 she said, sighing deeply ; " a warning whispers 
 me that it will be long ere we meet again. 
 Warriors are already galloping amid our quiet 
 woods, and the Court is coming to the palace. 
 Gay companions, and, alas ! what will now 
 seem new to thee, happy ones will flock to 
 thy side, and replace those to whom thy pre- 
 sence has brought the only joy which they 
 have known this many a-day. Again did 
 she relapse into an attitude of deep musing.
 
 152 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Her arm was thrown across the balustrade, and 
 the blossoms of the thorn which she had taken 
 from Estelle hung over the stream. She gazed 
 at the blooming maiden with a look full of 
 doubt, and exclaimed, as if unable to suppress 
 the sudden hope, '' But — but well do I know 
 the heart of Estelle ; she will not forget old 
 Jacqueline ; and — and — " Her look suddenly 
 assumed an expression of wild anxiety ; she ap- 
 proached the fair girl, and spoke in a whisper, 
 as if fearing to be heard even amid that deep 
 solitude, " And is there not another, Estelle ? 
 say — the hunter, Julian ! Wilt thou cease to 
 remember him when he shall no more be found 
 beside thee ? Oh ! I charge thee forget him 
 not ! The time, perchance, is nigh when thou 
 mightest aid him well. He is hot in speech 
 and quick in ire : but is it not disappointment 
 which has rendered him so ? Maiden, the down 
 is yet upon his cheek, and already has he en- 
 dured wrongs and woes that would long ere 
 this have riven a less proud heart asunder.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 153 
 
 His is the haughty soul that scorns to yield to 
 outward grief; but can I not tell, who have 
 nursed him on my knee, that the cankerworni 
 has long been busy there? Where is now the 
 sparkling eye that once brought joy to all on 
 whom its bright glance fell ? Where is the 
 merry laugh that echoed through his father's 
 halls from morn to night, as though neither 
 care nor grief had place upon earth ? Alas ! his 
 eye never flashes now save in anger, and it is 
 long since his lip has worn any other smile 
 than the bitter one of scorn.'* 
 
 She paused ; Estelle had listened in gasping 
 agony ; each word of her speech had entered 
 like an arrow into the maiden'*s heart, there to 
 fester through many a weary hour, even while 
 the smooth-tongued flatterers of the Court were 
 pouring their honeyed praises in her ear. 
 
 Some few moments elapsed ere Jacqueline 
 spoke again, but it was evident that spirit- 
 stirring recollections were passing through her 
 mind. Her hand was clenched convulsively, 
 H 5
 
 154 CHANTILLY. 
 
 and the flowers to which Estelle had attached 
 such value were crushed in her grasp. She 
 looked towards the chateau, and then, as if by 
 a nervous motion of anger, they were cast into 
 the stream. Estelle started, and almost un- 
 consciously reached forward to save them ; but 
 they were already gone, and if he watched with 
 mournful interest their course down the bab- 
 bling current, until, drawn by the eddy beneath 
 the projecting leaves of a tall water-deck which 
 grew from the bank, they were lost to sight. 
 Jacqueline had watched them too, for, as they 
 disappeared, she murmured to herself, '' It is 
 in truth an emblem of himself; — even thus is 
 he cast away, who once bloomed the fairest 
 scion of his house.'"* Perhaps there was some- 
 thing in the thought which had power to arouse 
 many a bitter remembrance, for she turned to 
 Estelle with a coldness that reminded her of 
 the first days of their acquaintance. " Go, Ma- 
 demoiselle," said she, " hasten homeward : I 
 was wrong to bid you think of Julian. You
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 155 
 
 must forget him, since none you have remem- 
 bered but to betray; and But I am unjust 
 
 — I am unjust,"" she continued, as she gazed 
 on the mild and tearful eyes of the maiden ; 
 " Estelle is not now as the cold world will one 
 day make her. No, no, she will remember 
 
 him, and with kindness, while he But, alas ! 
 
 I must not linger here, lest I disclose what 
 I had sworn to him should never pass my lips. 
 Farewell, Estelle de la Vallee, and forget him 
 not !" 
 
 She retired as she spoke the words ; but when 
 she was lost to sight they still trembled on the 
 breeze, which again and again, as it sighed 
 through the rustling boughs, seemed to repeat 
 to Estelle that parting charge, " Forget him 
 not ! forget him not !"
 
 156 CHANTILLY. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Come, then, the appurtenance of welcome is fashion 
 and ceremony." Shakspeare. 
 
 It was with melancholy feeHngs, mingled 
 with no small degree of alarm, that Estelle 
 now hurried home ; nor was this at all abated, 
 when, upon entering the park, the first object 
 which met her eye was the Count, her father, 
 walking with rapid and hasty strides on the 
 broad terrace before the windows of the cha- 
 teau, apparently engaged in earnest conversa- 
 tion with the stranger Knight, whose visit to 
 Jacqueline's cottage had caused her so much 
 terror. 
 
 She hastily ascended the broad flight of
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 157 
 
 steps which led to the terrace, unperceived by 
 either ; and in the vestibule which opened upon 
 it, found her old tormentor Taquine, who 
 frankly confessed, that, having perceived the 
 Count conversing thus eagerly with his visitor, 
 and feeling, of course, some anxiety to know 
 what they could possibly have to say, she had 
 descended to listen. She was, however, as 
 usual, willing to forego even this pleasure for 
 the greater one of hearing herself talk, and she 
 forthwith began to communicate to Estelle the 
 joyful tidings of the hourly expected arrival of 
 the King of Navarre, accompanied by the Due 
 de Montbel ; that the stranger who was with 
 her father had ridden with the latter from Chan- 
 tilly, but having been separated from him by 
 accident, had taken a shorter path, which had 
 brought him thus, without introduction, to the 
 chateau. To detail all this valuable informa- 
 tion in the fluent manner in which it was given 
 by Taquine, as she conducted Estelle to her 
 mother's dressing-room, would doubtless fill a
 
 158 CHANTILLY. 
 
 goodly volume, to which her own various spe- 
 culations, observations, and derivations, would 
 form a valuable appendix. But no pen could 
 possibly do justice to the flurry and agitation 
 into which the unexpected arrival of such a 
 princely guest had tiirown the worthy Countess, 
 and she proceeded at once to reflect, with due 
 and steady attention, upon the colour, the ma- 
 terial, the fashion, and manufacture of the 
 dress in which it would be proper to receive 
 him. 
 
 Now, it was an aff*air of no ordinary interest, 
 and one which required an unusual degree of 
 patient deliberation ; and many and long were 
 the discussions between Taquine and herself 
 concerning the murrey-coloured velvet lined 
 with minever, and the purple taff'eta robe, with 
 the gorgeous train of crimson, so richly em- 
 broidered in gold and seed pearl, as to excite 
 the envy of all the other ladies of the Court, 
 among whom she ceased to number a single 
 friend from the very day on which she had
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 159 
 
 first worn it. So long, indeed^ were these argu- 
 ments prolonged, each endeavouring, if pos- 
 sible, to have the last word, that it was not till 
 within a few minutes of the time which De 
 Montbel had fixed for his arrival, and the 
 Count had w^earied himself in fruitless mes- 
 sages to summon the Countess to the saloon, 
 that it was at length decided that, although the 
 embroidered robe was rich and magnificent, yet 
 there was more majesty in the murrey-coloured 
 velvet ; and soon after the discovery of this 
 important fact, in all the dignity of conscious 
 elegance, she descended, followed by Estelle 
 and Taquine, to the saloon, there to await, 
 with the Count and his guest, tlie arrival of 
 the King of Navarre. 
 
 Estelle involuntarily shrank behind her 
 mother as she entered, fearful to meet the 
 stranger's eye. He, however, seemed little 
 disposed to allow either of the ladies to pass 
 without notice, for he instantly rose on their 
 entrance, and advanced towards them. Per-
 
 160 CHANTILLY. 
 
 haps it was that De Montbel had boasted the 
 charms of his betrothed bride ; for at the sound 
 of her name, when pronounced by her father, 
 he directed a searching glance beneath the 
 modest wimple with which she had hoped to 
 conceal her features from observation. It was 
 well that the heavy-mullioned window, with its 
 painted glass and Gothic tracery, admitted no 
 very vivid light into the apartment, for she 
 coloured deeply, and trembled with an agita- 
 tion which she endeavoured in vain to dis- 
 guise. But she was destined to remain in 
 doubt whether or not he had recognised her ; 
 for, with all the ease and dignity of an habitual 
 courtier, he bowed gracefully over the dimpled 
 hand of Madame de la Vallee, and led her 
 at once to the head of the apartment. Estelle 
 seated herself by her father's side, while the 
 stranger stood, or rather leaned, against the 
 high-backed chair of the Countess ; and thus, 
 in silence and constraint, they all appeared to 
 await with anxiety the awful moment. Per-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 161 
 
 haps there is no occasion upon which time ap- 
 pears more tedious than when it is passed in 
 watching and waiting in suspense the arrival of 
 some one to whom we have attached more than 
 ordinary consequence ; and thus it was with 
 the party now assembled. The moments were 
 spent in dull silence, occasionally broken, but 
 not enlivened, by some common-place obser- 
 vation from the Count, to which a monosyl- 
 lable, either from the lips of the Knight or 
 those of the Countess, was the only answer 
 returned. 
 
 But this was a state of things not long to be 
 endured. It was already considerably beyond 
 the hour at which they had been led to expect 
 the royal party, and La Vallee was the first to 
 betray tokens of impatience. He coughed, and 
 hemmed, and drummed with his fingers upon 
 the arm of his chair for some time, and at last, 
 suddenly rising, he strode across the floor and 
 opened the casement, to gaze on the dial-plate 
 which stood on the terrace. He fro^vned
 
 162 CHANTILLY. 
 
 darkly and bit his lip when he saw the hour at 
 which the hand was now pointing. He leaned 
 forward and looked around. On the one side, 
 in solemn grandeur, lay the dark forest ; on 
 the other, the green and smiling park ; while 
 straight onward the view extended for miles up 
 the long unbroken avenue which formed the 
 grand approach to the chateau ; but the herd 
 of deer grazing quietly in the park, and a few 
 weary foresters, with axes in their hands and 
 fagots on their heads, returning from their 
 labour — for the sun was now fast beginning to 
 decline — were the only living things which met 
 his sight. He turned indignantly away, but 
 resumed not his seat, preferring to stand in the 
 recess of the window-frame, whence, without 
 displaying any undignified anxiety, he could 
 discern the first approach of the cavalcade. 
 
 Estelle did not like this movement, for she 
 was seated immediately opposite to the case- 
 ment ; the stream of light which it admitted 
 fell directly upon her face, and she became
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 163 
 
 embarrassed to perceive that she was the ob- 
 ject of the stranger's attention. There was a 
 certain merry waggishness in his eye betoken- 
 ing some secret cause of mirth, which, more- 
 over, gave her no small uneasiness; nor was 
 this dispelled when he suddenly moved from 
 the spot where he had stood, and with the 
 utmost sang-froid seated himself in the vacant 
 chair by her side. 
 
 The staid and prudent Countess seemed quite 
 ebahie at this unexpected forgetfulness of all 
 decorum. The tall head-dress, which she wore 
 in the fashion of her youth, when it was deemed 
 expedient to hurl denunciations even from the 
 pulpit against those who carried them to such an 
 enormous height, absolutely tottered with agi- 
 tation. The arms of her family — the Hauten- 
 cours of Hauteville, in Haute Bretagne — em- 
 broidered in flaming coloured silks, in the front 
 of this grotesque coiffure, absolutely quivered 
 with the indignant tossing of her head ; and 
 the supporters, two fiery dragons, seemed to
 
 164 CHANTILLY. 
 
 frown grimly on the audacious stranger, whom 
 no one knew, and no one cared for, seeing that 
 he sadly lacked that undeniable passport of 
 introduction, splendid attire — who appeared 
 inclined to address an unmarried daughter of 
 that mighty race, even in the presence of her 
 mother. She looked imploringly at the Count 
 for aid, but in vain ; he was too much absorbed 
 in his own protracted disappointment to take 
 much heed of what was passing within, and 
 neither her winks nor frowns, nor even the 
 impatient stamping of her foot, met with the 
 slightest attention. But the Knight did not 
 venture to speak ; he gazed in silent admiration 
 on Estelle, nor once withdrew his eyes from her 
 lovely face, although the angry looks and 
 gestures of her mother could not escape his 
 notice. Perhaps she had never appeared more 
 beautiful than at this moment. With fond, 
 maternal artifice, the Countess had attired her 
 in a taffeta robe of the deepest violet, the well- 
 known colour of De Montbel, and its full shade
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 165 
 
 rendered the soft tints of her fair complexion 
 yet more dazzling, while the jet black wimple 
 which covered her head caused the golden ring- 
 lets beneath to appear bright and glittering, 
 even in the subdued and indistinct light of the 
 apartment. 
 
 She trembled beneath the fixed glance of 
 the stranger. It seemed as though he were on 
 the point of speaking yet knew not what to 
 say, and she feared each moment he would ask 
 if he had not seen her at the cottage in the 
 forest. An exclamation from the Count just 
 then came most opportunely to her relief. He 
 could discern a cloud of dust rising at the 
 most distant verge of the horizon. It gave 
 rise to fresh hopes, and he called upon the 
 Knight to approach the casement. 
 
 Estelle saw the latter depart from her side 
 with a throb of joy ; and the Countess, to 
 whom his proximity to her daughter had given 
 such annoyance, witnessed the movement with 
 a delight which not even the Count"'s reiterated
 
 166 CHANTILLY. 
 
 assurance of De Montbers approach had power 
 to increase. The stranger, however, appeared 
 less sanguine; he knitted his brows and looked 
 perplexed, and at last ventured to express a 
 doubt that the troop of horsemen which they 
 now beheld advancing, really did belong to De 
 Montbel. 
 
 " Nay," said La Vallee, " do you not per- 
 ceive the banners of his house now flying above 
 their heads ? And look, as I live, there is De 
 Montbel himself far in advance of the rest, riding 
 with the speed of the whirlwind ! I should 
 know him among a thousand, by his gay attire 
 and splendid horsemanship ; but — but 1 pray 
 you, where is the King of Navarre ? You 
 have just left the party, Sir Knight; can you 
 point him out to my notice ?" 
 
 The Knight bit his lip and appeared con- 
 fused. 
 
 " Vive Dieu /"" exclaimed he hastily, " I see 
 not the King of Navarre among the party !" 
 
 La Vallee turned, and looked sternly at the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 167 
 
 stranger. He glanced suspiciously at the faded 
 cloak and threadbare pourpoint, as though he 
 began to suspect the wearer to be nothing less 
 than an impostor. He was, perhaps, strength- 
 ened in this idea by the great difficulty he had 
 found, even though putting in requisition all 
 his wonted dexterity, in drawing forth any 
 information concerning the intrigues of the 
 Court, and the intentions of the King of Na- 
 varre. Of these the stranger knew nothing, 
 although with the personal habits of the mo- 
 narch he had feigned to be well acquainted ; 
 and already did the Count sincerely repent 
 having, at his request, dispensed with half the 
 pomp and ceremony with which it had been his 
 intention to honour his kingly visitor ; for De 
 Bourbon was now the rising sun, and La Val- 
 lee by no means wished to be tardy in his ado- 
 rations. 
 
 The horsemen were now drawing near to the 
 chateau, and according to the rate at which 
 they were galloping, a few moments more
 
 168 CHANTILLY. 
 
 would bring them to the gate. There was no 
 time for any lengthened examination of the 
 Knight'^s pretensions ; and if he really had come 
 under false colours, the presence of De Montbel 
 could not fail to bring detection. He, how- 
 ever, hazarded another remark, more in expec- 
 tation of being confirmed in his unfavourable 
 opinion, than with any idea of finding it incor- 
 rect. "It is wondrous strange,'' said he, 
 frowning as he spoke, " to think that you. Sir 
 Knight, who but an hour agone were riding by 
 De Montbel's side, should find it thus difficult 
 to recognise him at such a short distance ; while 
 I5 who have not beheld him for months, should 
 have known him on the instant I" 
 
 " Why, in truth," said the Knight hesi- 
 tatingly, "• there may be cause for my error. 
 I can now account for De Montbel's long de- 
 lay. We rode from Chantilly alone and unat- 
 tended, and I knew him not amid the splendid 
 train by which he is accompanied. He must 
 surely have ridden back to — ''
 
 d'espignac, a tale. liMI 
 
 The r-----:^- - ^'- ^r - '^' -■'■ — ,^ 
 by a tre^ _ : r 
 
 pavement below, aDDOunci: _ .. _ neral rush of 
 the whole cavalcade into the court-yard But 
 it would have needed much less than th- 
 ger had said to convince the Count 
 would find the doubts which he had ^ 
 ed concerning the rank and qualificaticL_ _: .is 
 guest fully justified when De Montbel should 
 appear ; for the courier had distinctly assert- 
 ed that Henry of Navarre was already on his 
 route, together with the Duke. He. however, 
 for the moment, dier "- ' " , " rr::! 
 
 his mind, for wi-h ' 
 
 — 1 "- 
 
 were paramo : . erations ; 
 
 and how to receive ^vity and im- 
 
 : K , : ^ vas the first 
 
 He relumed to his seat, congratu- 
 
 latiug himself with no small degree of self- 
 
 coniplacencY, that by his excellent management 
 
 t',^ V n le household below was in readiness to 
 
 :he illustrious visitor with all the hcv 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 CHANTILLY. 
 
 nours due to his rank. His astonishment may 
 therefore be easily conceived, when the next 
 moment his ears were greeted by a deafening 
 shout from De Montbel's followers, calling for 
 the Count's grooms to assist in stabling the 
 horses. 
 
 La Vallee started from his chair. Already 
 nervous and excited by the anticipation of this 
 important moment, he was now almost dis- 
 tracted by the noise, and much perplexed as to 
 its cause. He clapped his hands to summon 
 the page in waiting, but no one appeared, and 
 in a transport of rage he rushed into the ante- 
 chamber. 
 
 His fury was increased upon finding the 
 page tricked out in all the bravery of crimson 
 and gold, stretched at his fulLlength in the win- 
 dow-seat, heedless of the clamour without, — in 
 short, buried in a slumber so profound, that it 
 seemed likely to rival in depth and duration 
 that of the Seven Sleepers. His flat velvet cap, 
 with the gold loop and button and drooping
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 171 
 
 ostrich feather, had fallen from his head, and 
 lay beside him on the floor, amid a chaos and 
 confusion which made the heart of the Count 
 sink with dismay, as he looked around and re- 
 flected that through this chamber his visitors 
 must pass to reach the saloon. 
 
 On a chair near the window lay a pipe and 
 pewter dish with which the boy had been 
 blowing bubbles in order to beguile the te- 
 dious moments, until, weary of this amuse- 
 ment, he had kicked away the chair, and 
 having unconsciously upset the dish, its con- 
 tents had soaked through the tapestried cushion 
 and formed a pool of no small extent beneath. 
 The numerous shreds of paper, interspersed 
 with curiously-cut effigies of pigs, geese, and 
 poultry, that were strewn in every direction 
 over the floor, but too plainly showed the pur- 
 pose to which he had applied the holy books of 
 devotion that the worthy Chaplain had kindly 
 furnished to aid his meditations while on duty 
 in the antechamber. La Vallee drew near and 
 I 2
 
 172 CHANTILLY. 
 
 shook him rudely by the collar until he awoke, 
 when, on thus finding himself in his master's 
 presence, between stupidity and terror, he burst 
 into a fit of crying not very easy to pacify, 
 sobbing and begging pardon, and it was some 
 time ere he had sufficiently regained his senses 
 to comprehend the purport of the Count's 
 commands, to hurry down and bring back news 
 of what was passing below. The latter re- 
 turned to the saloon calm and collected as 
 though nothing had happened to ruffle his 
 temper. Far otherwise would it have been 
 could he but have formed an idea of the utter 
 confusion and dismay into which De MontbePs 
 tardy arrival had throAvn the zealous members 
 of his household. They who at the time ap- 
 pointed had been ready to greet his coming, 
 were now as unprepared as though they had 
 received no intimation whatever ; for unable to 
 pursue their ordinary avocations, they had been 
 obliged to resort to can and keg, in order to 
 kill time, and were lounging about in groups, 
 engaged in friendly chat or angry debate,
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 173 
 
 according to the strength or quantity of 
 the liquor they had taken. Many, like the 
 poor little page, overcome by lassitude, had 
 fallen asleep, and lay on the stone benches, 
 placed at equal distances round the forecourt, 
 while others were busily occupied in play, 
 betting and staking with all the boisterous 
 energy of professed gamesters. One party 
 having carefully doffed the gala suits in which 
 they were attired, had engaged in a game of 
 tennis, and revelled in perfect security amid 
 the excitement and delight of ball and racket, 
 having previously taken the wise precaution to 
 dispatch two of their fellows, for a trifling 
 reward, up the avenue, to give notice of the 
 first sight of De Montbel. 
 
 It is needless to say that these worthies did 
 not return. It was doubtless eagerness to 
 fulfil their mission to the entire satisfaction of 
 their employers, which led them far beyond 
 the avenue, even to the Cloche d^or, the village 
 cabaret. Certain it is that there they were
 
 174 CHANTILLY. 
 
 found sitting at ease, perfectly indifferent as to 
 who went or who came, so long as the jolly 
 host would but consent to broach tlie best Bur- 
 gundy, and troll forth the doleful adventures 
 of Isaie le Triste. 
 
 Such was the scene which burst upon the 
 astonished De Montbel, when, with horses 
 prancing, banners flying, and plumes waving, 
 he rode so gallantly into the court-yard. The 
 affrighted varlets slunk away in conscious 
 shame; and had not the rude clamour of the 
 Duke's followers, creating a fear that it would 
 reach their master's ear, induced them to re- 
 turn, it is not unlikely that, after all the prepa- 
 ration and ceremony, the whole party would 
 have had to dismount and seek food and stab- 
 ling for their steeds where best they might. 
 
 But misfortunes seemed destined never to 
 end : for worse than all this, the flaxen-haired 
 Alexis, the luckless page who had been de- 
 puted from the antechamber with strict injunc- 
 tions to return immediately, being much more
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 175 
 
 occupied with his own gay appearance than 
 with the Count's commands, in passing the 
 marble fountain which adorned the middle of 
 the court, had mounted the step, and while 
 stretching over this primitive mirror, in childish 
 vanity, to admire the dainty fashion of his new 
 satin doublet, had lost his balance, and pitching 
 head foremost, lay in most ludicrous plight, his 
 body immersed in the water, and his legs, 
 clothed in the white trunk hose of the period, 
 slashed and puffed with crimson, kicking and 
 flourishing in the air, until some one rushed 
 to his assistance, amid the uncontrollable and 
 boisterous laughter of the new-comers. The 
 page was rescued from his perilous situation 
 without injury ; but, alas ! to restore the crim- 
 son satin doublet, with its snow-white linings 
 and gold embroidery, or the velvet hat, which, 
 after filling with water, had slowly sunk to the 
 bottom, to their former beauty and freshness, 
 was beyond all power; and it was soon per- 
 ceived how totally unfit he had been rendered
 
 176 CHANTJLLY. 
 
 by this accident to appear in the Count's pre- 
 sence, or to announce the high and mighty 
 strangers. 
 
 Here then was a dilemma: but the un- 
 welcome office, after being bandied about 
 through the household, was at length joyfully 
 accepted by the aged concierge of the chateau. 
 This old man, although sour and taciturn early 
 in the day, unaccountably began, after the 
 hour of noon, to grow gradually officious, 
 talkative, and ripe for adventure. It was re- 
 marked by some, that in proportion as his 
 spirits rose, the Count's flagons visibly dimi- 
 nished; but many yet disbelieved the fact, 
 from his vehement declamations against drunk- 
 enness, and his long and prosy exhortations to 
 sobriety. It had been no difficult task to pre- 
 vail on him to undertake a duty that all were 
 so anxious to escape. He agreed to every 
 thing — he would do any thing — so that he 
 were but allowed to bear a part in the cere- 
 mony, being in one of those peculiarly lofty
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 177 
 
 moods in which he always fancied himself a 
 being of no ordinary genius, and fitted to take 
 a share in any enterprise, however bold or 
 hazardous it might be. The recreant domes- 
 tics, too glad to find a scapegoat, were not slow 
 to encourage this idea ; and presently the old 
 man ascended to the antechamber, with all the 
 dignity which threescore and ten years, and 
 the gold wand of office which he bore in his 
 hand, could possibly bestow. 
 
 In the mean while the Count had been eagerly 
 awaiting in the saloon the first sign of the 
 page's return ; and the banging of doors and 
 noise of footsteps which preceded the steward's 
 entrance, relieved his mind from a load of 
 anxiety, as, while wondering at the length of 
 time which the former had been absent, he al- 
 ready began to repent having despatched him 
 below. 
 
 While these thoughts yet occupied his mind, 
 the folding-doors of the saloon were thrown 
 back with a violent swing. La Vallee drew 
 I 5
 
 178 CHANTILLY. 
 
 himself up with dignity, and firmly grasped 
 the elbow of his chair, as if to assist him in 
 rising. The stranger Knight threw his riding- 
 cloak carelessly across his shoulders, and the 
 ladies stretched forward, each anxious to catch 
 the first glimpse of the long-expected King of 
 Navarre. 
 
 " Monseigneur le Due de Montbel !""* said, 
 or rather shouted, a voice in the antechamber, 
 which La Vallee instantly knew to be that of 
 the young Duke's Spanish equerry, who always 
 accompanied his master, being remarkable for 
 delivering, with true Spanish pomp and em- 
 phasis, the long list of titles which graced his 
 hiffh name. 
 
 The Count turned pale, when, instead of the 
 silvery tones of the blooming Alexis repeating 
 the words, the somewhat squeaking voice of the 
 old concierge fell upon his ear, and at the 
 same moment he entered v^^ith shuffling pace, 
 and advanced nearly to where his master was 
 seated. The latter stared at the messenger 
 for an instant, unable to comprehend the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 179 
 
 meaning of this strange intrusion ; but his 
 presence of mind did not forsake him. It in- 
 stantly occurred to him that something amiss 
 had happened to the page, and he nodded his 
 head in token of satisfaction, hoping to dismiss 
 this withered representative of youth and 
 bloom without further trouble. The old man 
 retired, bowing and smirking, to the door ; 
 but alas ! his task was far from accomplished. 
 Again did the thundering tones of the Spa- 
 niard shout forth with an overwhelming pause 
 between each title : — 
 
 " Monseigneur le Due de Montbei ! Mar- 
 quis de la Meilleraye ! Comte de Florville ! 
 Vicomte de Belleville ! Baron de Motteville ! 
 et Seigneur Chatelain de Mireville ! Gran- 
 ville, et Hauteville !" 
 
 The aged usher hobbled back, his good- 
 humour somewhat diminished. He delivered 
 about half the ponderous list, and again retired 
 with a grin. This was not all ; no sooner had 
 he reached the door, than the voice of his tor- 
 mentor again assailed him : —
 
 J 80 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " Go back," said he pettishly ; " the offices 
 my master holds must not be forgotten : — 
 Gouverneur de Charleville ! Vidame de Senne- 
 ville ! Gentilhomme de la chambre du Roi ! 
 Cap " 
 
 The concierge turned sharply round ; he 
 would listen to no more — he had been gra- 
 dually getting more and more confused until 
 he scarcely knew what had been said. 
 
 " Go back," said he, repeating to the Count 
 word for word what the Equerry had uttered, 
 " the offices my master holds must not be 
 forgotten !" But here he paused ; he could 
 go no further, but remained plantt Id, endea- 
 vouring in vain to remember more. 
 
 The Count bit his lip and trembled with 
 passion. 
 
 '* Where is Alexis P'' whispered the Countess, 
 ready to weep with vexation at this total sub- 
 version of all etiquette in presence of a 
 stranger, who, although too courteous to no- 
 tice it, was evidently highly diverted by the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 181 
 
 scene. Even Estelle could not suppress a 
 smile at the old man's foolish embarrassment, 
 as he awkwardly shuffled from one leg to the 
 other, in his endeavours to recollect the rest ; 
 while Taquine, less constrained, or perhaps 
 possessing less refinement than the others, was 
 almost convulsed with laughter. 
 
 " Colonel de la Garde du Roi ! — that you 
 should know without telling," just then roared 
 the indefatigable Equerry, fancying that by 
 this time the messenger must be again near 
 the door. The latter, whose head was already 
 half turned by the awkwardness of the position 
 in which he stood, hailed this as a relief; but 
 unfortunately at that moment chancing to 
 meet the fiery eye of his master, it completely 
 overset what little sense remained. The words 
 had struck upon his ear, but not upon his un- 
 derstanding, and scarcely conscious of what 
 he was saying, he drawled forth, in quavering 
 tones — " Colonel de la Garde du Roi ! — that 
 you should know without telling !"
 
 182 CHANTILLY. 
 
 This was more than La Vallee could bear. 
 De Montbel's step was already heard on the 
 staircase ; there was nothing on earth he 
 dreaded more than the young Duke's sarcasm, 
 and the idea of appearing ridiculous in his 
 sight galled him to the quick. 
 
 " Enough ! Begone, sirrah V said he, while 
 his eye kindled with fury. 
 
 But the poor old man was now much too 
 frightened to stir. He stood staring vacantly 
 around, as if seeking for help, while the tall 
 wand which he held trembled in his grasp. 
 
 " Membre du Conseil ! — Pair de France!" 
 again thundered forth the Spaniard on the 
 one hand. 
 
 " Begone, this moment !" said the Count on 
 the other. 
 
 He hesitated. The Count stamped his foot. 
 
 " Grand Chambellan !" screamed his perse- 
 cutor from the antechamber. 
 
 " Ah, peste ! jidste ! soit de tout le monde r 
 exclaimed the concierge, and forgetting, in his
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 183 
 
 alarm, where he stood and who he was — in 
 short, every thing but the necessity of making 
 his escape as soon as possible, with a sudden 
 jerk he twisted round and trotted out of the 
 apartment without farther ceremony, — the long 
 sleeves of his jerkin, which hung uselessly from 
 his shoulders, something after the fashion of 
 that of a modern hussar, dangling and flirting 
 in sympathy with the wearer's agitation. 
 
 Well was it for the offender that he did not 
 linger another instant, for scarcely had he thus 
 taken his departure, when a gale of perfume, 
 fragrant as the spicy breezes of Arabia, was 
 wafted up the stairs ; a footstep soft and light 
 was heard approaching, and then the handsome, 
 the gay, the witty, the courtly Duke de Mont- 
 bel stood before them. 
 
 The Count looked anxiously beyond the door 
 in full expectation that the King of Navarre 
 was yet to follow ; but, alas ! no sooner had 
 the Duke entered than it was closed, and beto- 
 kened that no other visitor was to be expected.
 
 184 CHANTILLY. 
 
 So great was his disappointment at this cir- 
 cumstance, that he entirely forgot to rise and 
 welcome De Montbel ; and it was not till the 
 latter, sliding up the polished oaken floor with 
 courtly grace, had reached the head of the 
 apartment, that, roused by the repeated winks 
 and hems of the agitated Countess, he awoke 
 to a sense of his neglect, and hastened to re- 
 ceive his guest with a fruitless attempt to ap- 
 pear pleased on beholding him. 
 
 But it was not, however, the Duke de Mont- 
 bel who could be disconcerted by any reception, 
 however cold, from his future father-in-law. 
 He had already profited by the total absence 
 of mind which the latter betrayed ; for he had 
 already raised himself on tiptoe three successive 
 times to look at himself in the mirror in the 
 dark oak frame at the further end of the 
 apartment, and, with the cufi" of his gold-be- 
 spangled doublet, rubbed a few specks of dust 
 from the mantle over his shoulder ; he had 
 combed up his ringlets with his fingers, and
 
 d'e.spignac. a tale, ia5 
 
 wiped his bear : 
 
 had already tol:: '':.: \:..^.:- _ ^: ivi^:.: 
 
 bv ^ :.: ■• :;., P_ _^ -d 
 
 
 ... :,...:._::- £Kc:.e, 
 
 
 violet) as he called her. 
 
 that •• J 
 
 jn, the King^s lutist, had 
 
 recently _ 
 
 . exceeding sweet and plea- 
 
 sant mel 
 
 d brought, that she 
 
 might 
 
 All ±U baring 
 
 done. : 
 
 . . :.-!' "'. ■. V . ■ '^'"■■^'"^n 
 
 hu- -, :: -.:- " 
 
 .,-".' .... y -::-.'.:.. ^ .. - . . ^.i- 
 
 ith his 
 
 ^ ve. upon the 
 
 CTv :■> \ civet 
 
 D^- 
 
 gently u 
 
 r. 
 
 It wQuia 
 
 - '• " '- ■ • :::r- a 
 
 1, .-,,-, ,^ C ~v-,- -V. - 
 
 _ . : . . . ':.?.n 
 
 man as . studied ease upcm 
 
 :r. It was that soft and sQken beauty
 
 186 CHANTILLY. 
 
 which might, perhaps, have been deemed effemi- 
 nate, had not a kind of restless merry malice 
 played for ever around his mouth and in his 
 eye, divesting his countenance of the fadeur 
 which is generally found the concomitant of 
 this style of beauty. 
 
 He was young, very yoimg, apparently not 
 more than two-and-twenty, and all the fresh 
 graces of boyhood had not as yet entirely va- 
 nished. His high forehead was still white as 
 snow, and shaded by thick curls of the bright- 
 est auburn; his cheek was yet unbronzed by 
 time; care had not planted a single wrinkle 
 there, and its rosy smoothness was unbroken 
 save by sparkling dimples. His dark blue eye 
 flashed gaiW from beneath the long brown 
 lashes — but perhaps a physiognomist would 
 have declared that it was bright and piercing, 
 and might not always wear the same thought- 
 less expression ; while his brow was somewhat 
 proudly arched, and gave reason to believe that 
 his fathers had left him the memory of many a
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 187 
 
 valiant deed, as well as a high and mighty 
 name. 
 
 His attire was most splendid, and from the 
 rufF of point-lace which encircled his throat, 
 to the roses on his white escarpins, plainly 
 bespoke how much pains he had taken to 
 appear to the best advantage. His doublet 
 was of a pale yellow satin, braided with gold 
 and silver ; the cloak was of velvet, of a rich 
 violet, and notwithstanding the thickness of its 
 texture, was drawn into easy and graceful folds 
 by the weight of the gold embroidery. There 
 was elegance even in the display of the white 
 satin lining and ermine trimming, where it 
 was turned back over his shoulder, that added 
 much grace to his general appearance. The 
 most unconcerned could not have passed with- 
 out notice the superb star of brilliants which fas- 
 tened the long plumes of his velvet cap ; neither 
 could any have beheld the blaze of jewels in 
 the handle of his rapier, without remembering 
 it for many a day.
 
 188 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Every thing about the youth was characteris- 
 tic of the foppish, fastidious court, wherein he 
 himself was considered among the most fop- 
 pish and fastidious ; and yet, whether he pos- 
 sessed the art of concealing this boyish vanity, 
 or that it suited well with his habitual liveli- 
 ness, matters little ; but true it is that the most 
 scrutinizing could scarcely have detected the 
 least symptom of affectation, save that, in the 
 studied manner in which his leg and foot were 
 thrown forward, might be perceived the sly 
 intent of displaying their exquisite symmetry ; 
 but there are few of our readers who could not 
 pardon this, on the part of a young lover, just 
 in the presence of his mistress. 
 
 It was some time ere La Vallee, who was 
 much annoyed at the careless, degage air with 
 which the Duke was humming a paltry ballad, 
 while he was expiring with anxiety, could 
 summon indifference enough to utter a cold 
 and stern, 
 
 " You are late, my Lord."
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 189 
 
 The remark was unfortunate at the moment, 
 for it arrested De Montbel in one of his most 
 brilliant roulades, as, with one hand pressed 
 upon his bosom, he skimmed the air with the 
 other, in a soft and graceful flourish to assist 
 expression. The sharp tone in which La Val- 
 lee spoke caused him to turn ; he gazed at the 
 austere countenance of the latter for a moment, 
 and his own broke into a thousand merry dim- 
 ples, as he threw himself back, and indulged in 
 a peal of laughter which echoed to the very 
 ceiling. 
 
 The Count grew red in the face ; he thought 
 that the Duke had misunderstood him, and he 
 repeated rather petulantly, 
 
 " You are late, my Lord ;'' and added, in 
 order to make it more impressive — " we have 
 tarried your arrival long."' 
 
 De Montbel laughed the more, and La Val- 
 lee, as might well be expected, grew more 
 angry, for the former was by no means suc- 
 cessful in his endeavours to check his mirth ;
 
 190 CHANTILLY. 
 
 and he still chuckled with glee, as he re- 
 ])lied, 
 
 " Nay, nay, methinks I came even now too 
 soon. If I had arrived much sooner, I know 
 not how we might have fared. Of a truth, ye 
 keep late hours at Avilly ; ha ! it was not so 
 at Court, where ye were all up and stirring, ere 
 yet we had played our last stake at hom- 
 bre. Look, the sun is setting, and yet the 
 piquers, the veneui's, the valets-de-chasse, the 
 valets-de-pied, and, in short, all the rest of the 
 varlets, were literally in their undress suits 
 when I entered ; while one little coquin, the 
 only one amongst them in decent trim, was 
 bathing in the fountain without even so much 
 as doffing his mantle." 
 
 The Count looked aghast. He was imme- 
 diately convinced that the Duke^s merriment 
 was occasioned by some ludicrous circumstance 
 which had taken place below. He coughed, 
 and fidgeted, and wished to appear uncon- 
 cerned. 
 
 " I am rejoiced to — to — see you so merry.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 191 
 
 M. de Montbelj" said he, while his eye com- 
 pletely belied the assertion ; " but — but — you 
 are alone ; I had expected that — " 
 
 " Ah, well, I mind it not ; I know you 
 expected they were in readiness,'^ interrupted 
 the Duke. '^ Ha ! ha ! it has afforded me 
 mirth for a year to come, and when — "*' 
 
 '' Nay, but, my Lord, I was going to ob- 
 serve, that I had expected — " 
 
 "Tut, tut, say no more, — I am in no wise 
 aggrieved. Saudis ! if we were to trouble our 
 heads about the varlets, we should have but lit- 
 tle time for anything beside. To speak truth, 
 I would not have missed it for the whole world. 
 Such a scene ! the frightened caitiffs running 
 here and there in search of their jerkins, and 
 seizing the first that came to hand, heedless of 
 their own height, breadth, or circumference ! 
 How the King will laugh! — and the gaudy 
 little page — ha ! ha ! ha ! — with his head under 
 water, exploring the secrets of the fountain, 
 like a duck in a village pond ! and the — " 
 
 '• But, Monseigneur — "
 
 192 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " How the King will laugh, for he loves a 
 gossip," continued De Montbel, without heed- 
 ing the interruption ; " he will doubtless get 
 me to tell it at his lever to-morrow : 'twill suit 
 exactly to put his Council in good-humour, that 
 they may give his Majesty another day's re- 
 spite, and not press him for awhile on state 
 affairs." 
 
 The Count was now in a downright passion, 
 and it was with difficulty he could restrain it 
 from bursting forth. His mere glance would 
 have checked any other than the hardened De 
 Montbel, as he exclaimed, at length, " But 
 M. de Montbel, I would speak of other mat- 
 ters, — the King of Navarre, — the King of 
 Navarre !" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! by the by," again laughed the 
 Duke, " there is no one can relish a joke better 
 than the King of Navarre : it was downright 
 ill-luck in him to have missed all this fun. 
 Why it would have — " 
 
 " Nay, but my dear De Montbel," sim-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 193 
 
 pered forth the Countess, who perceived the 
 scarlet glow upon La Vallee's cheek, and feared 
 an explosion, " the Count de la Vallee would 
 know why the King of Navarre — Ask him, 
 Estelle, love," she continued, colouring with 
 vexation, as she felt the very floor vibrate with 
 the low suppressed laughter of the stranger 
 Knight, who stood behind her chair, " ask him 
 why the King of Navarre is not — " 
 
 " Nay," exclaimed the Count, in that tone of 
 authority which he would have assumed towards 
 a perverse and fro ward child, " M. de Montbel 
 can surely leave trifling for an instant, and tell 
 us plainly why the King of Navarre has not 
 deigned to honour us with a visit." 
 
 " Ah, true, true ; de Montbel, dearest, 
 where is the King of Navarre ?" repeated the 
 Countess meekly, and putting up her mouth, 
 as she caught de MontbeFs eye, as a sort of 
 warning to trifle no longer. 
 
 " In truth, I wot not," returned the Duke, 
 to her great dismay, for this time he really did 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 CHANTILLY. 
 
 speak seriously ; — " in truth, I wot not, for the 
 air of Avilly has already had the same effect 
 upon him as upon others, and stolen away his 
 senses." 
 
 " But, Monseigneur, your courier said that 
 he was already on the road, and yonder worthy 
 cavalier — " 
 
 " Nay, but listen ; 'twas true enough ; we 
 departed from the palace together, and without 
 other company."" The Count frowned, and 
 gazed at the stranger, who turned aside, as if 
 unwilling to meet his glance. *' And in plain 
 suits, too," continued the Duke, " like two 
 mere spadassins ; for, to speak truth, I had 
 nothing but my purple velvet suit, with the 
 sable trimmings and silver lacings ; and as for 
 the King himself, his very mantle, — pah I — 
 I will not shock your feelings ; but he per- 
 suaded me myself, the Duke de Montbel, to 
 come hither in such plight — Only think of his 
 powers of persuasion ! But no sooner had we 
 entered the wood, when already did we seem
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 195 
 
 bewitched, for a wild blast of a trumpet shook 
 the forest to its very foundations : so like a chal- 
 lenge to combat a outrance, that I was for 
 pricking our steeds in the direction whence it 
 came, while his Majesty declared first that he 
 heard it not, although it wellnigh split m}- 
 ears, and then that it was not worthy notice. 
 Now, had it ended here, I might still have 
 thought him sane ; but, lo ! while we were yet 
 in argument, another sound yet more harsh and 
 horrible was heard — a wailing woeful howl — 
 not unlike the cries of a flogged mastiff; and 
 then the King straightway started from the path, 
 and beat into the wood, declaring that the hunt 
 was out, and he could not resist followinof it. 
 Now, if that be the way in which you hunt at 
 Avilly, I pray you ask me not to join you while 
 I have ears and nerves, and hold them in the 
 slightest estimation."" 
 
 The Count looked unutterable things, but 
 contempt and indignation most particularly. 
 
 " And did you not follow his Majesty .?"" asked 
 K 2
 
 196 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the Countess, to whom this want of respect in- 
 stantly suggested itself as the greatest offence 
 of which he could have been guilty. 
 
 " 'Twas vain to essay it," replied the Duke ; 
 " my rose-coloured satin sash, the very one 
 that the King himself gave me, was torn in the 
 endeavour ; and so, after having called, and 
 bawled, and shouted after him in vain, I turned 
 back to the palace, to get myself in decent 
 plight, and summon a proper retinue, ere I 
 entered my father's most august and awful pre- 
 sence ; and, verily, if I had now but the 
 agraffe of rubies which I lost to d'Epernon, I 
 should— '^ 
 
 " Psha ! and so you have not since beheld 
 him !" interrupted the Count, in utter astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " I have not since beheld him/' repeated the 
 Duke in perfect unconcern. " To speak truth, 
 I should not wonder if, after all, he is re- 
 turned to Chantilly ; for 'tis just the full of the 
 moon ;" — he touched his forehead significantly
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 197 
 
 — " and this very morn d'Aubigne, who could 
 not get from his Majesty the forty gold marcs 
 he has owed him so long, told me — but whis- 
 per it not abroad — that the King of Navarre 
 was always just so at full of the moon !*" 
 
 '' Then is d'Aubigne a false and perjured 
 traitor !" exclaimed the stranger Knight, step- 
 ping suddenly forward, " and, moreover, a 
 slandering, backbiting knave ! — and, moreover 
 — Vive Dieii! when next we go to battle, he 
 shall be set to guard the baggage,'"* added he, 
 half angry, half laughing, to witness the young 
 Duke's utter amazement. 
 
 The latter stood looking foolish and per- 
 plexed, yet evidently much inclined to laugh, 
 in spite of his embarrassment. " Who could 
 have thought,*" exclaimed he at length, blushing 
 as deep as scarlet, — " who could have thought 
 that your Majesty's very self — " 
 
 The word was electric : the Count started 
 from his chair ; the Countess sank backward, 
 half fainting, in her's, exclaiming in agony,
 
 198 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " 'Tis the King of Navarre ! — Gracious Hea- 
 vens ! he has been standing this hour, and we 
 bade him not be seated !""* 
 
 Estelle uttered a faint scream, and even the 
 rubicund tinge fled for a moment from the 
 point of Taquine's nose, although it had been 
 immovable for years. All, in truth, had cause 
 for alarm. The Count himself, during the 
 walk on the terrace with his guest, had tried to 
 extort all information concerning Henry de 
 Navarre, and in so doing had let slip divers 
 rash opinions respecting him, in the vain hope 
 of seducing his companion to join in them. The 
 Countess had not shown him the least attention, 
 nor even once, as she herself observed, begged 
 him to be seated. It is not difficult to guess 
 the cause of Estelle's dismay ; and as for Ta- 
 quine, she had been winking and blinking at 
 the stranger for the last half hour, whenever 
 any thing had struck her as particularly comi- 
 cal either in the Count or Countess. 
 
 But the good-natured King was too anxious
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 199 
 
 to give vent to the malicious mirth which had 
 been so long suppressed, to keep silence ; he 
 glanced just once at de Montbel; in an in- 
 stant they understood each other, and both 
 burst into a fit of laughter loud and long 
 continued. La Vallee, who knew that on such 
 occasions there is aid in a little confusion, took 
 advantage of their merriment to express his 
 sorrow and regret, " That he had not known his 
 Majesty at first sight ; but it was so long since 
 he had beheld him, and his Majesty was so much 
 altered — of course, improved in appearance 
 — that, in truth, he was difficult to recognize." 
 And the Countess came most fortunately to his 
 aid ; for, although in rising, being somewhat 
 agitated, she had trodden upon the train of her 
 murrey-coloured velvet, yet, for once, her tem- 
 per was unruffled, and she busied herself in 
 drawing a chair for her royal guest, the very 
 one in which she had herself been seated. 
 This civility was, of course, duly acknowledged 
 but declined by the King, who was forced, so
 
 200 CHANTILLY. 
 
 great was her loyal sorrow, to take the utmost 
 pains to convince her, that, if he had any 
 grief, it was certainly not of long standing. 
 He told them, in his own good-humoured man- 
 ner, that he was in no wise offended, and yet 
 amply revenged himself for their neglect, by 
 laughing at them all ; and as for d'Aubigne, 
 he turned to de Montbel, and exclaimed, 
 — " Vive Dieu ! de Montbel, thou hast done us 
 kindly service, in telling all the base lies which 
 yonder false traitor has uttered concerning 
 us. We will not render him so much as one 
 of the forty golden marks we owe him, but 
 rather keep them as auhaine of the heavy 
 fine to which he is subject for speaking treason 
 of the King his master."
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 201 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " C'est lui — d'un esprit vif airaable et facile." 
 
 Voltaire. 
 
 Of all the favourites of Henry de Valois — 
 and perhaps no Christian monarch could ever 
 boast a greater number — none were so beloved, 
 none had obtained so great an influence over 
 him, as the young Duke de Montbel ; and, to do 
 him justice, none were so worthy of his friend- 
 ship. He was from Gascony, and, of a surety, 
 belied not his province — the land of warm hearts 
 and smiling faces. It appeared, indeed, as 
 though in mirth and ready wit he far ex- 
 ceeded all that could be expected, even from 
 one of his country. He was of those whom 
 K 5
 
 202 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Fortune delights to load with her gifts, merely 
 because Nature has already set her the ex- 
 ample. Handsome and well-favoured, young 
 and gay, he had nothing to hope for, nothing 
 to desire. The King never smiled but when 
 he was nigh ; the court was dull when he was 
 absent; he seemed fitted to pass through life 
 without care or sorrow ; these were, as yet, un- 
 heeded and unknown : he knew they had ex- 
 istence — but where he cared not, it was nothing 
 to him, so long as they came not near the 
 King, his friend and master. 
 
 To those who did not take the pains to look 
 beyond the harmless foppery, which, to com- 
 mon observers, formed the only striking fea- 
 ture in his character, he was nothing more 
 than the favourite de Montbel, the handsomest 
 youth at Court, and ever the most superbly at- 
 tired ; with a ready smile for all and a frown for 
 none ; who drove ennui as far from the King 
 as possible, and could not for a moment be 
 spared ; but those who knew him would tell 
 of the goodness of his heart, and deep devo-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 203 
 
 tion to the King: they would speak of the 
 boundless generosity to which the latter owed 
 exemption for awhile from the harassing em- 
 barrassments which had so long distressed 
 him ; and while some would blink and look 
 wise, and throw out hints concerning the young- 
 Duke's frequent short retirements from Court, 
 and journeys into Gascony, those would still tell 
 of his aged mother, and of the kind and dutiful 
 love for her which caused them. 
 
 It will be perhaps wondered that Estelle 
 should not have discovered all this hidden 
 worth ; but she had thought with the rest, 
 that he was, as he appeared, all surface ; she 
 had shrunk from his buoyant spirits ; they 
 suited not with her meek retiring nature. 
 And now it was too late ! her heart had long- 
 ago been borne away by the haughty, dark- 
 eyed forester ; and by comparison, the gay and 
 merry de Montbel seemed like the gaudy sum- 
 mer-flower, glowing but in sunshine ; while the 
 proud and lofty soul of Julian was as the 
 gnarled and stubborn oak, round which, like
 
 204 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the frail ivy, her gentle spirit could have twin- 
 ed, content to be supported by its strength, 
 and nurtured in its shade. 
 
 Poor de Montbel was, all this while, perfectly 
 secure in possessing her love ; for whom had 
 he ever sought to please without success ? He 
 thought no longer how to win her love — he 
 deemed it already won ; and his sole anxiety 
 was now to prove all the depth and tenderness 
 of his own. With that open-handed generosity 
 for which he was so remarkable, fete and re- 
 vels of the most gorgeous description, of which 
 she was at once the idol and the queen, now 
 made merry the once silent woods of Chantilly, 
 and she was the envy and admiration of all. 
 But nothing could waken her from the calm 
 trance into which she had so lately fallen. 
 She moved in seeming unconcern among the 
 gay and thoughtless crowd ; yet was her heart 
 far from the joyous scenes in which she was 
 compelled to take a share — even amid the 
 shades of the silent forest. Often, while wan-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 205 
 
 dering with listless steps upon the marble ter- 
 race of the chateau, even while surrounded by 
 all the wit and gaiety of the Court, would she 
 turn a stealthy gaze towards the path which 
 led to the lonely cabin of the vachere, and 
 sometimes, ere she withdrew her eyes, they 
 were filled with tears. She sighed to think of 
 Jacqueline, and for a time fancied that it was 
 regret for her alone that caused her thoughts 
 to dwell so fondly on the happy hours she had 
 passed at her side. But it cannot be supposed 
 that he who so long had shared her peaceful 
 joy was now forgotten. Ah, no ! alas ! the 
 sad remembrance of his deep consuming grief 
 and undeserved misfortunes ; the story of his 
 wrongs, as told with all a mother's anguish by 
 Jacqueline, haunted her like a dream, and suf- 
 fered her not to know the peace of mind which 
 had hitherto been her's. And thus, although 
 the smile was still upon her cheek, her heart was 
 desolate ; the love which she once had cherished 
 for her father, long settled into disgust at his
 
 206 CHANTILLY. 
 
 grasping avarice and cold-hearted cruelty, was 
 now destined to change to bitter contempt, at 
 the base hypocrisy he displayed in his inter- 
 course with de Montbel, for whom he feigned 
 the greatest friendship. Towards the young 
 Duke himself her feelings had unjustly chilled 
 almost into dislike. She knew not why, except 
 that they partook largely of a restless, never- 
 ceasing dread, that each day he would take steps 
 to hasten their nuptials. And the dreaded 
 moment did come at last ; and the day — ay, 
 the hour was fixed, which was to make her his 
 bride. It was then, and not till then, that a 
 silent hope, long nourished so deeply in her 
 bosom as to have been a secret even to herself, 
 at once gave way to gloom and disappoint- 
 ment. She had pictured to herself a future 
 of difficulties vanquished, and hardships over- 
 come, but not for de Montbel's sake ; and in 
 the dream of happiness to which her fancy led, 
 he had no share. It was the thought of Julian 
 I'Eveque, the dark-browed hunter of the forest.
 
 D'ESPiGNAC, A TALE. 207 
 
 the unknown, homeless, and friendless Ligueur, 
 which had caused her heart to throb with 
 hope and joy, even while viewing her father's 
 artful schemes, and listening to de MontbePs 
 vows. 
 
 She had fancied that the Duke would not 
 press his suit, as each day the declining power 
 of the King, and the growing fame of Henry de 
 Navarre, rendered her father's claim to Avilly 
 less secure; but, like the rest, she had been 
 deceived in her suitor's character. To him the 
 retiring modesty of Estelle was worth all the 
 glitter of the courtly dames who at that time 
 crowded round the throne ; and from the mo- 
 ment he had first beheld her sweet and blush- 
 ing graces, he had marked her for his own. 
 He loved her now, and not all the wealth of the 
 universe had power to make him change. By 
 others, the sudden alteration from seeming hap- 
 piness to evident despondency, which took 
 place in his betrothed bride from the time that 
 the period of her marriage became no longer
 
 208 CHANTILLY. 
 
 doubtful, was disregarded. To de Montbel 
 alone, who watched her with the vigilant eye of 
 love, did it give uneasiness. His pride at first 
 took alarm — he thought of other attachments, 
 and looked around with jealousy upon all the 
 young noblemen whom he thought likely to be 
 rivals. But soon did he own himself deceived. 
 She gazed upon them all with the same brow 
 of gloom ; not one could restore, even for an 
 instant, the joyous smiles which had so lately 
 vanished without apparent cause ; and he was 
 forced to seek consolation in the assurance, that 
 it was but regret to leave her kind, beloved 
 parents, which had caused the change. AVith 
 kind and delicate attention, he sought to win 
 her from this cold reserve ; and fete after fete 
 was given in her honour, but yet the weight 
 upon her spirits seemed not to be dispelled. 
 He could not fail to perceive how vain were all 
 his efforts to restore that gaiety, the loss of 
 which had so perplexed him ; yet he relaxed not 
 ^n his endeavours, and every art was tried that 
 he thought likely to succeed.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 209 
 
 He had observed with what a show of plea- 
 sure Estelle had always hailed any excursion 
 to the forest, and with attentive gallantry, par- 
 ties were planned, and entertainments imagined 
 for her amusement, day after day, amid the 
 sweet umbrage of the wood ; and in these alone 
 did she seem to take interest. 
 
 It was on one of these occasions that de 
 Montbel had formed a fowling-party among 
 the young Seigneurs then at Chantilly, from 
 which much amusement was anticipated. The 
 suggestion was eagerly acceded to by all the 
 ladies, on account of its novelty ; and with 
 bright smiles and merry looks they set for- 
 ward on the day appointed, to witness the 
 sport, and encourage the sportsmen. They had 
 far to go, into the very thickest of the wood, 
 and litters were provided, whose bright colour- 
 ed silken awnings made a gay appearance as 
 they fluttered in the breeze; while the small 
 gilt bells, which hung in clusters round the 
 light frame- work, jingling with each motion of 
 the fair inmate, made pleasant music, as she
 
 210 CHANTILLY. 
 
 bent forward to laugh and chat with the cava- 
 lier at her side. The noble sportsmen them- 
 selves, each attired in the colour of his house, 
 mostly of the gayest kind, and bearing a fowl- 
 ing-net and hooked iron instrument, wherewith 
 to separate the tangled branches, followed on 
 foot ; and although their game was to be 
 sought amid the green foliage, yet did their 
 eyes more frequently turn to the litters, to 
 gaze on the beauteous forms within. 
 
 The King, who was delighted with any new 
 plan of killing time, had joyfully agreed to be 
 of the party ; but being delayed by some un- 
 foreseen event, had subsequently proposed to 
 join them at the hour of noon, at a certain 
 spot, with his own immediate train. 
 
 On arriving hither, however, the whole as- 
 sembly were surprised and chagrined to find, 
 instead of the King and a large band of fol- 
 lowers as they had expected, only a single 
 messenger, with a thousand apologies from his 
 Majesty to his loving cousin de Bourbon, for
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 211 
 
 his non-attendance, but pleading in excuse, the 
 arrival of important despatches, demanding in- 
 stant attention ; which would, moreover, con- 
 line him the whole day within the palace. 
 
 Now it was well known among the male por- 
 tion of the party, at least, that no affair of state, 
 however important, could restrain him from a 
 party of pleasure ; and the conviction that some- 
 thing unusual had occurred, checked their ea- 
 gerness in the sport, and filled them with appre- 
 hension. The ladies too, who had worn their 
 brightest smiles and best attire, in order to 
 charm the heart of the King, vacant since the 
 death of the Princess de Conde, began to pout 
 a little at the unwelcome intelligence ; and thus, 
 by the time they had alighted to take refresh- 
 ment, a gloomy silence had taken place of the 
 mirth and laughter which were before heard. 
 
 The Queen, the beauteous Louise de Vaude- 
 mont, whose fatal gift of loveliness had proved 
 her bane, in attracting the King while her 
 heart was breaking for love of the Count de
 
 212 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Salm, had been induced, for once, to relax 
 from that austere devotion in which she had 
 lately sought a refuge from despair, and join 
 the excursion. The idea of having (even at 
 the request of her confessor) committed this 
 most useless sin, rendered her more than usu- 
 ally gloomy ; and on alighting from her litter, 
 instead of taking refreshment with the rest, she 
 rather chose to fast, as penance, and sitting 
 apart, began reading the prayers from her gilt 
 formnlaire in a loud unbroken whisper, which 
 effectually checked any merrin;ent among the 
 courtiers. 
 
 La Vallee himself was wretched ; — he knew 
 that the King must be in want of advice, — 
 there were none nigh at hand to give it : per- 
 haps, by yielding to de Montbel's solicitations 
 in thus joining a foolish, bird-catching party — 
 as in his own mind he termed it — he had lost 
 the opportunity of making his fortune, or, per- 
 haps, even stepping into de Montbel's place, 
 by securing the gratitude of the King for timely
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 213 
 
 counsel. His only desire was to get back to 
 Chantilly before the rest, in order to obtain 
 the first intimation of what new event had 
 occurred, that his own plans might be matured 
 before those of his rivals could yet be devised. 
 
 The spot on which they had fixed to halt 
 was on the very verge of the estate of Avilly ; 
 dark and lonely, and chosen for its impene- 
 trable umbrage, being a refuge from the sun, 
 who now, however, with his usual perverseness 
 on such occasions, absolutely refused to shine, 
 but, concealing himself behind a dark over- 
 hanging cloud, seemed resolved, as they had 
 sighed for shade, not to disappoint their 
 wishes. It was in vain that the gentlemen tried 
 to create a kind of factitious gaiety, by drink- 
 ing largely of the wine which had been pro- 
 vided : dullness and disappointment had ob- 
 tained the mastery, and all their efforts to chase 
 them away but rendered them more apparent. 
 Even the King of Navarre, who, on ordinary 
 occasions, was the very soul of wit and mirth,
 
 214 CHANTILLY. 
 
 seemed saddened and depressed, and could find 
 nothing more tlian a few common-place obser- 
 vations at command, until a raven, perching in 
 the branches of the oak beneath which they 
 were seated, sent forth its hoarse, mournful 
 note, and was remarked by one of the ladies as 
 an omen of ill. It was then that, roused by the 
 recollections which that sound inspired, he told 
 why he could never hear it without a shudder. 
 He spoke of those horrid nights he had passed 
 before the massacre of the Saint Barthelemi, 
 when, sleeping in the apartment of his cousin, 
 Charles the Ninth, they had both been aroused 
 at midnight for many successive nights by the 
 dismal croaking of ravens, mingled with hollow 
 groans and cries for aid, as of persons in the 
 agonies of death ; how they had listened in 
 speechless terror, until, summoning courage to 
 rise, they beheld in the moonlight a flight of 
 these ill-omened birds, wheeling and soaring 
 above the building ; and all knew of the hor- 
 rible death that befell many shortly after, who 
 were then sleeping there in safety.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 215 
 
 The company looked around in mute and 
 painful dread. The clouds had gathered dark 
 and fast while they had been listening, and a 
 violent land wind suddenly springing up, 
 sighed mournfully through the trees. The 
 spot where they had halted, merely shady when 
 the sun was shining, became damp and chilly 
 when uncheered by his presence. The ladies 
 shivered, and sighed for their cheerful apart- 
 ments in the palace. There was not, in fact, 
 one of the party who would not now have 
 gladly turned home, but each feared to be the 
 first to move. 
 
 Silence had reigned for some minutes, and 
 the raven again screamed from the topmost 
 bough of the oak. The harebrained young 
 Marquis de Liancourt, whose youthful spirits 
 had hitherto stood alone proof against the con- 
 tagion of dullness, in vain endeavoured to drive 
 the bird away, by casting his fowling net 
 among the branches. At first he laughed in 
 reckless glee at his own useless exertions, as 
 they served but to bring down a shower of
 
 216 CHANTILLY. 
 
 leaves upon the heads of the ladies beneath ; 
 but none joined in his merriment : the raven 
 screamed yet hoarser than before, and he, too, 
 at length resumed his seat, inspired with the 
 same melancholy which had overcome the rest. 
 
 " It is well that Queen Catherine is not 
 here,"" said de Montbel at length, making a 
 wondrous effort to speak in a cheerful tone ; 
 " she would say that': the dirge of one of us is 
 now being chanted over our heads/' 
 
 " Pasques Dieu /" said de Bourbon, in a 
 whisper ; " she would know in an instant for 
 whom it was sung. She has marvellous skill 
 in augury, and has ofttimes read aright the 
 doom of those around her." 
 
 " Then," exclaimed a talkative old lady, 
 who had been attached to the court of Cathe- 
 rine, " has she the skill and wit of old Fi- 
 nelli, the Italian astrologer, whom I once heard 
 tell the names of those who were doomed ere 
 long to die ! and I warrant me, not one of 
 those he named are living now."
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 217 
 
 " May be they were chiefly Protestants/"* 
 said Henry, with a wan smile. 
 
 " Nay, nay, your Majesty," returned the 
 old lady sharply ; " de Guise himself, who led 
 our Catholics, was of the list, and many more 
 whose faith was never questioned. There was, 
 for instance, the old Count d'Espignac — a 
 stauncher Catholic never existed — he too was 
 of the number ; and sure enough he laid his 
 head upon the block soon after, and died a 
 traitor's death !" 
 
 '* Ay, and did he merit that hard fate ?" 
 said Henry. 
 
 "It matters not, it matters not," returned 
 the old lady ; " what once Finelli had spoken 
 must come true : had he been never so loyal, 
 still would d'Espignac have died. Ay, and 
 now I mind, he spoke another prophecy — he 
 said the d'Espignacs had long been a doomed 
 race, but now it was nigh fulfilment ; they 
 would never see another generation !" 
 
 Estelle here listened with eagerness, for she 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 CHANTILLY. 
 
 had already heard from Jacqueline of the dark 
 mysterious doom which hung over that expiring 
 house, and the story had created a kind of 
 romantic interest in Adh6mar, which the old 
 woman had spared no pains to foster. The 
 lady proceeded. 
 
 " No wonder, then, that from that time we 
 saw with sorrow (for we were all united then) 
 how the lovely Countess drooped and sickened : 
 she died shortly after ; and, heigho ! the Count 
 perished on the scaffold ! And then their son. 
 Count Adhemar, the heir to these broad lands, 
 stood alone of all that line of pride ; but he 
 has doubtless long ago accomplished Finelli's 
 sentence, for in de Guise's time he was hot and 
 turbulent, and all the talk was of Count Ad- 
 hemar ; but now it is long since he has been 
 heard of." 
 
 '* Vive Dieu ! but this is lucky news for 
 our friend La Vallee there, if he believes 
 the old curmudgeon's prophecy," said Henry 
 de Bourbon, drily, and without raising his
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 219 
 
 eyes from an emerald ring which he was 
 sliding from one finger to the other in mani- 
 fest agitation. 
 
 No notice was taken of his speech, and he 
 supposed that it had fallen pointless ; but he 
 had secret reason for wishing to probe the 
 feelings of the Count, and suffered not the 
 subject to drop. 
 
 " What think you, La Vallee, is it not 
 joyous inteUigence ?" said he again, yet more 
 urgently. 
 
 There was still silence; no answer was re- 
 turned. 
 
 " My father has left us. Sire," said the low 
 soft accents of Estelle. The King started, 
 and looked sternly at the place where La Val- 
 lee had been seated. " So please your Ma- 
 jesty,"' continued Estelle meekly, on perceiving 
 the colour rise to the King's cheek, " my 
 father is somewhat advanced in years, and the 
 cold and fatigue have overcome his strength; 
 he bade me not disturb your Majesty by 
 l2
 
 220 CHANTILLY. 
 
 noticing his departure, and he has taken the 
 road home.""* 
 
 She trembled as she spoke, and the sight of 
 her embarrassment checked the rising ancrer 
 of the young King, for his wrath was easily 
 appeased by a glance from a female eye. He 
 merely contented himself by saying that he 
 condemned La Vallee for returning alone, and 
 forgave the apparent neglect of which he had 
 been guilty. 
 
 '' What ! is he gone alone !" said the same 
 old lady who had spoken before, and who 
 seemed as much given to croaking as the raven 
 in the tree : " Nay, now I should not wonder 
 if he fell in with strange company ere he 
 came to his journey's end ; it is, in truth, pass- 
 ing strange he should have gone alone." 
 
 " And without apologising to his Majesty ! 
 1 fear me he is ill indeed," said the Countess 
 de la Vallee, yawning, and again resuming a 
 dispute with an old Seigneur of the Court, 
 concerning the pedigree of the Hautvents of
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 221 
 
 Mont-tonnerre, from which she had broken off* 
 to make the observation. 
 
 " Ah ! he might meet with all the ghosts of 
 all the d'EspignacSj" said the young de Lian- 
 court, in a mock solemn tone; " who knows 
 but they might arise en masse ^ a complete 
 regiment of bare-bones, to drive him off their 
 land?" 
 
 '' But there would need but one," said de 
 Montbel, willing to aid these returning symp- 
 toms of badinage ; '^ the land would now be 
 claimed by none save Adhemar, and he may 
 not as yet be quite a ghost, in spite of Finelli's 
 prophecy." 
 
 " Oh, then our friend''s luck might even be 
 worse," said de Liancourt, laughing heartily ; 
 " if he were to meet Adhemar himself, — Adhe- 
 mar in the flesh — he would have yet more cause 
 for alarm, for outlaws are so rude and boister- 
 ous they little care whom they kill with af- 
 fright ; and Adhemar too has practised three 
 most worthy professions, any of which would
 
 222 CHANTILLY. 
 
 kill poor La Vallee to think of: soldier, Ligueur, 
 and forester. Ha ! ha ! only fancy the Count's 
 amazement when such a wild huntsman should 
 start forth from among the bushes ! it would 
 scare him so that he would repeat the whole of 
 the code in order to quiet him.""* 
 
 There was a momentary silence in the assem- 
 bly, for more than one had just then fancied 
 that the boughs were agitated, as if some one 
 were moving behind the tree ; yet, on looking 
 round. La Vallee's place was alone vacant. 
 But the giddy de Liancourt did not perceive it, 
 for he continued, 
 
 " Now would I wager my father's signet- 
 ring against a marble pellet, that the Count 
 meets with some wild adventure ere he reach 
 the chateau. They always happen to persons 
 of his serious nature who know not their value, 
 w^hile we would sometimes give all we possess 
 but for a moment of the marvellous." 
 
 " Pasgues Dieu ! de Liancourt, I take thy 
 wager,*" said Henry, endeavouring once more
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 223 
 
 to give the conversation a gayer turn ; " here is 
 my stake,"" he added, taking from his finger 
 the emerald we have before noticed. 
 
 " Here is mine. Mademoiselle de la Vallee 
 is queen of the day ; she will hold them," said 
 de Liancourt, throwing his ring into Estelle''s 
 lap. The King of Navarre did the same, and 
 with the mere curiosity of idleness, she raised 
 the emerald to the light, and examined it mi- 
 nutely. It was a gem of the largest size and 
 greatest value, and bore the impress of a bound- 
 ing stag, so exquisitely cut, as to induce her 
 to regard it with the utmost attention. Her 
 exclamation at its singular beauty was, how- 
 ever, lost amid the burst of laughter with 
 which de Liancourt hailed the solemn announce- 
 ment of an elderly gentleman of the company, 
 who said with a frightened look, that he feared 
 the King had laid an incautious bet, as it had 
 been rumoured more than once that Count 
 Adhemar had taken refuge in the forest, even 
 where they now were.
 
 224 CHANTILLY. 
 
 The ladies drew closer to each other for 
 mutual protection, and looked as if not know- 
 ing whether to be frightened or not ; but the 
 King, with more irritation than the occasion 
 apparently warranted, endeavoured to allay the 
 alarm this observation might have created. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! my Lord," said he, turning 
 sharply to the speaker, " this is mere idle 
 gossip : young d'Espignac has doubtless sought 
 safety in some foreign land, where his sword 
 cannot fail to carve out a more splendid fortune 
 than even that which he has lost in this."" 
 
 '' Ay,"" said de Montbel quickly, " or per- 
 chance he has fled to Lorraine, where all 
 who loved de Guise will find a hearty wel- 
 come. But come, let us forget the subject : 
 Adhemar is, doubtless, far away, and be sure 
 La Vallce will reach the chateau in safety ; 
 there be none in the forest would seek to do 
 him harm." 
 
 Scarcely had the Duke uttered these words, 
 when the assembly started in amazement, the
 
 d'espigisac, a tale. 225 
 
 King was on his feet in an instant, and his 
 hand upon the hiU of his sword; for the re- 
 port of a gun awoke the silent echoes of the 
 wood, and then, a wild cry of despair and 
 agony rent the air and chilled their souls 
 by its thrilling tone. The raven flapped his 
 heavy wings, and flew, screaming, towards the 
 spot whence the sound had issued. His sud- 
 den rush from among the branches caused the 
 company to turn in dismay to watch his 
 flight. Estelle alone stood by de Bourbon's 
 side, silent and motionless, as if suddenly 
 turned to marble : her lips were far apart, 
 and yet she seemed to breathe with difficulty ; 
 and her eye was fixed with a vacant gaze 
 up the boundless avenue, for there, at a few 
 paces distant from the party, all silent and 
 motionless as herself, stood — the hunter, Julian 
 TEveque ! 
 
 The King alone was looking in the same 
 direction, and, scarcely conscious of the ac- 
 tion, the maiden seized his arm and held it, 
 l5
 
 226 CHANTILLY. 
 
 as thouffh slic feared he would move to alarm 
 the rest. She stamped her fairy feet in agi- 
 tation, as she perceived that the hunter made 
 no motion to depart, and seemed unconscious 
 of his danger. 
 
 Henry was startled ; he endeavoured gently 
 to disengage his hand, but she held it in 
 a yet stronger grasp lest he should escape. 
 She grew bewildered and impatient : he, too, 
 stamped slightly, and muttered between his 
 teeth ; and, with the hand that was still free, 
 raised his sword, and pointed towards the 
 wood. The effect was instantaneous ; the hun- 
 ter moved from the path ; he turned but to 
 take another look, and, striking his forehead 
 with his clenched fist, sprang towards the 
 thicket, and, in another instant, was lost to 
 siglit. 
 
 Estelle remained gazing upon the spot where 
 he had stood, as if in doubt that he were 
 really gone : she could scarce believe that it 
 was Julian himself who had stood before her ;
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 227 
 
 it was like a vision, and she, alas ! had been 
 visited by many such of late. 
 
 So sudden had been his appearance, so tran- 
 sient his stay, that the thought of his danger 
 at first alone occupied her mind ; but when this 
 had passed away, and recollection returned, 
 all the circumstances which had preceded his 
 abrupt intrusion occurred to her memory. 
 The report of the rifle, the shriek of agony 
 which followed, caused a sudden pang to thrill 
 to her inmost soul. She trembled violently, 
 as, still clinging to the arm of the King of 
 Navarre, she gazed upwards in his face with 
 a wild expression of dismay and terror almost 
 appalling. 
 
 Henry was somewhat alarmed : he mistook 
 the cause of her emotion, and bending low, 
 whispered hurriedly in her ear, 
 
 " Be not alarmed, Mademoiselle de la 
 Vallee, I beseech you. Yonder Ligueur is 
 a — that is to say — he is doubtless a fugitive : 
 he will not seek to harm us — he — "
 
 228 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " Ah, no, your Majesty ; think not that I 
 fear him : no, no, I fear him not ; but, alas ! my 
 father's peril ! I saw him take the very path 
 by wliich the Ligueur came ; and — and your 
 Majesty, heard you not that cry of anguish ? 
 Ah ! think you his grey head is safe ?" 
 
 " Fear not, dearest ! he is safe, and at thy 
 side !" was uttered in the deep, tremulous tones 
 of the Count de la Vallee. She turned — it was 
 indeed her father who stood beside her : his 
 brow was pale and haggard ; and his whole 
 frame was shaking, evidently under the in- 
 fluence of some violent excitement. But Es- 
 telle saw not his agitation ; she but knew that 
 she beheld him once more safe and unharmed ; 
 she looked earnestly in his face, as if to assure 
 herself that she was not deceived; and then, 
 with a loud sob, she fell upon his neck and 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 The whole assembly crowded round, in 
 mingled curiosity and fear, expecting to hear 
 the recital of some marvellous adventure ; but
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 229 
 
 the Count, to save time, and hide his own emo- 
 tion, seemed occupied in endeavours to soothe 
 that of his daughter. In vain were all the 
 efforts made by the company to extort a single 
 explanation of his return, and of the divers 
 mysterious circumstances connected with it ; 
 all their inquiries were answered by frivolous 
 excuses, or by the most urgent solicitations to 
 return immediately to the palace. It needed 
 not much persuasion to induce them to comply 
 with this request ; and, strange as it may ap- 
 pear, the moment in which they prepared to 
 retrace their steps to Chantilly, was the hap- 
 piest since their departure thence in the morn- 
 ing. All was silence and restraint, each ap- 
 pearing engrossed by the one object — that of 
 reaching home as quickly as possible. 
 
 Estelle was yet weeping when she entered 
 her litter. So rapid and varied were the 
 thoughts which floated through her mind, that 
 it were difficult to tell v/hether grief or joy 
 caused her tears. With intense anxiety she
 
 230 CHANTILLY. 
 
 watched her father's countenance, as silent and 
 gloomy he walked by her side ; but so well had 
 he learnt the art of concealing his feelings, that 
 even now the same impatience to catch the first 
 glimpse of the palace, in which all participated, 
 was apparently the only sentiment by which he 
 was possessed, and gave no colouring whatever 
 to the story that the babbling Countess of No- 
 verre had already coined in her fertile brain, 
 and which she was just in the act of repeating 
 in a loud voice to the deaf old Count her hus- 
 band, concerning the apparition that M. de la 
 Vallee had seen in the wood, which had alarm- 
 ed him so much as wellnigh to deprive him of 
 his senses. 
 
 Far different was it with the King of Na- 
 varre. His brow was contracted, his cheek was 
 red, and more than indignation would some- 
 times shoot from his blue eye as his glance fell 
 on the Count. He had pressed forward close 
 to Estelle, and she could not divest herself of 
 the idea that he was seeking an opportunity of
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 231 
 
 speaking to her unobserved. Nor was she de- 
 ceived ; for, on arriving at the gate of her 
 father's park, he pressed hurriedly forward and 
 took her hand, with no other apparent design 
 than that of assisting her to alight from her 
 litter; and while the ladies were envying this 
 mark of attention, or laughing at the unusual 
 cloud upon de MontbeFs brow, he whispered in 
 that eager, gasping tone, which betrayed his 
 anxiety, and pressing her snowy hand with fer- 
 vour as he spoke, — 
 
 " I pray you. Mademoiselle — I beseech you 
 speak to none concerning the Ligueur ! — You 
 are young and tender-hearted ; he — he is 
 wronged — nay, he is persecuted, and has 
 sought a transient refuge in the wood." 
 
 " Nay, but your Majesty — "" 
 
 '* Ah ! refuse me not," said Henry, quickly ; 
 " I beg for mercy for the youth ! the slightest 
 word would be his death-warrant, and you 
 would not surely — " 
 
 " Ah ! no, no — think not thus : I was but
 
 232 CHANTILLY. 
 
 going to say, that I would sooner die than be- 
 tray one who is — who is fleeing from before his 
 enemies !"" 
 
 The open countenance of the generous Henry 
 de Navarre was suddenly illumined, as if by a 
 ray of sunshine. 
 
 " Blessings be upon your head!" exclaimed 
 he, with intense delight : " sweet, gentle, and 
 innocent, and well worthy all the fond love of 
 the noble-hearted de Montbel I'" 
 
 He said no more, for La Vallee approached. 
 He had spoken fervently and impressively, 
 and, what for him was yet more remarkable, 
 seriously. Estelle returned his blessing si- 
 lently, but with equal fervour, for she felt that 
 he was indeed a firm and steady friend to Ju- 
 lian TEveque. Her gentle heart throbbed with 
 joy to think that one so good and powerful 
 as the King of Navarre should be interest- 
 ed in his fate ; and, but for the words with 
 which he had concluded his speech, she might 
 have been betrayed again into one of the wild
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 233 
 
 dreams of future happiness in which she had 
 once indulged. She would have given worlds 
 but to have assured Julian, whose very soul 
 had ever seemed to sicken at the mention of 
 faith or truth, that here, at least, he had not 
 put his trust in vain. And what comfort 
 would not such assurance have been to Jac- 
 queline ? But, alas ! her father had strictly 
 forbidden all visits to the cottage since the 
 arrival of the Court at Chantilly, and she had 
 found no opportunity of beholding her, nor 
 even of letting her know that it was the King 
 of Navarre himself who had alarmed them from 
 their calm security beneath the hawthorn. 
 
 But her reverie was soon put to flight by the 
 approach of the Count himself. He came but 
 to say farewell for a while, as it was his inten- 
 tion to proceed onward to Chantilly. The 
 courtiers exchanged glances full of meaning as 
 this determination became known, while Henry 
 de Navarre grew deadly pale. It even dimi- 
 nished much of Estelle's quiet delight, and
 
 234 CHANTILLY. 
 
 caused her to feel somewhat uneasy respecting 
 his motives. But La Vallee seemed not to 
 notice the looks and gestures of those around ; 
 his demeanour was marked by indifference 
 alone, yet, when he drew near and embraced 
 Estelle, she remarked that he yet trembled 
 violently, and that he pressed her to his bosom 
 with far more energy than the prospect of so 
 short a separation seemed to warrant.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 235 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Yoii have fed upon my signories, 
 Dispark'd my parks, and felled my forest woods ; 
 From my own windows torn my household coat, 
 Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, — 
 Save men's opinions, and my living blood, — 
 To show the world I am a gentleman. 
 This, and much more, much more than twice all this, 
 Condemns you" Shakspeare- 
 
 The party now hastened onward to the Pa- 
 lace, the Count de la Vallee among the num- 
 ber, heedless of the doubts and surmises to 
 which his sudden resolve had given rise, and 
 far too deeply occupied with his own schemes 
 to observe them. 
 
 Meanwhile it may be well to acquaint the 
 readers with the circumstances which had led
 
 236 CHANTILLY. 
 
 to this determination, and which, in spite of this 
 seeming cahn, had not failed to fill La Yallee's 
 proud heart with horror and dismay. He had, 
 as we have seen, taken advantage of the breath- 
 less attention in which all had listened to the 
 recital of the King of Navarre, and had stolen 
 away with the intention of proceeding at once 
 to Chantilly, little caring what effect this appa- 
 rent want of courtesy might have upon the 
 minds of his companions, so that he did but 
 succeed in gaining first admittance to the King. 
 It was this idea alone that occupied his mind 
 as he turned down a dark and narrow path, 
 removed from the main track, fearing that the 
 King of Navarre, through excess of kindness, 
 might send to fetch him back. 
 
 The path was close and gloomy. Above, the 
 branches formed an arch, so low as sometimes 
 to oblige him to bend beneath it, and in many 
 places so thick as effectually to exclude the 
 liilht of heaven ; while beneath his feet the 
 tangled furze and coppice-wood rendered it a
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 237 
 
 difficult task to obtain a passage. Gradually, 
 too, the voices of those he had left behind 
 faded in the distance, and the deep silence, un- 
 broken except by the sound of his own footsteps 
 over the crackling brushwood, soon began un- 
 consciously to occasion other thoughts than 
 those of ambitious pride to steal into his mind. 
 Although he knew enough of the forest to be 
 sure that he was pursuing the right direction, 
 he knew not where the path immediately led, 
 and the uncertainty made its gloomy length 
 appear more tedious. 
 
 He had already traversed a considerable dis- 
 tance, advancing more and more into darkness, 
 when suddenly, while treading lightly over a 
 heap of withered leaves, which lay mouldering 
 where they had been drifted by the autumnal 
 winds, the sound of other footsteps, close be- 
 hind him, caused him to start. He looked 
 around; but no one was there! The dark, 
 and seemingly impenetrable archway, w^as un- 
 broken by the presence of any living thing ;
 
 238 CHANTILLY. 
 
 and he again proceeded, fully satisfied that 
 he had been deceived. He would have re- 
 joiced at the approacli of any one on whom 
 he could have relied to guide him to the 
 open track ; for, by degrees, the self-con- 
 fidence which had prompted him thus to take 
 an unknown route, began somewhat to desert 
 him ; and he paused, in doubt whether it 
 would not be wiser to turn back at once and 
 rejoin his companions. But it was not, how- 
 ever, consistent with his character, thus to 
 abandon his design, without being first assured 
 that it was indeed utterly hopeless ; and step- 
 ping upon the stump of a felled tree, which 
 lay in his path, he looked around, fully re- 
 solved, could he but discern a termination to 
 the long and narrow pathway, to pursue his 
 project with renewed courage. It was with 
 some little satisfaction, on being thus raised, 
 that he now plainly perceived, at no great 
 distance, an opening among the trees ; and 
 he doubted not that it was the entrance to
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 239 
 
 one of the many carrefours which intersect the 
 forest, at equal distances, and lead directly 
 to Chantilly. 
 
 He was just on the point of descending, 
 when he was again attracted by the same 
 noise, as of some one approaching, which had 
 before startled him. He turned towards the 
 direction whence it proceeded : he could now 
 see above the bushes which skirted the path 
 on either side, and, quick as thought, with 
 an almost involuntary motion, he sprang to 
 the earth, and stood there transfixed with 
 terror ; for, close by his side, almost at arm's 
 length, stood the figure of a man, neither 
 huntsman, nor woodsman, nor forester, nor 
 belonging to any of those whose calling obliges 
 them to frequent the innermost depths of the 
 wood, but one whose broad felt hat and flut- 
 tering plume proclaimed him to belong to the 
 hated, the dreaded Ligueurs ! 
 
 The Count looked in wild dismay right 
 and left, but no turning was visible. His
 
 240 CHANTILLY. 
 
 heart sank as he beheld the distance he had 
 already traversed ; it was vain to attempt re- 
 turning : but after the first alarm had passed 
 away, he deemed it possible that the Ligueur 
 might not have beheld him ; he had stood but 
 for an instant in his elevated position, and 
 during the short glimpse he caught of the 
 stranger, he perceived that his head was bent, 
 and that he was occupied in endeavours to 
 soothe the anger of a large hound that stood 
 by his side, and whose low short growl would, 
 even now, occasionally rise, although checked 
 by the caresses of his master. 
 
 La Vallee gathered his cloak around him, 
 and resolved to advance cautiously forward 
 towards the opening he had just espied. There 
 was something so terrible in the idea of being 
 pent up in that close, narrow pathway, with 
 one who could not fail to be an enemy, appa- 
 rently well armed too, — for the muzzle of his 
 rifle yet bristled, immovably, above the bushes 
 — and, doubtless, like the rest of his party,
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 2il 
 
 ever prepared for combat, that the thought 
 of emerging once more into light and air ap- 
 peared like a new existence ; and when, upon 
 looking back, he perceived no signs of the 
 Ligueur, he secretly applauded his own cau- 
 tion in having thus evaded him. 
 
 He was, however, doomed to disappointment. 
 On quitting the path, he found himself in an 
 open space, thickly surrounded with trees. 
 On one side appeared part of the old boundary 
 wall of the estate, now scarcely distinguishable 
 from the green foliage which hung drooping 
 over it, except where some fragment newh'^ 
 fallen caused the white hue of the broken stone 
 to sparkle amid the dark ivy by w^hich it was 
 entirely overgrown. 
 
 There was a peculiarly silent and solitary 
 aspect about the place, as if it had been parted 
 from the rest of the wood for some especial pur- 
 pose. And bold as was the heart of him who now 
 sought its solitude, its beating was somewhat 
 quickened, as it became fully evident that no 
 
 VOL. L M
 
 242 CHANTILLY. 
 
 other means of approach had been provided 
 than the path by which he had arrived. Yet, 
 after a moment'*s reflection, it was perhaps 
 rather regret at being baffled in his design 
 of hurrying to the palace that caused his 
 uneasiness, as he securely hoped that the 
 Ligueur had been unconscious of his presence. 
 It was but waiting for a short time to allow the 
 unwelcome intruder to withdraw, and he doubt- 
 ed not that he should then be enabled to retrace 
 his steps in safety. He advanced deeper into 
 the dark recess and looked around ; the myste- 
 ry and seclusion which marked the spot led him 
 to believe that it. had formerly been consecrated 
 to one of the many sainted hunters, or patrons of 
 the woods, of whom no small number are to 
 this day held in veneration. 
 
 There was a fountain jutting from the wall ; 
 the marble basin, which had forme^'ly received 
 its limpid waters, had long since fallen into 
 decay, and lay mouldering on the ground, 
 where it impeded the course of the straggling
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 243 
 
 current, which after forming divers small cas- 
 cades, whose soft and ceaseless murmur broke 
 the stillness of the spot without disturbing its 
 repose, was lost amid the long grass that, nur- 
 tured by the shade and moisture, had sprung 
 up rank and luxuriant. 
 
 A legend was rudely cut in the stone above 
 the stag's head whence the water issued. The 
 Count approached and read ; a slight shudder 
 ran through his frame as he recalled to mind the 
 dark legend of the d'Espignacs ; but the next 
 moment his eye was raised in anger to the 
 figure of a bounding stag, the well-known crest 
 of this outlawed family, which still surmounted 
 the wall ; although he had imagined that all 
 memorial of that race had long ago vanished 
 from the forest. His first care on coming to 
 the estate had been to seek for this very emblem, 
 and he wondered not now that it had then 
 eluded his vigilance. It was the last beacon 
 of hope to the outcast Adhemar, the object 
 upon which mysteriously hung the fortunes of 
 M 2
 
 244 CHANTILLY. 
 
 his house ; so long as it existed, he would not 
 cease to hope for restitution of his rights ; and 
 there was enough of superstition, even in the 
 strong mind of the Count de la Vallee, to in- 
 duce him to wish that it were destroyed. It 
 stood where it had been placed ages before by 
 one of the mighty heroes who had borne the 
 name, and whose history formed one of the most 
 touching annals of his house, and was as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 Count Hubert was as brave a soldier as 
 ever wielded falchion, or rode to battle at the 
 trumpet-call. In war he gladly sped to the 
 field at the head of a noble band of vassals, 
 but in peace his free-born spirit scorned to 
 crouch and fawn at the feet of royalty ; he 
 hurried back to his native Avilly, with fresh 
 love for its sweet repose, and panting with 
 eagerness for its noble and spirit-stirring pas- 
 times. 
 
 Throughout the forest he was renowned as 
 the boldest hunter that ever trod its mazy 
 
 ■'^^*^,Jf:ipi^^:^
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 245 
 
 paths ; the fatigue and excitement of the chase 
 were congenial to his ardent soul; and from 
 the first break of dawn to fall of day, did the 
 sound of the clanging horn re-echo through 
 the woods, and tell of the boundless and varied 
 course of their dauntless Lord, who swept 
 through his broad lands with never- wearying 
 ardour, nor once thought of fatigue so long as 
 daylight lasted. They called him Hubert of 
 the Forest, for his wide domains spread east 
 and west over measureless tracts of forest-land, 
 and countless were the feuds and fiefs that 
 owned him for their master. 
 
 Years flew unheeded by in the pursuit of this 
 loved amusement : already had the finger of 
 age visibly laid its icy touch upon his head ; 
 the ebon locks were fast changing to snowy 
 whiteness, the blood ran in a colder current 
 through his veins, but his heart, still free as 
 his own woodland breezes, not even age had 
 power to chill. 
 
 Count Hubert had an only son, towards
 
 246 CHANTILLY. 
 
 whom his whole soul turned with idolizing 
 fondness. But the youth loved the pleasures 
 and dissipations of the Court, and but seldom 
 came to Avilly. Report spoke darkly of his 
 deeds ; strange rumours had even reached his 
 home of the career of wild extravagance which 
 he trod ; but the fond father believed them not. 
 So long as gold was in his coffers, he gave with 
 open hand, nor heeded the rapid diminution of 
 the wealth he had hoarded, but for the sake of 
 this his only darling child. 
 
 A time arrived at length when the spend- 
 thrift's summons could no longer be met by the 
 accustomed generosity. The young man's re- 
 proaches were harsh and unfeeling ; and sooner 
 than again incur them, the Count, with a bitter 
 pang, sold a portion of his estate, and hoped to 
 be freed from his importunities. But, alas ! 
 this was only the commencement of his woes ! 
 Acre after acre was sacrificed to satisfy the 
 ceaseless cravings of the prodigal ; the goodly 
 manors dropped off one by one, and gradu-
 
 D'ESPIGNAC, A TALE. 247 
 
 ally his boundary was drawn nearer and nearer 
 home. 
 
 The spirit of the bold hunter drooped and 
 saddened ; he could no longer range, uncon- 
 trolled and free, over lands which had de- 
 scended to him from his fathers ! Wide as 
 was still his domain, he felt as though he could 
 no longer breathe with freedom. He found no 
 more pleasure in the chase, and it was evident 
 to all that his heart was breaking. 
 
 But the last blow yet remained to be struck. 
 The son, — the child for whom he had already 
 sacrificed so much, — to whom, in spite of his 
 unworthiness, his heart still clung with fond, 
 forgiving love ; the heir of his name, who he 
 hoped might yet return to his bosom, to be the 
 prop of his declining years, — met an unworthy 
 death in a midnight brawl by the hand of one 
 of his dissolute companions ! The scuffle had 
 taken place within the verge of the King's 
 palace ; the survivor fled to escape the death 
 which was the award of such oifence, and a
 
 248 CHANTILLY. 
 
 heavy fine was levied on that of the deceased 
 combatant. To shield his memory from dis- 
 honour, the Count, in reckless despair, had 
 again recourse to his land to raise the gold ; and 
 the fountain, which had originally marked the 
 centre of his estate, where he could once stand 
 and point from north to south, from east to 
 west, and say, with feudal pride, " 'Tis mine !" 
 now stood at its utmost verge. 
 
 It was by this fountain that Count Hubert 
 would sit whole days in solitary grief, and 
 mourn the spoliation of his inheritance, and 
 the untimely death of his worthless son. The 
 panting steeds would fret in vain for the sum- 
 mons to the chase ; the bugle that once had 
 sounded it so cheerily now hung silent by its 
 master's side. 
 
 The wall at length was built to divide the 
 remnant of the land from that which was no 
 longer his own, and the bounding stag, the 
 crest of his family, was placed at equal dis- 
 tances around. With sunken eye and qui-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 249 
 
 vering lip, the old Count watched the progress 
 of the workmen, who were thus, as it were, 
 fencing him around ; he felt as though he could 
 not live encircled thus within his narrowed bor- 
 der-line. It v/as like imprisonment to him who 
 had once possessed the range of the whole 
 forest ; and the hunter's soul, which scorns the 
 thought of death, will sometimes shrink with 
 almost coward fear at the prospect of captivity. 
 
 That part of the wall which enclosed the foun- 
 tain, was the last erected. The buyer of the 
 land was harsh and nvaricious, and measured 
 even so close that only half the spring was left 
 on Count Hubert's side. Thus its silvery 
 waters no longer played in freedom ; they, too, 
 were shackled and constrained ; the stag's head 
 from whence they issued became fixed in the 
 masonry, and they were taught to issue from 
 the wall. 
 
 The day on which the boundary was finish- 
 ed, a deeper gloom came over the spirit of 
 Count Hubert ; it was more than grief — it was 
 M 5
 
 250 CHANTILLY. 
 
 despair. When the work was completed, those 
 engaged in it withdrew ; but Hubert followed 
 not ; he remained where he had stood, and saw 
 them depart in sullen silence. 
 
 The day passed away and he came not 
 home : all that night the faithful domestics 
 looked and watched in vain. About midnight, 
 the wild requiem of the d'Espignacs was 
 heard by many to swell mournfully on the 
 breeze that was wafted from the forest, as 
 though breathed from Count Hubert's horn ; 
 but still he came not, and it was deemed fancy. 
 On the morrow a search was made, and there, 
 on the greensward, by the side of the fountain, 
 he was laid, stiff and cold. That night, amid 
 the darkness and the silence, his soul had pass- 
 ed away in anguish, and no one was near to 
 comfort him. 
 
 The spirit of prophecy had descended at the 
 hour of death, for his hunting- knife was grasp- 
 ed firmly in his clenched hand, and with the 
 point he had traced on the wall, beneath the
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 251 
 
 bounding stag, the words which, from that 
 hour, had been regarded as the spell of the 
 proud and mighty d'Espignacs. 
 
 " Though vanquished in battle, though chained by the foe, 
 Through danger and sorrow, through peril and woe, 
 So long as I dwell 'neath this greenwood bower. 
 May the d'Espignacs still hope for glory and power. 
 A d'Espignac raised me on this forest-wall ; 
 Should the hand of a d'Espignac doom me to fall, 
 Then he who destroys me, ere long shall the same 
 Die, unwept and unhonoured, the last of his name — 
 
 Not upon the battle-field. 
 
 Or in honourable strife ; 
 But his dauntless soul shall yield 
 
 To the coward murderer's knife." 
 
 Such was the curse, deep and bitter, that 
 was breathed from the fleeting spirit of Count 
 Hubert, and which was to cling for ever to all 
 who bore his name. 
 
 His brother's son succeeded to the estate ; 
 he was good and prudent, and by self-denial 
 and thrifty management, succeeded in winning 
 back a great portion of the family inheritance. 
 And his son, too, and his son"'s son ; ay, they
 
 252 CHANTILLY. 
 
 all strove, and strove, and knew no rest, till 
 the land was again their own, and again were 
 the d'Espignacs mighty and free, and once 
 more sovereigns of the forest ; for their bright- 
 green banner' floated on each tower and fort 
 which were set to guard its outskirts, and even 
 amid its inmost solitudes none were found who 
 wore not still the merry green. They destroy- 
 ed the wall that Count Hubert had set up 
 with shout and glee, and great was the re- 
 joicing ; but they dared not take down the 
 bounding stag, nor yet the prophecy which he 
 had traced beneath ; for they believed in it, 
 and knew that it was true ; and that when it 
 fell, the d'Espignacs should be no more. Per- 
 haps it had been framed in mere bitterness of 
 spirit, or to spare to other doating fathers the 
 pangs by which his own heart was thus broken ; 
 and well had it hitherto succeeded. It had 
 rendered the d'Espignacs a wild and solitary 
 race, and proud and haughty. They knew 
 but little else beside their own forest ; they 
 ]eh it only to fight their country's battles.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 253 
 
 In time of peace they were seldom seen at 
 Court ; the Lord of Avilly was ever found 
 within his own castle, and the heir of his name 
 beside him, for they quitted not their home, 
 but stayed to guard the spelh upon which 
 hung, as they believed, their future destinies. 
 
 La Vallee stepped proudly back that he 
 might view with feelings of malicious satisfac- 
 tion the emblem of that once glorious race, 
 A smile passed over his countenance, as he 
 reflected that it was the last which could be 
 seen ; that all, save this, had long been ba- 
 nished from the land ; and even this was now 
 decayed and tottering. 
 
 It stood in bold relief from the wall; the fore 
 legs were raised, and the wliole weight of the 
 figure rested on the hind feet. It would have 
 seemed as though the first breeze of autumn 
 would have dislodged it from its lofty pinnacle ; 
 and yet, as if to nourish the superstitions of 
 the foresters, thus had it stood, braving wind 
 and tempest for ages. 
 
 There were few who could have passed the
 
 254 CHANTILLY. 
 
 spot without a sigh for the fate of him whose 
 spirit yet seemed to linger there ; but it was 
 not thus with the Count de la Vallee. No 
 thought of the bold and mighty hunter, feeling 
 captive even amid this wilderness, nor of the 
 fond and doating father going childless and 
 broken-hearted to the grave, occupied his 
 mind ; it was pride, and pride alone — the cold, 
 selfish pride of gratified ambition, which caused 
 the sneer to curl his lip when he reflected how 
 soon he could dispel the hopes of those who 
 still attached importance to the legend, and 
 who had so carefully concealed this last remem- 
 brance of their once-loved masters from the 
 hawk eyes of his myrmidons, when he first 
 took possession of the estate. 
 
 " Yes," he said, in a low murmuring tone, 
 " they have thought to baffle me ; but they 
 are sore mistaken. To-morrow's sun shines 
 not on yonder accursed emblem ! Heaven be 
 praised, which has led me this way to find it ! 
 Would that I had the same good fortune witb
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 255 
 
 Count Adhemar, who has so long defied our 
 utmost endeavour to discover him. His fate, 
 methinks, would somewhat resemble that of 
 the bounding stag.'^ 
 
 He paused, for even as he spoke, a fragment 
 of the mouldering stone gave way and fell 
 with a heavy splash into the water below, and 
 the crest of the d'Espignacs stood tottering 
 over the yawning rent, as though each gust 
 of wind which had power to wave the boughs 
 above, would cast it headlong to the earth. 
 
 A low smothered laugh burst from the lips of 
 the Count, and a gleam of exultation shot from 
 his eye as it wandered over the scattered frag- 
 ments around. 
 
 " Ha !" said he, " the doom is nigh at 
 hand, and I shall but help to hasten it. To- 
 morrow this shall be displaced ; we will trample 
 it beneath our feet. The foolish peasants will 
 imagine it has fallen from decay, and they 
 will cease to hope, for the charm will then be 
 broken.*"
 
 256 CHANTILLY. 
 
 " You dare not, Count de la Vallee !" ex- 
 claimed a voice beside him, whose thundering 
 tones re-echoed through the silent woods, as 
 they burst from the speaker's bosom with all 
 the vehemence of ungoverned passion. 
 
 La Vallee trembled ; a deadly paleness 
 overspread his countenance, when, upon turn- 
 ing, he beheld the Ligueur, whom he had 
 thought to have escaped so well, standing 
 before him. He felt that he was lost ! Alone 
 in that deep solitude, he had but little chance 
 in a struggle with one who, a single glance 
 sufficed to show, was in the flower of youth 
 and strength, and whose features bore the 
 fearful impress of desperate and deadly wrath. 
 He could not persuade himself that he was 
 unknown, for the tone in which his name had 
 been pronounced yet rang in his ears, and 
 warned him not to hope for mercy. 
 
 The garb of the Ligueur was of the brightest 
 green, faded and threadbare, showing traces of 
 many a toilsome struggle through thorn and
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 257 
 
 briar, and afforded a mournful contrast to the 
 crimson velvet suit and rich embroidered cloak 
 of the Count ; yet was the glance of the young 
 man proud and haughty, nay, almost super- 
 cilious, as he drew himself up to the full eX" 
 tent of his towering height, and surveyed him 
 from top to toe in undisguised contempt. The 
 Count de la Vallee quailed beneath that fiery 
 glance, and he gasped for breath, when the 
 Ligueur, who had hitherto stood motionless, 
 suddenly advanced, and, deliberately laying 
 his hand upon his shoulder, looked him in the 
 face. 
 
 " You dare not !" he again exclaimed, 
 pointing to the crest upon the wall, while 
 his voice quivered from excess of passion ; 
 " you dare not touch what Hubert, Count 
 Hubert of the Forest, placed there with his 
 own hand !" 
 
 He paused; a scarlet flush mantled in his 
 cheek, and his eye kindled. '* I tell thee, 
 Count de la Vallee, it is the crest of the
 
 258 CHANTILLY. 
 
 d'Espignacs ! It has floated over their heads 
 in battle when none were so triumphant ! — 
 it is the last sign left to tell the stranger 
 that this was once their land, and — " his voice 
 sank to a lower key, and his teeth ground as 
 he spoke, '* and, by the God of Heaven, it 
 shall not be removed !'' 
 
 The Count was somewhat startled at the 
 tone of authority assumed by the Ligueur, but 
 he endeavoured to appear calm ; he thought it 
 might be some retainer of the old family, who 
 had returned with all his prejudices yet fresh 
 in his mind. 
 
 " Perhaps you know not. Sir Stranger," said 
 he, with that courtier-like suavity of manner 
 which he could so well assume, " how it has 
 fared with the d'Espignacs ; Count Adhemar 
 alone remains, and he — '*' 
 
 "Ay, it is well said. La Vallee,"" interrupted 
 the youth; " Count Adhemar does yet remain; 
 " and, mark you, so long as he has breath, 
 shall his father's crest remain upon that wall."
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 259 
 
 He again pointed to the bounding stag, and 
 La Vallee trembled to see that he had grasped 
 the rifle, which had hitherto been slung at his 
 back. He was perplexed and annoyed at this 
 recurrence on the part of the Ligueur to a 
 subject which seemed thus to exasperate him. 
 
 " But know you not," he said, " that the 
 d'Espignacs have forfeited all claim to these 
 domains? And is it natural, that those who 
 dwell here as masters, should love to see the 
 badge of another race within their boundary?" 
 
 The youth did not answer ; his eyes were di- 
 rected towards the wall, and his lips were mov- 
 ing slightly, as though engaged in repeating 
 the legend. Encouraged by this silence, the 
 Count proceeded in a placid tone, but little 
 accordant with his feelings. 
 
 " Now list you, fair Sir ; this land belongeth 
 now to the Count de la Vallee ; it is the mar- 
 riage-portion of his daughter ; and — " The Li- 
 gueur started, and looked intently at the 
 speaker ; and the Count, well pleased at having
 
 260 CHANTILLY. 
 
 for a moment diverted his attention, continued 
 with yet more confidence, in the same smooth, 
 deliberate strain. " See you, it was given to the 
 Count in recompense of service rendered to 
 King Henry; for you doubtless know what 
 fate befell the old Count, the father of young 
 Adhemar ; he — " 
 
 He suddenly stopped ; he dared proceed no 
 farther, for a fiery and withering glance shot 
 from the dark eye of the Ligueur as he fiercely 
 exclaimed, " Name him not ! By Heaven, name 
 him not ! lest I forget you stand thus alone 
 and unprotected ! Name him not, lest I re- 
 member he has died unavenged!" 
 
 " Nay, but — '' said the Count in terror, at 
 this sudden burst of passion, " I — I had nothing 
 to do with his death. You know well who I am, 
 for you have but just named me aright. For- 
 tune has made me Lord of Avilly, and yet I 
 seek not to harm those from whom it has been 
 wrested. I am the Count de la Vallee, and 
 —and — "
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 261 
 
 " And I,'^ shouted the youth, with a look at 
 the Count which fell all blighting and deadly, 
 and seemed to scorch his inmost soul ; " and I, 
 — nay, nay, turn not aside — look at me well. 
 Count de la Vallee, for I — ha ! ha ! I am 
 Count Adhemar d'Espignac !'' 
 
 A wild sardonic laugh burst from his quiver- 
 ing lips as his eye fell on the faded hunter's 
 garb in which he was attired ; his head sank 
 forward upon his hands, which were clasped 
 on the muzzle of his rifle, and the long raven 
 curls clustering in thick profusion down his 
 neck, falling over his cheek, mingled with the 
 snowy plumes of the Ligueur's hat, and con- 
 cealed his features from observation ; but the 
 deep throes of agony and despair that con- 
 vulsed his whole frame, but too plainly told of 
 the conflict of emotions which rent his fiery 
 soul asunder. His weary spirit sank under the 
 filial anguish, the remembrance of wrongs 
 unavenged, of keen, protracted disappointment, 
 and for a moment he stood thus in silence, re-
 
 262 CHANTILLY. 
 
 gardless who was nigh, and, but for the cold 
 shiver which thrilled through every nerve, to 
 all appearance motionless. And how felt the 
 Count de la Vallee ? Had a thunderbolt fallen 
 at his feet, it would have caused him less terror 
 than did this avowal from the lips of the stran- 
 ger. He stood riveted to the spot in mute 
 amazement ; his usual presence of mind for- 
 sook him at this hour, for he might, unper- 
 ceived, have stolen away. But he thought not 
 of escape — one idea alone occupied his mind — 
 that Count Adhemar, the Ligueur Chief, was 
 in the forest, and that he himself stood unarm- 
 ed and alone beside him. His heart throbbed 
 almost to suffocation as the youth raised his 
 head and again resumed the stern, proud look 
 he had worn before. His face was of the hue 
 of death, save where on either cheek, a hectic 
 •spot glowed through the clear, transparent, 
 dark complexion, and betrayed how deeply 
 he had suffered even in those few moments. 
 But the struggle was over ; for when he
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 268 
 
 spoke, it was in that haughty tone which none 
 can assume but those who have been bred to 
 habits of command. He drew himself up once 
 more and stood again proudly erect, while his 
 full glowing eye seemed to expand as he gazed 
 on his trembling listener. 
 
 " La Vallee," said he, " it is fitting we 
 should know each other. You are the present 
 owner of these lands ; on you they were be- 
 stowed for service rendered to King Henry. 
 Think you I wot not well the nature of this 
 service? But no matter — it is not to that I 
 would refer. Now, mark you, to me they have 
 descended through a long line of noble and dis- 
 tinguished ancestors. You are the first stranger 
 to that race who could thus stand upon the 
 death-bed of Hubert the Hunter, and call him- 
 self owner of the forest where it lies. I am the 
 last of those who have inherited his name ! You 
 are, in truth, acting wisely thus to seek my life, 
 for while I live — ^" 
 
 " Nay, I pray }'ou, think not thus, my
 
 264 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Lord," exclaimed La Vallee, eagerly interrupt- 
 ing him ; " on my honour, they spoke false 
 who told you so !" 
 
 " You are deceived — you are deceived !'* 
 returned the youth, with a steadfast penetrating 
 look : "I hold the warning of my danger from 
 one who has never spoken deceit, and from 
 whose lips no falsehood can proceed ; one who 
 
 is all innocence, and unlike her But why 
 
 should I waste the precious moments ? — it 
 matters not who has stood my friend ; it is 
 one who knows you well, La Vallee, and who 
 dreamt not to have betrayed your secret to 
 Count Adhemar himself." 
 
 He paused for a moment, and appeared 
 thoughtful : " I have longed for this interview, 
 Sir Count,*" he continued, by degrees assuming 
 a louder and more resolute tone, " but not to 
 beg forbearance, or plead for mercy : No, by 
 Heaven i I fear you not, though you have 
 a host at command, and I am lone and 
 friendless. But am I not here, — on my father's
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 265 
 
 land ?" he stamped his foot, and La Vallee trem- 
 bled at the dark glance which he cast around. 
 "Ay, and so long as I remain here, so long 
 may I laugh to scorn all endeavours to discover 
 me. I warn you they but seek their own de- 
 struction who attempt to dog my path : Ha ! 
 ha ! I verily believe the grim old woods know 
 well that I am the descendant of Count Hubert ; 
 they would refuse to give me up ; — they love 
 too well to nurse me in their bosom, as one 
 whose fathers viewed them with such pride, 
 and dwelt amid them with such glory !" 
 
 His brow grew darker as he proceeded. 
 " Now turn and mark ; it is of the bounding 
 stag, Count Hubert's border mark, I speak. 
 It is not an hour ago, when you thought that 
 none were nigh, I heard you say, in pride of 
 power, that it should be removed ; now, as I 
 live, you stir not hence till you recant those 
 words !" 
 
 La Vallee was so totally unused to the sound 
 of such language from other lips than his own, 
 
 VOL. I. N '
 
 266 CHAN TILLY. 
 
 that perhaps it might hitliorto have been sur- 
 prise as much as fear whicli had kept him 
 silent ; but as the youth proceeded, so full of 
 fierce bitterness were his tone and manner, that 
 it almost froze his blood. 
 
 " Now hearken to my determination, La 
 Vallee," said he : *' you tell me the d'Espig- 
 nacs have no claim here, — that their inheritance 
 has been bestowed elsewhere, in recompense 
 of service rendered to King Henry, — and 
 doubtless the service was well worthy the re- 
 compense ! For me, seeing that I have ren- 
 dered no service to King Henry, there is nothing 
 left but to guard this last ensign of my race 
 against the sacrilegious hand of him who would 
 dare to move it from the place where it has 
 proudly stood for ages ; and well will I per- 
 form my office ! He dies, so help me Hea- 
 ven ! who seeks to displace it from yonder 
 wall !" 
 
 '^ Nay, but Count Adhemar — '' 
 
 " Hold V exclaimed the young man, stretch-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 267 
 
 ing forth his arm, as if fearing interruption, 
 while the blood suddenly rushed in a torrent to 
 his cheek, and his eye gleamed with fury, — " is 
 it not enough that you stand here as master ? 
 Are you not lord of all ? Ay, all — all — all !" he 
 extended his arms with wild energy as he 
 spoke. " Ha ! the d'Espignacs disturb you 
 not ; can you not even stand upon their very 
 graves and call them yours ! — Ay, where crum- 
 ble the bones of Hubert the hunter, and Val- 
 mont the warrior, and — and — perdition ! the 
 banner of your house waves over their tombs 
 down in the forest Chapel ! but never shall 
 it float where stands our bounding stag, till I 
 myself am cold and powerless as they ! No, 
 by all the saints in Heaven ! our crest shall 
 not come down. It is I who swear !" 
 
 " Nay, but I pray you listen, Count Ad- 
 hemar," said La Vallee, endeavouring to ar- 
 rest this torrent of passion, perceiving with ter- 
 ror that the self-imposed restraint which had 
 at first marked his bearing was gradually giv- 
 N 2
 
 268 CHANTILLY. 
 
 ing way amid the excitement of revenge. But 
 it was impossible. " I hearken not, I hearken 
 not !" he exclaimed fiercely ; "but rather give 
 ear unto me, Count de la Vallee : see that you 
 mistake me not ! By all that is sacred ! he shall 
 not live who destroys our crest ! It was Hu- 
 bert of the Forest, — the loved one, — the darling 
 of our race, who here invoked the curse upon 
 the d'Espignac whose hand should overthrow 
 it : and here, too, where he died, do I breathe 
 it once more ! — Ay, a deep and direful doom 
 shall cleave to him by whose hand it falls, let 
 his name be whatsoever it may ! See that he 
 be not your favoured minion, for I am the last 
 of the d'Espignacs, and should know him from 
 a thousand !" 
 
 His dark eye flashed with vengeance as he 
 brandished aloft the weapon which he held, and 
 advanced with a firm tread a few paces nearer 
 to La Vallee, who shrank from his approach 
 with fear and trembling. He dared not look 
 around, but stared vacantly as the youth drew 
 njar and stood withm arm's length.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 269 
 
 Perhaps it was the sight of this dismay 
 which checked the boiling anger of Count Ad- 
 hemar ; for suddenly the resentment depicted 
 in his countenance gave way to an expression 
 of scorn. He approached, and laid one hand 
 calmly on La Vallee's arm, while with the 
 other he pointed to the legend. It was evident 
 he struggled hard to subdue the stormy pas- 
 sion by which he had been assailed, and yet 
 La Vallee felt not his terror diminish, but re- 
 coiled from his very touch, as though he fan- 
 cied even that had power to wound. When 
 the young man spoke again, his voice was deep 
 and hollow, and yet trembled with emotion, 
 but such was the eagerness with which La Val- 
 lee listened, that not a sound w^as lost ; he 
 hung upon each word as if he had expected 
 it to bear his doom. 
 
 " Read you the legend, Sir Count ?" said he, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Yes — I — no — ^yes, my Lord," returned the 
 Count, stammering, feeling a secret misgiving
 
 270 CHANTILLY. 
 
 that this sudden change from passion to calm- 
 ness could portend no good. 
 
 " Believe you the prophecy ?" said Count 
 Adhc^mar, with the same extraordinary ab- 
 ruptness as before. 
 
 " Yes — no — that is to say — in truth I know 
 not. Yes, verily, I do," again muttered La 
 Vallee. 
 
 The youth was silent for a few moments. 
 
 " And I, too, believe it. Sir Count,'' said he 
 at length. " Perchance misfortune has ren- 
 dered me thus credulous and superstitious ; 
 I know not, but fervently and faithfully do I 
 believe each line ; — ay, every word has its im- 
 port, for he who traced it was near the death- 
 hour, and dreamed not of deceit. It is true — 
 it is true ! He doubtless wove our doom with 
 his dying breath. It was wisely done of the 
 aged hunter ; it has made the d'Espignacs 
 love to tarry within their own border, to watch 
 with fond and feverish anxiety the sign which he 
 himself set up ; for it is not the thought of
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 271 
 
 death that could cause our hearts to throb with 
 dread. Had this been all, I doubt me not but 
 long ere this another, wild and reckless as 
 Count Hubert's son, would have yielded up the 
 land ; but, oh God ! to die thus the coward's 
 death — the dog's death of the prophecy ! Ha ! 
 the thought has power to darken the spirit 
 even amidst joy and revelry." 
 
 He paused for a moment as if musing, and 
 again resumed : — " But it shall not chance to 
 one of our name, if I have power to avert it. 
 So long as I dwell amid the woods, I fear not, 
 for vengeance is long-armed and long-sighted, 
 and he who essayed to scale the wall would 
 never reach the summit." He touched his 
 rifle with a look full of meaning at La Vallee, 
 and again proceeded, while his countenance 
 grew darker. " But a time may chance when 
 again I may be called to fight the battles of 
 the Ligue, and who shall stand when I am 
 gone ? It is against such chance I would pro- 
 vide ; and ere you depart hence, Count de la
 
 272 CHANTILLY. 
 
 Vallce, you must swear to me that this last 
 emblem of our house shall not be removed." 
 
 The Count was unprepared for this ; he gazed 
 at Count Adhcmar as if he did not understand 
 him ; he ventured no reply, for although his 
 courage was more that of the council-cham- 
 ber than of the field, yet for the moment he lost 
 sight of the peril in which he stood, amid the 
 surprise and indignation inspired by the un- 
 usual tone in which he heard himself addressed. 
 His hesitation seemed to exasperate the young 
 man, for he exclaimed with more of haughti- 
 ness than perhaps was courteous, 
 
 *' By Heaven ! you stir not hence. La Val- 
 lee,' till you have sworn by the God you wor- 
 ship not to displace — *" 
 
 " You ask me what I cannot grant," inter- 
 rupted La Vallee coldly ; *' it is useless, my 
 Lord, to press me further." 
 
 " Nay, then, by all the Saints you depart not 
 hence !" shouted the youth, again giving way 
 to one of his wildest transports of passion.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 273 
 
 " Think you to return scathless to my home — 
 my father's castle which you falsely call your 
 own ? think you to return and plot the ruin of 
 all that is left of our once glorious line — and 
 laugh and riot in our spoils ? No — no— may I 
 perish here — here !" he struck his rifle with 
 violence against the turf — " here, where perish- 
 ed Hubert of the Forest, if it so come to pass ! 
 No, you love what is mine, you cannot live un- 
 less you have it all — ay, even to this remnant of 
 mouldering stone ; nay then, you shall share 
 even the sole spot of my own inheritance 
 wherein I may set my foot in peace. You shall 
 come with me. Count de la Vallee, and share 
 for awhile my forest-home ; haply it has not the 
 splendour of the one — Ha ! ha ! — of the one you 
 have received from — from — *" his teeth ground 
 audibly — " from King Henry ! But — but — " 
 " You are mad, you are mad, you are surely 
 mad, Count Adhemar,*" exclaimed La Vallee 
 in terror, his momentary firmness entirely for- 
 saking him as he gazed upon his enemy, whose 
 N 5
 
 274 CHANTILLY. 
 
 brow bore all the fierce wildness of the woods, 
 and whose rough speech bespoke the savage, 
 solitary life, which had of late been his. 
 
 " Then yield, and take the oath !" cried 
 Adhemar in a voice of thunder, and shoulder- 
 ing his rifle as he spoke ; " take but the oath, 
 and you are free." 
 
 La Vallee might be said at that moment 
 absolutely to feel the influence which had ren- 
 dered the d'Espignacs of the Forest so re- 
 doubtable; in nervous agitation his trembling 
 hand searched hurriedly for his dagger, but it 
 was paralysed, when the deep-sunk, flashing 
 eye of the youth rested upon him. 
 
 " Swear !" again cried Count Adhemar 
 fiercely. 
 
 La Vallee gasped for breath ; his heart beat 
 thick and fast ; he no longer knew where he 
 stood ; the thought that he was in the power 
 of one who must by reason be his bitter foe 
 was alone present to his mind, and he called 
 for aid in faint and quivering tones. Lan-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 275 
 
 guage cannot describe the glance of blighting 
 scorn which Count Adhemar directed towards 
 him. 
 
 " Peace, doating fool !" said he sternly, un- 
 able to disguise his utter contempt ; " what 
 fear ye ? Think ye I would take your life thus ?" 
 
 " Help, help!"" cried La Vallee with a faint 
 effort. " O Father of Mercies, there is no help 
 nigh ; I am alone and in the power of — " 
 
 " Coward !" exclaimed Adhemar, " do I seek 
 to murder you ? Had I sought your life, could 
 I not have taken it down yonder amid the bram- 
 bles ? — Have I not tracked your path even from 
 Chantilly ? did I not hear you but now swear 
 destruction to Count Adhemar, and did I even 
 then take my revenge ? and yet a goodly bul- 
 let from my rifle might at once have settled all 
 my wrongs : — Ha ! Sir Count, and see you it 
 was well prepared for such bold service." 
 
 He raised the weapon proudly as he spoke, 
 and drew the trigger with a steady hand. La 
 Vallee started back in absolute dismay: he
 
 276 CHANTILLY. 
 
 could scarcely believe he was unhurt ; the quick 
 and vivid flash — the loud and echoing report — 
 the thick smoke — almost bewildered him. And 
 Adhcmar ! he, too, sickened and grew pale. A 
 shock — a crash — was heard — a grating noise — 
 and — O God ! his random bullet had struck 
 the bounding stag, — the mouldering stone 
 gave way — the last ensign of the d'Espignacs 
 tottered for a moment, and then — down it fell, 
 — rattling from the wall, and crumbled into a 
 thousand fragments at his feet ! 
 
 He looked at the place where it had stood, 
 as though he did not believe it ; — he looked, and 
 Count Hubert's prophecy alone met his gaze ! 
 His brain reeled : he thought of the bitter curse 
 — the awful doom; — a heart-rending cry of 
 anguish and despair burst from his lips, and 
 the rifle dropped unheeded to the ground. 
 
 He stood silent and motionless, — the outcast 
 — the outlaw — and now with that curse upon 
 his head to aggravate his woe ! Even the loud 
 and scornful laugh with which the Count de la
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 277 
 
 Vallee fled up the narrow pathway failed to 
 arouse him from his mute despair. He heard 
 it not ; he looked not even around to see if his 
 enemy were still at his side ; he stared vacantly 
 at the spot where lay scattered all that remained 
 of what but a few moments before he had prized 
 so dearly. "I, then, am the doomed one!" 
 he exclaimed in gasping, agony ; and, with a 
 gush of anguish, he hid his face in his hands 
 and sobbed aloud. 
 
 This fresh burthen of sorrow was more than 
 his crushed and wounded spirit could bear. 
 Though yet in the bloom of youth, he had 
 gone through every species of misfortune ; but 
 hope had as yet been ever near to cheer him 
 with brighter prospects of the future ; and 
 pride — the solitary pride of birth — that feeling 
 of mystery which is ever most keenly felt amid 
 woe and disappointment, had lent its false and 
 shallow aid; but now it were folly to suffer 
 hope again to return to his bosom ; and the 
 boast of a long and mighty race, what comfort
 
 278 CHANTILLY. 
 
 could that now bestow ? Was he not the ac- 
 cursed one of that race ? And when he was 
 gone, his very name would sink into oblivion 
 and be heard of no more ! 
 
 Oh how joyfully would he now have hailed 
 the prospect of one day sharing his father's 
 fate — to perish on the scaffold, where so many 
 of the great and good had gone before ! How 
 gladly would he now have laid down his burden 
 here — on the spot where the soul of him who 
 had wove the dreadful spell of fate, from which 
 he shrank with such terror, had passed away 
 in agony ! Any doom appeared less terrible 
 than the shrinking, trembling death which must 
 be his ! 
 
 The heavy sound of a tolling bell awoke him 
 from his trance. He started, and listened : it 
 came from the Monastery of Croix, deep in the 
 forest ; and, as it rose and fell on the moaning 
 breeze, it seemed like the knell of all the faded 
 glories of his house. He listened in solemn 
 suspense until it ceased, and then moved from
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 279 
 
 the place where he had stood. He looked 
 upwards at the broken wall : a raven was 
 perched in the hollow rent; she croaked and 
 flapped her wings, seeming to rejoice in his 
 despair. He cast one shuddering glance at 
 the broken fragments of the bounding stag, 
 and, with all the swift eagerness of pursuit, 
 rushed down the path which La Vallee had 
 taken, yet with no intent save that of flying for 
 ever from this accurseH spot.
 
 280 CHANTILLY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Nous ne pouvons changer I'ordre des destinies ; 
 EUes font ii leur gr^ le tissu de nos jours." 
 
 Madame de la Suze. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Count hurried back to 
 his companions, scarcely daring even to per- 
 suade himself that he had so well escaped the 
 peril by which he had been threatened. A 
 thousand resolves passed through his mind, as 
 he walked with the rest of the party to Chan- 
 tilly, and the determination to seek an inter- 
 view with the King became at last final. 
 
 As he silently retraced all which had taken 
 place in the last hour, the fact of his standing 
 at that moment free and unharmed, did not ap-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 281 
 
 pear to himself the least wonderful. He had be- 
 held Count Adhemar, the outlaw ! the d'Espig- 
 nac of the forest ! at whose very name he had 
 often seen the brow of King Henry grow pale ! 
 He doubted not but that all efforts to obtain 
 tidings of him had proved fruitless, since they 
 had failed to search through Avilly, amid his 
 native woods, where all the time, secure in the 
 boast of a perfect knowledge of every winding 
 path and solitary recess, he had remained al- 
 most within sight of the Monarch's very dwell- 
 ing, and laughed to scorn the vengeance of 
 his pursuer. Had it been any other than the 
 Count d'Espignac, it is probable that even 
 La Vallee's stony heart would, for once, have 
 relented, and he would have hesitated ere he 
 betrayed him thus to certain death. Even as it 
 was, when the terror of that interview had pass- 
 ed away, and he no longer felt his fiery glance, 
 he recalled to mind the generous forbearance 
 of the youth, who, with rifle in hand, had walk- 
 ed by his side through the solitary wood, and
 
 CHANTILLY. 
 
 scorned to take a mean and cowardly revenge. 
 The bold manner in which he had stood forth 
 and avowed himself to his most mortal enemy 
 — the fearless energy of his speech — and, above 
 all — for there are few on whom a noble car- 
 riage can fail to make impression — his martial 
 form, and almost romantic beauty ; his lofty 
 brow, on which high and long descent was 
 stamped in characters too strong to be mis- 
 taken, too indelible to leave a single doubt 
 of his identity, caused the Count to feel a 
 slight emotion of pity, at thus delivering him up 
 to destruction. But such gentle thoughts did 
 not long find place in his bosom; and almost un- 
 consciously, as he remembered the deep venera- 
 tion which Count Adhemar had manifested for 
 the legend graven on the wall, and his implicit 
 belief in the truth of the prophecy, a smile of 
 self-gratulation curled his lip, to think how 
 fortune had favoured him, even in this ; and 
 perhaps he himself now joined in the super- 
 stition, and began to deem it not quite impos-
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 283 
 
 sible, that, ere long, the curse might indeed be 
 fulfilled. 
 
 Then followed the welcome suspense — " What 
 reward shall I gain from the King for this 
 timely information .?" He knew not, he could 
 not answer the question ; but he was aware 
 how much Henry stood in dread of the 
 forester; and unchecked visions of greatness 
 and splendour kept his mind in a kind of 
 delicious reverie, until the verdant pelouse of 
 Chantilly was beneath his feet. 
 
 He had taken especial care not to enter into 
 conversation with any of his companions, fear- 
 ful lest he might betray how far were his 
 feelings from being composed even yet. He 
 had witnessed the debate between Henry de 
 Navarre and the Duke de Liancourt con- 
 cerning the rings, and listened to the terms 
 of the wager ; and, moreover, when they ap- 
 pealed to him to decide their merry quarrel, 
 without the slightest hesitation, he awarded 
 the honours to De Bourbon ; although con-
 
 284 CHANTILLY. 
 
 scious at the time that it could not be mere 
 anxiety for the fate of the jewel which caused 
 the latter to eye him with such scrutinizing 
 sternness. He had long entertained a secret 
 suspicion that the young King of Navarre che- 
 rished a secret predilection for Adhemar d'Es- 
 pignac ; and how did he now exult in the good 
 fortune which had thus, as it were, thrown 
 the young man into his power, ere yet the 
 noble Henry was rendered capable, from his 
 situation, of befriending him. Not a doubt 
 entered his mind of the possibility of captur- 
 ing Count Adhemar ; he could have the forest 
 searched in every direction ; he could cause 
 every outlet to be well guarded ; and thus, 
 he could not fail to be successful. 
 
 Such were his secret ruminations as he en- 
 tered the paved court-yard of the palace, 
 where a few solitary domestics were awaiting 
 the return of the cavaliers. He appeared to 
 have gained fresh importance as he strode to- 
 wards the portal, against which one of the 
 lacqueys was leaning with that listless abstrac-
 
 285 
 
 tion and happy indifference which generally 
 characterise the members of that respectable 
 portion of the community. In a loud and 
 authoritative tone of voice he demanded of 
 the groom-porter to conduct him to the King's 
 antechamber, there to await his Majesty's 
 pleasure to grant him audience. He turned, 
 as he spoke, and looked around, willing to catch 
 the jealous looks of the courtiers. He could 
 not fail to observe a frown upon the brow of 
 Henry de Navarre, and he even thought that a 
 glance full of meaning was exchanged between 
 him and de Montbel ; but he soothed himself 
 with the sweet conviction that nothing but sur- 
 prise or jealousy could have occasioned it. 
 
 As he passed through the long vista of 
 apartments, his eye was fixed with an involun- 
 tary gaze upon the door of that occupied by 
 the King. To his no small surprise, it was 
 suddenly thrown open, and a stranger, whose 
 appearance excited his curiosity, was ushered 
 out, and advanced hurriedly through the rooms 
 to the head of the stairs. It was evident,
 
 286 CHANTILLY. 
 
 although he bore not a single trace of high 
 birth, that he was a personage of some impor- 
 tance, for the laggard grooms and pages, who 
 were lounging about in all directions, started 
 up on his approach, and stood whispering to each 
 other when he had passed by- La Vallee too sur- 
 veyed him with a jealous eye, thinking he had 
 now discovered the cause of the King's absence 
 from the fowling-party, and yet he strangely dif- 
 fered in every respect from the companions the 
 monarch usually chose. He was a soldier, of 
 a dark forbidding aspect, whose grizly wea- 
 ther-beaten countenance showed but too plainly 
 that he was no stranger to storms and battles. 
 He appeared to have just arrived from a jour- 
 ney, for he was attired in a dusty travelling- 
 suit, and the spurs were yet upon his heels. 
 This negligence afforded additional proof of 
 the consequence in which he was held, in 
 having been thus admitted to the King. La 
 Vallee would have observed him further, but 
 at that moment a page issued from the King''s 
 apartment, and withdrew his attention.
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 287 
 
 " Ho, there !" called he aloud to those in 
 the antechamber, " when the cavaliers return 
 from the wood, go instantly and summon 
 hither the Count de la Vallee ; the King 
 seeketh private speech of him on matters of 
 import, and would see him in haste, and 
 alone !" 
 
 The Count coloured with eagerness and agi- 
 tation : he hurried forward almost ere the 
 page had delivered the message, and in ano- 
 'ther moment stood within the King's private 
 closet. 
 
 It was a small dark apartment, hung round 
 with tapestry, the ceiling richly decorated 
 with massive ornaments of carved oak, and 
 the floor covered with a dark-coloured carpet 
 of Turkey manufacture, so thick and soft that 
 the footsteps fell unheard as they advanced 
 over it. It was here that the monarch usually 
 spent his leisure hours, and various were the 
 objects indicative of his tastes and habits scat- 
 tered around, in a confusion which completely 
 put to flight all ideas of study or devotion in
 
 288 CHANTILLY. 
 
 the mind of the visitor. On a small table near 
 the door were strewn divers preparations for 
 the toilette, and cosmetics for improving the 
 complexion, of which the King used quantities 
 almost incredible, all prepared by his own 
 hand ; and the mixing and arranging of these 
 formed his greatest delight and amusement. 
 In the recesses on eac];i side the window stood 
 two higlily-polished ebony cases, which Cathe- 
 rine de Medicis his mother had brought from 
 Italy, for containing books and holy relics ; but 
 for this they were totally useless to the present 
 royal owner, who applied them to a far different 
 purpose. On the lower shelf next the ground, 
 were arranged small ornamented baskets, in 
 each of which, on satin cushions, reposed in 
 regal luxury a litter of spaniel puppies, which, 
 together with their pampered mother, did not 
 fail to salute with deafening noise any stran- 
 ger who entered. The messes, medicines, and 
 food of these little favourites completely filled 
 the upper shelves, or only disputed ground with
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 289 
 
 the chains and collars of their predecessors, a 
 few of whom, rescued from oblivion, stood on 
 the top, seemingly ready as in life to fly out 
 with inhospitable fury on the approach of in- 
 truders. 
 
 The upper compartments of the window were 
 of painted glass, and cast a dismal light through 
 the apartment, while the lower panes were dark- 
 ened by the hawk-mews raised on the terrace, 
 that the King might enjoy the daily satisfac- 
 tion of seeing the birds fed before his eyes. 
 On a table near the window stood an inkstand, 
 with various implements for writing, but from 
 the sorry condition in which they appeared, 
 and the confusion prevailing around, it was 
 evident they were but seldom used. Small was 
 the space, however, allotted to such unimpor- 
 tant objects. His Majesty had been deeply 
 engaged during the morning tending a sick 
 puppy, which having washed in sweet water, 
 and combed with a gilt comb, he had adorned 
 with ribbons, and placed in a basket by his side ; 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 CHANTILLY. 
 
 mixing a scented paste for whitening the hands, 
 preparing a wash for the skin, binding the bro- 
 ken leg of a wounded merlin, and finally seek- 
 ing relief from such engrossing pursuits in the 
 favourite recreation of disburthening a precious 
 missal of its exquisite illuminations, in order to 
 ornament the walls and enliven the chamber ! 
 It was at this table that Henry himself was 
 seated, with his head resting on his hands, and 
 apparently buried in thought. The noisy 
 greeting of the spaniels as La Vallee entered 
 caused him to start, and he turned towards 
 the door an anxious unquiet look, bespeaking 
 distrust and apprehension, which, however, 
 quickly changed to one of pleasure as he heard 
 the name and recognized the features of his 
 visitor. 
 
 The King was at that time in the very flow- 
 er of his age, and yet he appeared no longer 
 young. The cares of royalty, the murder of 
 the Guises, had planted many a deep and last- 
 ing furrow on his brow, which time would have
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 291 
 
 otherwise withheld for many years. His pallid 
 cheek and sunken eye told of a mind but ill at 
 ease. No art, no charm could restore the bloom 
 and freshness which remorse for the past and fear 
 for the future had long ago dispelled, never to 
 return. And yet, with that sweet self-deception 
 which all are so disposed to practise, he sought 
 to banish reflection and beguile alarm in the 
 pursuit of all kinds of frivolous amusements 
 unworthy of his rank or station, and fancied he 
 bad succeeded in chasing care if for a moment 
 he ceased to think. 
 
 His costume even now was foppish and re- 
 cherche. Much time had evidently been spent 
 in adjusting the drooping feathers of his jew- 
 elled toque, and no pains had been spared in 
 properly disposing the plaits of his /raise and 
 ruffles, or in arranging the folds of his broidered 
 mantle. The snow-white slippers, with the sky- 
 blue roses, the silken hose and braided doublet, 
 seemed better fitted for the parade of the court- 
 ly saloon than the privacy of the closet. The
 
 292 CHANTILLY. 
 
 hand he extended to the Count was like that of 
 a youthful beauty, rather than of one who had 
 once wielded sword with the bravest. Every 
 finger was adorned with a costly jewel, which 
 flashed and sparkled in the light as he waved 
 his hand in token of welcome, and, pointing to 
 a chair, bade his visitor be seated. 
 
 It was some few minutes before either spoke ; 
 the Count was silent from reserve, the King 
 from embarrassment and dismay ; when sud- 
 denly heaving a deep sigh, the latter turned a 
 look full of inquiry upon his visitor, and said 
 in a low tone, almost a whisper, " La Vallee, 
 saw you the man who passed hence but now ?'" 
 The Count answered in the affirmative, and 
 bent forward, that no word might escape his ear. 
 
 " Did you note him well .?" said the King 
 without raising his voice ; '* would you know 
 him again were he ever to cross your path ?" 
 
 '' Methinks it were possible. Sire,"" returned 
 the Count, curious to know to what this ques- 
 tioning would lead. 
 
 " Then shun him, La Vallee ; avoid him as
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 293 
 
 you would the pestilence !" said Henry shud- 
 dering, and casting an ominous glance towards 
 the door, as if he expected him of whom 
 he was speaking to re-enter ; " go not within 
 reach of his arm !" He leaned across the table 
 and whispered close to the ear of the Count, 
 " Know you, it is de Lognac's envoy ? he 
 whom we despatched to Lorraine to seek out 
 young d'Espignac." 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed La Vallee, his eyes glis- 
 tening as he drew his chair closer : '* heard he 
 anything concerning him, your Majesty ?" 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! he has traced the young man 
 well ; no blood-hound has truer scent ! he has 
 traced him — where think you ? Ha ! see that 
 yonder door be fast !" 
 
 La Vallee rose and tried the bolt ; he knew 
 but too well the cause of the King's alarm, and 
 yet he trembled as though it were still un- 
 known. 
 
 ^' In truth, I can scarce believe it," conti- 
 nued Henry. " Where think you he has track- 
 o3
 
 294 CHANTILLY. 
 
 ed Count Adhemar ? Ha ! heard you not foot- 
 steps upon the terrace ?" 
 
 He flung open the casement and looked out, 
 seemingly to discover if any listener lurked 
 without, but in reality to inhale the cool re- 
 freshing breeze. He turned again, but did not 
 resume his seat, and the Count respectfully 
 rose and awaited his Majesty's pleasure to con- 
 tinue. 
 
 " I could not join the party to the wood, La 
 Vallee,"*' said the King after a short silence, 
 " you know not all I have encountered. Yon- 
 der soldier has somewhat disturbed my peace : 
 he has brought news that may well make us 
 tremble. La Vallee ; young d'Espignac is in the 
 forest close at hand. Even at this very mo- 
 ment he may be within arrow' s-flight of the 
 palace." He paused, and drawing his breath 
 through his teeth, said in an under tone, 
 " Within arrow' s-flight did I say ? within 
 gun's-shot, were better spoken. Have you not 
 heard how none have ever escaped on whom he
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 295 
 
 has once turned the muzzle of his rifle ? and 
 — and — But perchance I am deceived — it can- 
 not be ; he were wild to seek a spot so full of 
 danger. No ! no ! the ruffian had doubtless a 
 mere desire to alarm us. Ho, there ! who waits ? 
 The page shall after him with this bag of gold, 
 it will bind him to our service. It were not 
 prudent to make an enemy of one whose sword 
 and dagger are ever ready thus to serve the 
 highest bidder !"" 
 
 He opened a drawer of the table with 
 trembling hand, to seek the bag of gold. He 
 was about to draw it forth, but La Vallee 
 arrested his hand. 
 
 " Stay, Sire !" said he, in a tone that would 
 have created dread in a less timid mind than 
 that of the King ; " be not in haste, I pray 
 your Majesty ; perhaps yonder messenger may 
 have spoken truth ; it is not impossible Count 
 Adhemar seeketh refuge in the forest."' 
 
 '^ Nay ! nay ! you cannot believe it, La Val- 
 lee !" exclaimed Henry, his brow growing yet
 
 296 CHANTILLY. 
 
 paler than before : "It is too near Chantilly ; 
 he would never seek safety thus, beneath the 
 very walls of my palace !" 
 
 " It is thus I myself would have spoken 
 yestere'en, your Majesty, yet this morn I cannot 
 choose but believe my own eyes; and, as I 
 live ! it is not an hour ago since — nay, be not 
 thus alarmed, your Majesty — since I myself 
 beheld Count Adhemar !" 
 
 " Ha ! what say you ?" exclaimed the King, 
 losing all self-possession, and, staggering a few 
 paces backward against the wall, he gasped 
 for breath,—" Said you that you saw him. La 
 Vallee ? Nay, but you know him not. Did 
 de Montbel say it was he ?" 
 
 " De Montbel saw him not, Sire ; none be- 
 held him but myself; and would to Heaven it 
 were but a dream ! In truth, I marvel much to 
 stand thus, more than ever, at your Majesty's 
 command, seeing that I have conversed with 
 the forester face to face ; nay, more, the dread- 
 ed weapon, in the use of which he is so skilful,
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 297 
 
 was levelled and fired close at my side ! And yet 
 — and yet, — perhaps it was mere good fortune, 
 — I turned away unharmed." 
 
 Henry trembled like the aspen-leaf. " We 
 must see de Montbel — we need his counsel 
 sorely !" he exclaimed in the greatest agitation, 
 and snatching a bottle of essence from a marble 
 slab which stood near, he from time to time 
 applied it to his nostrils. " Young de Mont- 
 bel is quick-witted," he continued, " and has 
 ever some plan to counteract the designs of our 
 enemies ; this is why we have made him so often 
 our counsellor. In times like these there is 
 need of one possessing wit and courage to be 
 about our person, to guard from faithless 
 friends as well as open foes ! — Quelus, Saint 
 Maigrin, Maugiron, all — all are gone ! and for 
 such service there breathes not another like my 
 own de Montbel !" 
 
 He sighed deeply as he concluded, and a 
 tear stood in his eye as the tender recollections 
 of past friendships filled his mind. He looked
 
 298 CHANTILLY. 
 
 not towards the Count, or he would have per- 
 ceived how dark and lowering was his coun- 
 tenance. The words of the King had entered 
 like daggers into his soul, and revived more 
 bitterly than ever all his latent jealousy of de 
 Montbel. It was throwing away all chance of 
 advancement and preferment thus to admit the 
 favourite into the secret. 
 
 " Pardon me, your Majesty,^"* said he eager- 
 ly, " methinks it were wise to have no listeners. 
 The tale of my converse with the Count is of 
 deep importance ; de Montbel is well-meaning, 
 but his presence would but mar — ^' 
 
 '' Nay, nay, de Montbel is our friend, La 
 Vallee,*" said Henry sharply, " and it is our 
 pleasure that he be admitted ; there cannot be a 
 litter adjunct to our counsels. Ho, there! Le- 
 vasseur, summon the Grand Chamberlain de 
 Montbel ; bid him make all speed hither, and 
 not even tarry to change his hunting-suit — we 
 will for once excuse it, seeing that we are not 
 over choice in visitors this morning."
 
 d'espignac, a tale. 299 
 
 His eye fell with an expression of reproach 
 upon the comparatively neglected attire and 
 dusty boots of the Count. The latter well 
 knew that upon this point Henry was frivo- 
 lously, nay, contemptibly sensitive : that re- 
 proving glance added to his annoyance, and he 
 remained silent, brooding over the way in which 
 he might best practise upon the fears and weak- 
 ness of the King, and gain fresh ground upon 
 his rival. Henry himself, eased of a burthen of 
 trouble by the timely thought of sending for 
 de Montbel, turned aside to bathe his forehead 
 with aromatic essence, which stood nigh at hand 
 for the purpose. The fact was, the King dis- 
 liked the Count de la Vallee more perhaps than 
 he was willing to own, even to himself. Al- 
 though now fast verging towards the middle 
 age, he was, in heart and mind, as much a boy 
 as ever. His companions were all chosen from 
 among the gay and thoughtless ; he feared La 
 Vallee's deep and long-sighted ambition, and 
 it was but seldom he could be prevailed upon
 
 300 CHANTILLY. 
 
 to grant him private audience. Perhaps it was 
 a consciousness of his own inferiority ; but he 
 had always a secret dread of being alone in his 
 company — a presentiment that advantage would 
 be taken of every word and look if de Montbel 
 were not nigh ; and this feeling made him look 
 for aid to the quick vivacity of the Duke to 
 counteract the cool steady craft which he so 
 much dreaded. 
 
 END OP THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, 
 
 Dorset-Street, Fleet-Street.
 
 

 
 ,J± 
 
 .^-Jffi
 
 hk A\ tf ■ w: v,Ld' iiiiiii'Siiiiiiiiiiiiini 
 
 
 iHOiiau 
 
 3 0112 041672871 
 
 . KKxi 
 
 W'l 
 
 
 
 
 .^tf-^^-^^fi^W^S.-j