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 CORSE DE LEON; 
 
 on_, 
 
 THE BRIGAND 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 DEDICATED BY PERMISSION TO HIS 3IAJESTY THE KING 
 OF THE BELGIANS. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 author of 
 
 "the robber," ''the gentleman- of the old school, 
 etc. etc. etc. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 LONGMAX, ORME, BROWX, GREEX, & LOXGMAXS, 
 
 PATERNCSTER-ROW. 
 
 1841,
 
 London ; 
 
 Printed by A. Si'ottiswoodb 
 
 New-Strect-Square..
 
 ;rN 
 
 ?^3 
 'vA 
 
 ? 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 HIS MAJESTY 
 
 LEOPOLD I. 
 
 KING OF THE BELGIANS. 
 
 Sire, 
 Your Majesty's condescension and kind- 
 ness towards me might well draw forth 
 some tribute of gratitude ; but in dedi- 
 
 ^ eating this work to you, there are other 
 feelings that mingle wdth and exalt per- 
 sonal respect. In the first place, I cannot 
 but remember that the early years of my 
 
 ^^ own illustrious and beloved sovereign 
 
 A 2 
 
 ^
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 owe much to your fostering care, and the 
 pride wliich every Englisliman feels in his 
 Queen naturally inspires veneration for 
 one who, besides being connected with 
 her by many near ties, has ever displayed 
 towards her the affection of a second 
 Father. 
 
 During the last fifteen or sixteen years, 
 I have passed through Belgium very fre- 
 quently, pausing at different places and 
 marking with an eye habitually observant 
 the changes that have been wrought in 
 that period. During the last ten years, 
 while Your Majesty has filled that throne 
 to which you were called by the voice of 
 a people now happy in your rule, the 
 most immense and extraordinary pro- 
 gress is observable in the condition of 
 the country that you govern. Were I to
 
 DEDICATION. V 
 
 say that the whole of the benefits which 
 have been wrought, and the whole of the 
 improvements which have taken place, 
 are attributable to Your Majesty indivi- 
 dually, I should be wronging several 
 wise and good men, your counsellors ; 
 and offering to you adulation which your 
 clear and discriminating mind would be 
 the first to reject : for not only has a 
 part been effected by ministers and 
 statesmen, but the very feeling of se- 
 parate nationality, which the people of 
 Belgium experience since your accession, 
 has prompted great endeavours and pro- 
 duced remarkable results. Nevertheless, 
 Your Majesty's own wisdom and fore- 
 sight have originated much, and you 
 have also had a high share in the general 
 improvements which have been carried 
 on by others. You have protected, sup-
 
 VI DEDICATION. 
 
 ported, and directed every great effort 
 and every good design : you have en- 
 couraged reasonable enterprise, and 
 rewarded honest endeavour wherever it 
 was to be found : you have fostered and 
 confirmed that nationaUty from which 
 such benefits must accrue to your people : 
 you have triumphed, by generosity, over 
 the opposition of those who were once 
 attached to another dynasty ; and have 
 won to you those who were formerly 
 inimical to your rule. 
 
 It would occupy too much space to 
 dwell upon all those matters in which 
 Your Majesty's own mind is perceptible j 
 but when I see all that you have done to 
 honour genius, to encourage literature 
 and the arts both in your own and other 
 countries ; when I look to the admirable
 
 DEDICATION. Vll 
 
 arrangement and preservation of the 
 archives of your realm, and the efforts 
 made to obtain every document which 
 has escaped the destructive power of 
 time and political convulsions, I may well 
 feel, as a literary man and a historian, 
 not only admiration but gratitude. Nor 
 when I find the same continuous efforts, 
 made under various ministries, to ascer- 
 tain the causes and diminish the amount 
 of crime, to mitigate punishment while 
 vice is repressed, and to lead to virtue by 
 enlightening and instructing the people, 
 can I help feeling veneration, as a lover 
 of my fellow-creatures, for him who has 
 so steadily pursued such a great and 
 noble object. 
 
 On the beneficent influence which 
 Your Majesty may have exerted by your
 
 Vlll DEDICATION. 
 
 wise and prudent counsels upon the fate 
 and policy of other states, it does not 
 become me to touch. It is sufficient 
 that, wherever I turn my eyes in your 
 own dominions, I see the most enlight- 
 ened efforts to promote commerce and 
 the arts, the great sources of national 
 prosperity and national glory, and to 
 foster industry and virtue, the only sure 
 grounds of national happiness. Many 
 men may combine to carry such designs 
 into execution ; but they cannot exist in 
 a country where they are not powerfully 
 directed by the sovereign himself. 
 
 On the pages which are to follow this 
 dedication I shall say but little. At first 
 sight, the offering of a mere romance 
 may seem but an inappropriate tribute, 
 and I am well aware that any thing I can
 
 DEDICATIOX. ix 
 
 write must be totally unworthy of Your 
 Majesty's acceptance : but, at the same 
 time, a romance, if directed to those high 
 purposes which I conceive to form its 
 legitimate object, has a nobler end than 
 mere amusement in view. 
 
 I beheve that, while the mind is inter- 
 ested and the feelings excited, great les- 
 sons may be taught, great morals pointed 
 out, great principles inculcated, far better 
 than in the colder and more apathetic 
 moments of mere study; and, besides the 
 views abstractedly put forth, romance, 
 like history, teaches by example, and ap- 
 plies its doctrines to the human heart 
 by showing the natural result of human 
 actions. It thus may rise to the highest 
 dignity that any work of man can attain ; 
 for there is no range of poetical thought
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 that it may not embrace, and no mighty 
 object which it may not promote. How- 
 ever feeble may be my execution of the 
 task, the end I have still proposed to my- 
 self in writing has been to elevate the 
 mind of the reader, to offer him a high 
 rather than a grovelling philosophy, and 
 at once to expand and purify his heart. 
 Such views I know Your Majesty will 
 fully appreciate, while your generous na- 
 ture will pardon the defective manner in 
 which they may be carried out. 
 
 Allow me to add, upon the subject of 
 the story itself, that the main incident 
 upon which the whole turns is, unfortu- 
 nately, a recorded fact, and that it, as 
 well as most of the minor particulars, 
 may be found in Auvigny's Life of the
 
 DEDICATION. xi 
 
 Marechal de Brissac and in the Memoirs 
 of the Marechal de Vieilleville. 
 
 That God may long preserve Your 
 Majesty's days, and bless you with health, 
 success, and every sort of earthly happi- 
 ness, is, I know, the unfeigned prayer of 
 all your own subjects, and in that prayer 
 none more sincerely joins than. 
 
 Sire, 
 Your Majesty's most humble 
 and 
 most devoted Servant, 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES.
 
 CORSE DE LEOX; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BRIGAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There are a thousand small and apparently 
 accidental circumstances, which, in our course 
 through life, bring a temporary gloom upon us, 
 render our expectations from the future fearful 
 and cheerless, and diminish our confidence in 
 all those things whereon man either rashly re- 
 lies or builds his reasonable trusts. Strength, 
 youth, wealth, power, the consciousness of rec- 
 titude, the providence of God: all these will 
 occasionally lose their sustaining influence, even 
 upon the most hopeful mind, from causes too 
 slight to justify such an effect. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 These accidental circumstances, these mental 
 clouds, resemble much those other clouds which 
 sometimes at the close of a bright day come 
 over a landscape previously warm and shining, 
 cast a grey shade over its rich hues, shut out 
 the redoubled glory of the setting sun, and 
 make gloom and shadow spread over the sum- 
 mer scene. Though nothing is changed but 
 the light in which things dwell, though the 
 colour of the tree and the form of the rock are 
 the same, yet the brightness of the whole is de- 
 parted, and the lustre gone out as if for ever. 
 
 There are times, however, when a gloom, 
 which seems to have no counterpart in the 
 physical world, comes over the mind; when 
 all has gone fairly with us ; when every object 
 around is full of brightness and hope ; when 
 the horses of Fortune's car have never once even 
 stumbled on the way ; and not a sorrow rough 
 enough to rub the down from the wing of a 
 butterfly has fallen upon our hearts for years ; 
 and yet a deep and shadowy despondency steals 
 over our spirits, as if the immortal within us 
 were telling the mortal of anxieties and griefs,
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 3 
 
 and dangers approaching — discovered by the 
 fine sympathies of the higher part of our being 
 with things undiscoverable by the mere mate- 
 rial creature. 
 
 Cares, sorrows, and perils, corporeal agony, 
 and anguish of the heart, are often but as the 
 fire which tempers the pure iron into the fine 
 steel, at once proving and strengthening the 
 spirit. The last grand lesson which leads 
 generous youth to vigorous manhood, which 
 confirms our powers, and gives the great man's 
 mastery over Fate, is to endure ; and I am in- 
 clined to believe that such sudden and un- 
 accountable feelings of despondency — I do not 
 mean the ordinary fits of gloom that haunt a 
 moody and a wayward spirit, but, on the con- 
 trary, the dark impression, the heavy shadow 
 that once or twice, in the midst of a bright life- 
 time, comes iiTesistibly upon a gay or placid 
 mind — I am inclined to think, I say, that such 
 despondency is only given to the high-minded 
 and the great — a prophetic voice, announcing 
 not to the ear, but to the heart, that the day oi 
 trial comes — the trumpet of Fate calling on a 
 B 2
 
 4 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 champion, dauntless and strong, to rouse him to 
 the battle, and arm his spirit for some awful 
 strife. 
 
 The day had been as bright and beautiful as 
 a summer day in the south of Europe can be ; 
 and yet it had spared the traveller and the 
 labourer many of the inconveniences and dis- 
 comforts which those beautiful days of the south 
 sometimes bring along with them : for the year 
 was yet young, and with all the brightness 
 of youth it had all the tenderness too. There 
 had been a fresh breeze in the sky during 
 the hotter part of the day ; and one would have 
 felt that it blew from the cool tops of snowy 
 mountains, even had one not seen from time to 
 time some of the distant peaks of the high Alps 
 towering white over the greener hills below. 
 
 There was also a world of streams and 
 rivulets, and cascades about, which gave addi- 
 tional freshness and life to the air that blew 
 heavy with the perfume of the flowers upon the 
 banks ; and the high swelling of the mountains 
 round, still gave a pleasant shade to one side 
 of the valley. Each sense had something to
 
 CORSE DE LEON. O 
 
 delight it; and there was over every object 
 which nature presented, that aspect of peaceful 
 enjoyment which is the greatest soother of 
 man's heart. 
 
 The spot was in the extreme verge of Savoy, 
 bordering upon France. It would little benefit 
 the reader to say exactly where, for the aspect 
 of the land has changed : the towns of that age 
 and their laborious denizens would not be re- 
 cognised by their successors of the present day; 
 the castle, the fortress, and the palace are 
 ruined and swept away, and even the roads 
 themselves now wind through other valleys or 
 climb over other hills. It was somewhere be- 
 tween Nice and St. Jean de Maurienne : that 
 space is surely limited enough to afford the 
 reader a definite idea of the scene. Let him 
 take a map and a pair of compasses, he will find 
 it but a span ; and in reality it is less — with a 
 universe around it. 
 
 Nevertheless it was a very lovely scen^ as I 
 
 have said, with the hills tall and blue, and 
 
 the snowy mountains looking down upon one 
 
 through the long defiles ; with the valleys green 
 
 B 3
 
 6 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 and fresh, and the streams bright and sparkling. 
 Here and there, too, upon some rocky height 
 which commanded the entrance of the gorges 
 of the mountain, a feudal castle would raise its 
 battlements, grey, and stern, and warlike ; and 
 either in the open plain — where such a thing 
 was found, — or in the warm valleys in the 
 hills, were seen the villages and small towns of 
 Savoy, with their greyish white walls, and their 
 graceful church towers crowning the loveliness 
 of the whole with the aspect of human life. 
 The period of the world's history whereof I 
 speak was one of gorgeous pageantry, and gay 
 wit and deeds of arms — a period when chivalry 
 and the feudal system, just about to be ex- 
 tinguished for ever, blazed with a dying flame. 
 Montmorency still lived, though Bayard and 
 Francis had left the busy scene but a few years 
 before, and Henry the Second had not yet 
 closed his career in the last tournament which 
 Europe was destined to witness. The songs of 
 Marot and the wit of Rabelais still rang in the 
 ear, and Ronsard, Dorat, and Montaigne were 
 entering gaily upon the path of letters.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 7 
 
 It was in the year 1558, then, and towards 
 the close of the day, tliat a small party of horse- 
 men wound along through the bright scenery 
 of which we have spoken. It consisted only of 
 four persons, two of whom were merely armed 
 servants, such as usually attended upon a cava- 
 lier of those times, not exactly acting the part 
 of soldier on ordinary occasions, but very well 
 fitted so to do when any particular exigency 
 required the exertion of the strong hand. The 
 third was a youth of no very remarkable ap- 
 pearance, in the garb of a page ; but the fourth 
 was evidently the leader of the w^hole, and, as 
 such, the person who merits the most accurate 
 description. I will attempt to paint him to the 
 eye of the reader, as I have myself seen him re- 
 presented by the hand of an unknown artist in 
 one of the palaces on^the banks of the Brenta. 
 
 He was in person about the middle height> 
 rather above it than below, and at this period 
 was not more than twenty-three years of age. 
 His forehead was broad and fine, with short 
 dark hair curlinor round it : his features were 
 small, except the eye and brow, the former of 
 B 4
 
 8 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 which was large and full, and the lal^ter strongly 
 marked. The mouth was very handsome, show- 
 ing when half open in speaking, the brilliant 
 white teeth, and giving to the whole comite- 
 nance a look of playful gaiety ; but when shut, 
 there was an expression of much thoughtful- 
 ness, approaching perhaps to sternness, about it, 
 which the rounded and somewhat prominent 
 chin confirmed. The upper lip was very 
 short ; but, on either side, divided in the middle, 
 was a short black mustache, not overhanging 
 the mouth, but raised above it ; and the beard, 
 which was short and black like the hair, was 
 only suffered to grow in such a manner as to 
 ornament, but not encumber, the chin. 
 
 In form the cavalier was muscular, and 
 powerfully made, his breadth of chest and 
 shoulders giving the appearance of a more 
 advanced period of life than that at which he 
 had yet arrived. He was evidently a soldier, 
 for he was fully armed, as if having lately been 
 or being still in scenes of strife and danger; 
 and, to say the truth, a man fully armed in 
 those days was certainly more loaded with
 
 CORSE DE LEON. V 
 
 weapons, oiFensive and defensive, than was pro- 
 bably ever the case before or since. 
 
 The picture I have spoken of represents him, 
 with not only the complete armour which was 
 then still used to encase the person, with the 
 long heavy sword, the dagger, and the large 
 pistols, but also with four short carbines — at 
 least such they appear to be — one at each cor- 
 ner of the saddle. His head, indeed, is seen 
 unencumbered by the steel cap, which usually 
 completed the armour, but which is borne by 
 the page at his saddle-bow, while the cavalier 
 himself appears wearing upon his head the 
 somewhat cooler covering of a black velvet cap, 
 without feather or any other ornament. 
 
 The horse that carried him, which was a tall 
 powerful charger, fared better in some respects 
 than his master, for before this epoch the heavy 
 armour with which steed as well as man used at 
 one time to be encumbered was lightened in 
 favour of the quadruped ; and the horse which 
 bore the young gentleman of whom we speak was 
 only covered with such pieces as might protect 
 his head and chest in the shock of the charge.
 
 10 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 The day, I have said, had been bright and 
 sweet, and all nature had been as fresh and 
 happy as a young heart upon a holyday. 
 Similar, too, had been the mood of Bernard 
 de Rohan as he rode along; not so much that 
 the scene and its charms created, as that they 
 found, sympathetic feelings in his bosom ; for his 
 disposition was naturally cheerful and bright, 
 full of gay thoughts and happy enthusiasms. 
 He was returning, too, from another country, 
 from the midst of strangers, and perils, and 
 fatigues, to enjoy an interval of tranquillity, in 
 his own bright land, and the society of those he 
 loved. 
 
 France was within his sight, the tongues 
 that he heard around him spoke nearly the 
 same language as that which he had used from 
 infancy; and, though the nominal frontier of 
 Savoy lay some fifteen miles before him, yet, in 
 all but the name, he was in his own country. 
 There was little of that cold restraint about 
 him which is either acquired by harsh dealings 
 with evil men, or is natural from some inward 
 pravity of the heart ; and the cheerful mood of
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 11 
 
 his mind found its way forth in many an outward 
 sign. From time to time he had tm-ned round to 
 speak to the page, or to one of the servants, with 
 some light jest or gay inquiry. Now he would 
 point out a distant spot in the landscape as 
 they stood upon some beetling point half way 
 up the mountain, and ask if they recognised 
 this or that town in Dauphine : now he would 
 pat the proud ci*est of his stout horse, and talk 
 to the noble animal as if he expected an an- 
 swer ; and now vrould even break forth into a 
 snatch of song. His heart, in short, was as a 
 fountain, so filled with happiness that it welled 
 over, and the waters sparkled as they over- 
 flowed the brim. 
 
 The servants smiled to see their lord so gay, 
 especially an elder one, who, commenting v.ith 
 the other, remarked that he might well look 
 happy, bearing back home such glory as he had 
 won. 
 
 Thus passed the earlier part of the day's 
 journey ; but towards the evening the mood of 
 Bernard de Rohan changed. His open brow 
 did not orrow cloudv, it is true, but there came
 
 12 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 a look of gloom upon it : the lips no longer 
 opened with a bland smile, and the teeth were 
 shut together with that stern expression we 
 have already noticed. His eyes gazed on upon 
 the scene, but with somewhat of a vacant 
 aspect, and every thing told that the spirit was 
 busy in its tabernacle dealing with high thoughts. 
 Nor could any one who looked upon him sup- 
 pose that those thoughts were other than sad 
 ones. Intense they certainly were; and cer- 
 tainly they were not gay. 
 
 Yet Bernard de Rohan had no remembered 
 grief. Fate had indeed once struck him se- 
 verely, but ever after had spared him alto- 
 gether, had plucked not a flower from his 
 bosom, nor cast a shadow on his path. 
 
 In early years he had lost both his parents, 
 but that was the only misfortune which had 
 befallen him, and it was long ago. He scarcely 
 remembered them ; and all that remained was a 
 soft memory, affectionate but not painful. Since 
 then his course had been from one bright thing 
 to another. Wise and tender friends, the amuse- 
 ments, the sports, the studies of youth, virtue
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 13 
 
 and honour, wealth and station, praise, success, 
 and glory had been his. He had no thirst for 
 power ; so what could he want more ? Had any 
 one asked him that question, he would have re- 
 plied. Nothing — nothing but what he might 
 well hope to attain ; and yet about an hour 
 before the sun reached the edge of the sky, a 
 fit of gloom fell upon him, dark, vague, unac- 
 countable, like one of those mists that in 
 mountain lands suddenly surround the way- 
 farer, shutting out the beauty and the briglit- 
 ness, and leaving all around dulJ, chilly, vague, 
 uncertain, and confused. 
 
 For nearly half an hour he gave way to the 
 sensations that oppressed him. They seemed 
 at first too mighty to be struggled with. It was 
 what in the language of northern poetry is 
 called " having the cloud upon him," and he 
 could not cast it off; till at length it seemed to 
 rise gradually, and the power returned, first, 
 of arguing with himself upon the unreason- 
 ableness of such feelings, and then of smiling — 
 though with a mingled smile — at his own 
 weakness in giving way to them.
 
 14 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 The effect wore off; but he was still com- 
 muning with himself on the sensations he had 
 just experienced, when the page called his at- 
 tention to the clouds that were gathering round 
 the mountains. With that quick transition so 
 common to hill countries, especially in the 
 south, the sky was becoming rapidly obscured. 
 The lurid masses of stormy vapour writhed 
 themselves round the peaks ; and although 
 beneath their dark canopy a gleam of intense 
 red light was seen marking the far western 
 sky on the side of France, the whole heaven 
 above was soon covered with a thick expanse 
 of deep grey cloud. At a considerable dis- 
 tance, in the more open part of the country, 
 which lay beyond the mouth of the defile, 
 stretching in long lines of dark purple towards 
 the sunset, appeared a large square tower, with 
 some other neighbouring buildings, cutting 
 with their straight lines the rounded forms of 
 the trees. 
 
 " That must be Voiron," said the cavalier, 
 as if in answer to his page's observation regard- 
 ing the coming storm. " We must quicken our
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 15 
 
 pace and reach shelter, or we shall have to pass 
 half the night in cleaninop our arms, if vonder 
 frowning cloud fulfil one half its menaces." 
 
 " Voiron must be ten leasjues off, sir." re- 
 plied one of the attendants; " we shall not 
 reach it this night." 
 
 " Then we must find some other covering," 
 replied the master, gaily ; '• but at all events 
 put to your spurs, for the battle has already 
 begun." 
 
 Even as he spoke the large drops fell slowly 
 and heavily, denting the dusty covering of 
 the road. Bernard de Rohan and his fol- 
 lowers rode on at full speed, though the de- 
 scent was steep, the way bad, and the grey 
 twilight creeping over the scene. Five minutes 
 more brought them to a turn, where they could 
 obtain a wider view ; but, alas ! no place of re- 
 fuge was to be seen, except where the same tall 
 dark tower rose heavily across the streaks of 
 red light in the west, marking the place of 
 some distant town or village. The attendants, 
 who had pictured to themselves during the 
 morning's ride all the comforts of the cheer-
 
 16 CORSE DE LEON, 
 
 ful inn, the good rich wine of Dauphine, the 
 stretching forth at ease of the strong laborious 
 limb, the easy gossip with the village girls, the 
 light-hearted song in the porch, and all the 
 relaxing joys of an hour's idleness, now begun 
 to think of the long and tedious task of clean- 
 ing arms and clothing, and spending many an 
 hour in rubbing the cold steel ; and to say sooth 
 their lord also would have been better pleased 
 with fairer weather. 
 
 The road, as such roads ever must do, 
 wound its way round many a turn and angle 
 of the rock; so that it was very possible for 
 several persons to be within a short distance of 
 each other, without the one who followed ever 
 seeing him who was but a few hundred yards 
 before him. At the spot which we have men- 
 tioned, Bernard de Rohan paused for a mo- 
 ment to look round for some place of shelter, 
 and the road before him seemed perfectly clear 
 and free. He could see completely into the 
 valley on his right, and across the plains be- 
 yond, while the path which he was following 
 could be traced along the side of the hill, round
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 17 
 
 two or three sharp angles of the rock, about two 
 hundred yards apart from each other. All at 
 first was clear as I have said, when suddenly 
 there emerged at the salient point which cut that 
 part of the sky where the light still lingered, the 
 figure of a human being, which was lost again 
 round the turn, almost as soon as it was seen. 
 
 " There is a peasant on a mule," exclaimed 
 the cavalier gladh-. " We cannot be far from 
 some village." 
 
 " It looks more like a priest on an ass, my 
 lord,'* replied the attendant who had spoken 
 before. 
 
 *' Well, well," said his master, " we shall 
 find the better lodgings." 
 
 " And the better wine," rejoined his fol- 
 lower; "but perhaps not the better welcome." 
 
 " Oh, they are good men, these priests of 
 Savoy," replied Bernard de Rohan, spurring 
 on ; " but we must not lose him again." 
 
 In a few minutes they again caught sight of 
 the object of their pursuit. He was now^ much 
 nearer, but still it w^as somewhat difficult to 
 distinguish whether he were priest or peasant, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 till, coming up with him by dint of hard 
 riding — for his long-eared charger was bear- 
 ing him on at a rapid pace — they found that 
 he was, as the attendant had supposed, a jovial 
 priest : not indeed extravagantly fat, as but too 
 many were in that day, but in good case of 
 body, and bearing a countenance rosy with 
 health, and apparently sparkling with a cheerful 
 disposition. He seemed, indeed, to be of a 
 character somewhat eccentric, for, contrary to 
 all clerical rule, he had covered his head with 
 one of the large straw hats of the peasantry, 
 which accorded but ill with the rest of his habili- 
 ments. His features, which the young cavalier 
 thought he had seen somewhere before, were 
 good, with an expression of much sharpness ; 
 and though undoubtedly he heard the tramp 
 of horses' feet behind him, in a land and in 
 times not famous for safe travelling, either his 
 conscience or his courage were so good, that he 
 turned not his head to see who followed him 
 thus closely, but kept his ass at the same brisk 
 canter, while the young cavalier rode up to his 
 side, and gave him the ordinary salutation of 
 the day.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 19 
 
 " A good evening to you, father !" said Ber- 
 nard de Rohan, riding between him and the 
 edge of the precipice. 
 
 " Pray let us have it quickly, my son," 
 replied the priest ; " for the one we liave got 
 seems likely to be as bad a one as ever I saw, 
 at present." 
 
 " Indeed it is," answered the young gentle- 
 man, smiling at his somewhat cynical reply; 
 " I am heartily glad to have met with you, my 
 good father, for I trust you can show us some 
 place of shelter." 
 
 " Good faith," replied the priest, turning for 
 a moment to look at the cavalier's follow^ers, 
 " I cannot say I am so glad of the encounter ; 
 for where I am going we cannot be sure of 
 finding too many of the good things of this 
 life, and the lion's portion is always sure to go 
 to the fighting men." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! we will share alike !" rejoined 
 Bernard. 
 
 " Ay ! but I am a king in those matters," 
 answered the priest ; — " I do not like to share 
 at all. But come on, come on, I am only 
 c 2
 
 20 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 jesting. We shall find plenty, I doubt not; 
 for when last I passed that little inn, there was 
 good meat and wine enough to have fed a 
 refectoi'y for a week, or an army for a year. 
 Come on quick, I say, for yon foul-mouthed 
 railer at the top of the hill is beginning to roar 
 at us, as well as spit at iis. We have still far 
 to go, and a storm in these mountains is like a 
 dull jest, I can tell you, young gentleman ; for 
 one never knows what may come next." 
 
 '* Why, what can come next," demanded 
 the cavalier, "but fine weather after the 
 storm?" 
 
 " A rock upon your head," replied the priest, 
 " or an avalanche at your heels, which would 
 smother you in your steel case like a lobster in 
 his shell. Come on ! come on ! — Sancta Maria, 
 why my small ass will outrun your tall charger 
 now ;" and bestowing a buffet with his straw hat 
 upon the flank of his bearer, the beast quickened 
 his pace still more, and, with a malicious whisk 
 of the tail and fling with his hind feet, set off 
 into a gallop. But we must pause to change the 
 scene, and precede the travellers on their way.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 21 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 There are few situations in life which convey 
 to the mind of man more completely the sensa- 
 tion of comfort, security, and repose, than 
 when, after a long day's ride, he sits at ease by 
 a glowing fire, and hears — while all the ready 
 service of a well-conducted inn is in bustling 
 activity to minister to his wants or satisfy his 
 appetite — the rain patter and the tempest roar 
 without. Nor is it from any selfish comparison 
 of their own fate with that of others less happy, 
 that men derive this sensation, notwidistanding 
 the dictum of the most selfish of would-be phi- 
 losophers. It is, on the contrary, from a com- 
 parison of their own situation at the moment 
 with what that situation sometimes has been, 
 or might even then be, that the good and the 
 generous experience such feelings ; and though 
 the thought of others, exposed to the tempest, 
 c 3
 
 22 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 must naturally cross their minds, yet that thought 
 is mixed with pity and regret. 
 
 The little inn towards which Bernard de Rohan 
 and his companions were proceeding, under the 
 guidance of the priest, when last we left them, 
 though the village in which it stood contained 
 not above nine or ten cottages, was good for 
 the time and the country. Its only sitting- 
 room, of course, was the great kitchen, into 
 which the door opened from the road ; but that 
 kitchen was well fenced from the wind and 
 rain ; the windows were small and cased in 
 stone ; the door was sheltered by a deep porch, 
 where host and travellers sat and amused them- 
 selves in the summer daytime ; and as it was 
 the first house met with after passing some of 
 the steepest mountains between France and 
 Piedmont, every thing was done to make it 
 attractive in the eyes of weary wayfarers. 
 
 The thunder had past, the air had become 
 cold and raw, the night was as dark as a 
 bad man's thoughts, a fierce wind was blowing, 
 and the heavy rain dashed in gusts against 
 the clattering casements ; but all those indi-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 28 
 
 cations of the harsh and boisterous state of 
 the weather without, did but serve to make 
 the scene within seem more comfortable to 
 the eyes of a traveller, w^ho sat in one of the 
 large seats within the sheltering nook of the 
 chimney, watching the busy hostess prepare 
 more than one savoury mess for his supper on 
 the bright wood fire that blazed upon the 
 hearth. In the mean time, several attendants 
 of various kinds might be seen in different 
 parts of the wide kitchen cleaning and drying 
 harness, clothes, baldrics, and weapons, or pre- 
 paring other matters for the service of their 
 lord, with all the devices of courtly luxury. 
 
 Those attendants, however, were not the 
 attendants of Bernard de Rohan, nor was the 
 traveller that cavalier himself; he being yet 
 upon his way thither, and enduring all the fury 
 of the storm. 
 
 The one of whom I now speak was a man of 
 about the same age, but rather older. He was 
 decidedly a handsomer man also : his features 
 were all finer in form ; he was taller ; his com- 
 plexion was fairer, without, however, being 
 c 4
 
 24 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 effeminate, and it was evident, too, that lie knew 
 his personal advantages, and was somewhat vain 
 of them. He was dressed with much splendour, 
 according to the fashion of that day; and though 
 he seemed to have met with some part of the 
 storm, it was clear that he had not been long 
 exposed to it. 
 
 In short, as he sat there, he might well be 
 pronounced one of the handsomest and most 
 splendid cavaliers of his day ; but there was a 
 something which a closely observing eye might 
 detect in the hanging brow and curling lip that 
 was not altogether pleasant. It could scarcely 
 be called a sneer ; yet there was something 
 supercilious and contemptuous in it too. Nor 
 was it altogether haughty, though pride un- 
 doubtedly had its share. It was a dark and yet 
 not a gloomy expression. It seemed as if the 
 heart that lay beneath was full of many an 
 unfathomable idea, and proud of its impenetra- 
 bility. The thoughts might be good or bad; 
 but it was evidently a countenance of much 
 thought under a mask of lightness — a deep lake 
 beneath a ripple.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 25 
 
 The stranger had, as we have said, been 
 looking on while the hostess, with a bustling 
 maid, prepared manifold dishes for his supper, 
 and he added, from time to time, a gay jest to 
 either of them upon the progress of the work. 
 His tone was familiar and easy ; but it might be 
 remarked that his jest always arose from some- 
 thing that came beneath his eye, and that in 
 general he took no notice whatever of the reply, 
 scarcely seeming to hear that any one else 
 spoke, and making no rejoinder, but letting 
 the matter drop till he thought fit to jest again. 
 
 At length, however, he said, " I prithee, 
 dame, double yon portion of steaks from the 
 roe-deer, and add me some twenty eggs to the 
 omelet. You will have more visiters shortly." 
 
 The good woman started up with a look of 
 some surprise, and might, perhaps, have thought 
 her guest a conjuror, had not his words been 
 followed so closely by the noise of horses' feet, 
 that the source of his knowledge was evident 
 at once. A moment after, voices were heard 
 calling, and the aubergiste, who had been aid- 
 infj some of the servants at the other side of the
 
 26 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 kitchen, opened the door carefully and looked 
 forth. The cold wind rushed in fiercely, like a 
 besieging army into d stormed city, and the 
 yellow wax flambeau which the host carried to 
 the door, and which, in that land of bees, was in 
 those days common to every country inn, was 
 extinguished in a moment, notwithstanding the 
 fierce flame wherewith it burned. 
 
 All on that side of the wide dingy room was 
 now in darkness ; but voices were heard as of 
 many persons speaking, with cries for horseboys 
 and hostlers, in the easily distinguished tongues 
 of attendants, while the landlord assured the 
 travellers again and again that he would bestow 
 upon them a thousand-fold better accommoda- 
 tion and entertainment than there was the least 
 chance of their obtaining in reality. 
 
 At the same time, a full rich merry voice was 
 heard chuckling at the boasts of mine host, and 
 exclaiming, " Ay, ay, landlord ! is it not so ? 
 We shall have dolphins and mullets, ortolans 
 and beccaficos, musk sherbet from Constan- 
 tinople, true Roman Falernian mingled with 
 honey, and, to crown all, a Pythagorean pea-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 27 
 
 cock ! Nothing less will serve us in this cold 
 night ; though, methinks, a good capon and a 
 tankard of mulled Avignon claret* would warm 
 me well, were it but ready this minute." 
 
 While the jovial priest, whom I have de- 
 scribed in the first chapter of this true history, 
 descended from his ass, joking at every move- 
 ment with the host, Bernard de Rohan, smiling 
 at his new companion's merriment, sprang to 
 the ground and entered the kitchen of the inn, 
 leaving his attendants to lead round the horses 
 to the stables at the back of the building. 
 It might not, it is true, be very satisfactory to 
 him to find that the inn was so fully tenanted, 
 as he soon saw that it was ; but he was one of 
 those who fail not to enjoy what may fall to 
 their lot, as far as possible ; and, as he advanced 
 towards the fire, he thanked Heaven for a 
 place of shelter from the rude buffeting of the 
 storm. 
 
 In the mean while, the first occupant of the 
 inn continued, with that air of self-satisfied 
 
 * Tlie first time I ever find the word claret used, it is 
 applied to the wine of Avignon.
 
 28 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 indifference which lias been a part of the affect- 
 ation of the pampered and insolent in all ages, 
 to look at nothing but the proceedings of some 
 rebellious sticks upon the hearth, which resisted 
 all the soft persuasions of the woman whom the 
 hostess had left to tend the savoury messes at 
 the fire, while she herself aided her husband 
 in receiving, like Hope, her new visiters with 
 false promises. The occupant of the chimney 
 corner looked neither to the right nor to the 
 left; and to have judged by his countenance 
 one would have supposed that he heard not one 
 sound of all the many that were stirring around 
 him, nor had a greater interest in any thing 
 on earth than in the cooking of a steak of roe 
 venison. Even when Bernard de Rohan ad- 
 vanced with his arms jingling as he trod, and 
 after a momentary glance at him, laid hold of 
 his arm with a friendly smile, the stranger 
 merely turned round with a look of perfect 
 unconcern to see who it was that either in enmity 
 or good-fellowship thus called his attention. 
 
 When he saw who it was, however, he became 
 more animated, and rising with a smile, shook
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 29 
 
 hands with him warmly. " Ha ! Bernard de 
 Rohan !" he exclaimed — " I can hardly believe 
 my eyes. Why, baron, who would have thought 
 to meet you thus in a Savoyard inn ? Have 
 you then quitted Italy to follow Guise, and 
 meet the enemy in the north ? You have not 
 thrown by the spear and sword, I see ! But, in 
 a w^ord, say what do you here ? " 
 
 '• Why, to say truth," replied the other, " no- 
 thing is now to be done beyond the Apennines ; 
 and though, as you might well know, after all 
 that occurred at Civita, I am as little likely to 
 follow Guise as a greyhound is to hunt in 
 company with a lion, yet there is no use in 
 staying behind when he has not only left the 
 field himself, but taken all his forces with him. 
 I am tired of this warfare, too ! I long for some 
 repose. I have now been three years absent 
 from France, and I have a yearning to see my 
 own land once more." 
 
 " Yes, and some fair dame therein," rejoined 
 his companion. " Is it not so, De Rohan ? I 
 remember well you seemed to have but small 
 delight in the bright eyes of the young Italians,
 
 30 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 and I often thought that it must be some re- 
 membered love of the past that kept you thus 
 heart-whole." 
 
 "It may be so, count," replied Bernard, 
 gaily. " What man is there without a lady- 
 love ? If there be one, he is neither fit for war 
 nor peace : he wants the great excitement to 
 glory, and courtesy, and great deeds. But even 
 had it not been for that, Meyrand," he added, 
 more seriously, " I love the ladies of my own 
 land best. Bright looks are little to me without 
 true hearts, and beauty but a frail substitute 
 for goodness." 
 
 "Pshaw, sir moraliser!" cried his com- 
 panion, — " beauty is a woman's best possession 
 till she be old ; and then, when she has done 
 with the graces, let her take up with the 
 virtues, or the muses, or any thing else she 
 likes." 
 
 " Let her take up with any thing, in short," 
 said the jolly priest, coming forward to the fire, 
 and shaking his gown to dry it — " Let her take 
 up with any thing but a libertine, a fop, or a 
 courtier. Let her bear age, or ugliness, or
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 31 
 
 any thing, but children to fools — so shall she do 
 well in this world and the next ! Is it not so, 
 gay sir?" 
 
 The Count de Meyrand stared at him with 
 a look of haughty surprise ; but he found that 
 the priest was as indifferent as he could be, and 
 he relapsed for a minute or two into silence, 
 while the page of Bernard de Rohan came up 
 to disarm his lord. The operation was some- 
 what long, and by the time it was accomplished 
 the trestles had been brought forth from their 
 corner, the long wooden boards which, joined 
 up the middle, served for a table, had been 
 taken from the wall against which they stood 
 and laid upon those trestles, and over all a fine 
 white table-cloth had been spread with the salt 
 in the midst. 
 
 Plate after plate of well-cooked viands, 
 emitting an odour most savoury to hungry men, 
 was next placed on the board by the neat 
 hostess, and the count, with Bernard de 
 Rohan in the bujff jerkin he had worn under his 
 armour, moved to take their seats at the head 
 of the table. The priest sat down beside his
 
 32 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 young travelling companion, while a sneering 
 smile curled the lip of Meyrand, and he could 
 not refrain from saying, in a low but not in- 
 audible voice, " Why, baron, what a princely 
 youth you have become, to travel with your 
 fool, and in canonicals too." 
 
 Bernard did not reply ; and the priest, though 
 he heard every word, said nothing till, the at- 
 tendants having all ranged themselves at the 
 lower end of the table, together with the host 
 and hostess, he proceeded to bless the meat. 
 He had scarcely concluded, however, when the 
 door of the inn suddenly opened, and a person 
 rushed in in the garb of a servant. He was 
 without hat or cloak, and there was a cut, 
 though but a slight one, upon his forehead. 
 " Help, help !" he cried, gazing eagerly around 
 the circle — "Help, help! they are carrying 
 away my Lord of Masseran and my young lady 
 to murder them in the mountains." 
 
 These words produced a very different effect 
 upon the persons who heard them. The Count 
 of Meyrand sat perfectly still and indifferent, 
 listening with his usual air of cool self-posses-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 33 
 
 sion to all that the man said, and never ceasing 
 to carve with his dac^^er the meat that was 
 before him, on which he had just commenced 
 when the interruption took place. 
 
 On the other hand, Bernard de Rohan and 
 each of his servants, as if moved by tlie same 
 impulse, started up at once. The young gentle- 
 man's left hand fell naturally to grasp the scab- 
 bard of his sword, and before the man had 
 done speaking he had taken three steps towards 
 the door of the inn. 
 
 Two or three circumstances, however, oc- 
 curred to interrupt him for a moment. There 
 were various confused movements on the part 
 of many persons present, and a clamour of se- 
 veral tongues all speaking at once. 
 
 At the same time the count exclaimed, " Stay 
 one moment, baron ! Stay and drink one cup 
 of wine with me before you go out in this 
 sweet stormy night to help one of the greatest 
 scoundrels that Savoy can produce or France 
 either. Stay, stay one moment ! Well," he 
 added, seeing Bernard de Rohan turn from 
 him with a look of impatience, " well, go and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 help Masseran, if you will ! Heaven send the 
 rogues may have cut his throat before you 
 reach them !" 
 
 " Your horse, my lord ! " cried one of thu 
 attendants ; " Your armour, sir ! " said another. 
 '* No, no, on foot ! on foot ! " cried Bernard 
 de Rohan ; " on foot as we are ! Time is 
 every thing. Lead on, fellow ! lead on ! Send 
 us out torches, mine host !" 
 
 The jovial priest had started up almost at 
 the same time as his travelling companion. 
 " By our Lady I will go with you !" he cried, 
 " to shrive the dying. It is a part of a priest's 
 trade ; though, I confess, if I were knight, and 
 noble and gallant cavalier, I would stay where 
 I am, like this brave count, and exercise my 
 chivalry upon venison and tankards of wine." 
 
 While he was speaking, there drew out from 
 some dark corner of the inn-kitchen — whefe 
 he had remained 'unnoticed by any one — a 
 tall thin gaunt man, with a straw hat on his 
 head, and a large coarse brown cloak envelop- 
 ing almost the whole of his figure. He took 
 three steps forward into the full light, and cer-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 35 
 
 tainly there had seldom been seen a more 
 striking, if not a more handsome, countenance, 
 or a more remarkable and even graceful bearing, 
 than that which the stranger presented. He 
 was a man apparently about five-and-thirty 
 years of age, with aquiline features, large black 
 flashing eyes, the bronze of sun and wind and 
 storm upon his face, and five or six deep scars 
 upon his cheek and brow. He was remarkably 
 erect in person, and, though certainly meagre, 
 was broad-shouldered and muscular, or rather, 
 perhaps, I may say, sinewy ; for the hand that 
 grasped his cloak, and the part of the arm and 
 wrist seen above it, displayed the strong mark- 
 ings of the muscles like cords under the skin. 
 
 He came directly in the way of Bernard de 
 Rohan, as the young cavalier advanced towards 
 the door ; and it must be confessed that there 
 was something strange and startling in the 
 sudden apparition of the stranger, which made 
 the other pause, and, with an involuntary motion, 
 advance his right hand towards the hilt of his 
 sword. 
 
 He drew it back again instantly, however, 
 D 2
 
 86 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 somewhat ashamed of the movement, while the 
 new personage thus brought upon the stage 
 said, in a deep but melodious voice, " I will go 
 with you too, young gentleman, and may do 
 you better service than our good friend the 
 priest here," 
 
 " But, Master Leon," exclaimed the land- 
 lord of the inn, advancing towards him with an 
 entreating look. 
 
 " Hush," cried the stranger, holding up his 
 hand, and at the same moment the jovial priest 
 turned also upon the host, exclaiming, " Fry 
 your eggs, fry your eggs, Gandelot, and leave 
 other people to fry theirs. Don't be afraid ! 
 we'll not toss the omelet into the fire, nor spill 
 the grease, nor set the chimney in a blaze. 
 You know me and I know him ; and, though 
 he is the last man that should say I can't do 
 good service when I like it, yet I will go with 
 him without a quarrel !" 
 
 When every one is speaking at once, a con- 
 versation which would be otherwise long, is very 
 rapidly brought to a conclusion; and though, 
 as we have seen, there were here two or three
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 37 
 
 interlocutors, all that we have described scarcely 
 interrupted Bernard de Rohan half a minute. 
 " Lead on, lead] on then ! " he exclaimed im- 
 patiently, addressing the servant who had made 
 the appeal for assistance, and to whom the 
 Count de Meyrand had been addressing a few 
 words in a low tone. <' Lead on, I say, quick ! " 
 and in another moment they were all beyond 
 the door of the inn, and standing upon the 
 mountain side in the cold air of night. 
 
 The count remained at the table ; and, 
 shaping their conduct upon that of their lord, 
 not one of his servants attempted to move. 
 Meyrand, however, did not, upon the whole, 
 seem particularly well satisfied with what had 
 taken place. Perhaps he might not be quite 
 contented with the inactive part he was playing ; 
 and it is certain he asked himself whether 
 Bernard de Rohan could attribute his conduct 
 to any want of courage. He recollected, how- 
 ever, that they had mounted to the assault of 
 many a well-defended breach together, and he 
 felt sure that there could be no doubt of that 
 
 kind on his companion's mind. He remained 
 D 3
 
 38 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 in thought, however, for a minute or two 
 longer, forgetting even the supper that was 
 before him, and the air of indifference which 
 he usually bore ; but at length he beckoned 
 one of his men to his side, and spoke a few 
 words to him in a very low tone, only suffering 
 the two last to be heard : they were, " You 
 understand !" 
 
 The man bowed his head in reply, called 
 three of his companions away from the table, 
 sought hastily in the different corners of the 
 inn kitchen for various offensive weapons, and 
 then left the place, as if to follow and assist 
 Bernard de Rohan and his party.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. '*^9 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 It had nearly ceased raining, but the night, as 
 we have said, was cold and chilly, the sky was 
 still covered with thick clouds, and the air was 
 full of thick darkness — to use the expressive 
 words of Scripture; a darkness that could be 
 felt. Bernard de Rohan and his companions 
 paused for a moment before the door of the 
 little inn, listening to catch any sounds of the 
 conflict from which the servant seemed so 
 freshly to have come. 
 
 All was silent, however. The rushing sound 
 of the mountain torrents, swelled by the late 
 rains ; the sighing of the night winds amongst 
 the gorges of the mountains and through the 
 deep pine forests ; the distant cry of a wolf, and 
 the whirring scream of the night hawk, as it 
 flitted by, were all heard distinctly : but no 
 human voice mingled with the other sounds. 
 D 4
 
 40 CORSE DE LEON 
 
 This silence, however, gave no assurance to 
 the heart of Bernard de Rohan that the persons 
 for wliom the servant had appealed to his chivalry 
 had escaped from their assailants. It was well 
 known at that time that every part of Savoy 
 was infested with bands of brigands, which had 
 rather increased than diminished in number 
 since France had taken possession of the 
 country ; so that, unable to put them down, 
 the famous Marechal de Brissac, in order to 
 restrain their indiscriminate ravages in some 
 degree, had been obliged to give them occa- 
 sional employment with his own forces. When 
 not thus employed, however, they were known 
 to lay wait in all the principal passes, both of 
 Piedmont and Savoy, and take toll of all tra- 
 vellers with a strong hand. Enormous barba- 
 rities were from time to time charged against 
 them; and, if one might judge by general 
 rumour, no scheme was too wild, no act too 
 violent and desperate, for them to devise and 
 execute. The only conclusion, therefore, which 
 Bernard de Rohan drew from the absence of 
 all sounds of conflict, was that the banditti had
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 41 
 
 prevailed, and either murdered their victims or 
 carried them off. 
 
 " Quick ! quick ! " he cried, after that mo- 
 mentary pause. " Lead on, lead on, good 
 fellow ! where are your lord and lady ? ^Yhicb 
 is the way?" 
 
 '' This way, noble sir, this way," cried the 
 man, advancing at once along the road which 
 led more immediately into the mountains. 
 " They cannot have gone far : I could hear the 
 voices of the brigands from the inn door." 
 
 Thus saying, he led the way onward with 
 great speed ; but as Bernard de Rohan fol- 
 lowed with the same quick pace, the clear 
 deep voice of the man whom the host had 
 called Master Leon sounded in his ear, saying, 
 *' There is some mistake here, and I think 
 some villany ; but fear not." 
 
 " Fear ! " replied Bernard de Rohan, turn- 
 ing his head towards him. *' Do you suppose 
 I fear?" 
 
 " No, I suppose not," replied the man ; " but 
 yet there was no common interest in your eye, 
 good youth, when this knave talked of his
 
 42 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 young mistress, and one may fear for others 
 though not for themselves. But hark ! I hear 
 a noise on before. Voices speaking. Some 
 one complaining, I think. Quick, quick ! run 
 sir varlet, run !" 
 
 At the rapid pace at which they now pro- 
 ceeded they soon heard the sounds more dis- 
 tinctly before them. There was a noise of 
 horses, and a jingling as of the bells of mules. 
 The murmuring of a number of voices, too, came 
 borne upon the air down the pass, and some four 
 or five hundred yards farther up the servant, 
 who was now running on as fast as possible, 
 stumbled over a wounded man, who uttered a 
 cry of pain. But the young cavalier and his 
 companions slackened not their pace, for by this 
 time they could plainly hear some sharp and 
 angry voices pouring forth oaths and impre- 
 cations, and urging what seemed to be a band 
 of prisoners, to hurry forward more rapidly. At 
 the same time the light of a torch, or more than 
 one, was seen gleaming upon the grey rocks 
 and green foliage, and on one occasion it 
 threw upon the flat face of a crag on the other
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 43 
 
 side of the ravine the shadow of a large body of 
 men with horses, and other beasts of burden. 
 
 " Now, out with your swords," cried the per- 
 sonage named Leon, in a tone of authority, " for 
 we are gaining on them quick, and I doubt not 
 shall have stout resistance." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan's sword was already m 
 his hand before the other spoke, and hurrying 
 on, the next moment he reached an angle of 
 the rock, from which he could plainly discern 
 the whole party that he was pursuing. He paused 
 for an instant as he saw them, and well might 
 that sight make him do so, for the torchlight 
 displayed to his eyes a body of at least fifteen 
 or sixteen armed men, some of them mounted, 
 some of them on foot, driving on in the midst 
 of them two or three loaded horses, and seven 
 or eight men and women, several of them ap- 
 parently having their hands tied. The party 
 was about two hundred yards in advance, and 
 though the torchlight was sufficient to show 
 him the particulars which we have mentioned, 
 yet it did no more than display the gleaming of 
 the arms and the flutterino; of the women's
 
 44 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 garments, without at all giving any indication 
 of the rank or station to which the prisoners 
 belonged. 
 
 The young cavalier, it must be remembered, 
 was accompanied by only five persons, and the 
 greater part of those five were, like himself, but 
 lightly armed. His momentary pause, however, 
 was only to reconnoitre the enemy, without the 
 slightest hesitation as to what his own conduct 
 was to be. He knew the effect of a sudden and 
 unexpected attack, and calculated upon some as- 
 sistance also from the prisoners themselves ; but 
 had he had nothing but his own courage in his 
 favour, his conduct would have been the same. 
 He was again hurrying on, when the powerful 
 grasp of the man named Leon was laid upon 
 his arm, and staid him. 
 
 " Hush !" he said : " do not be too quick ! 
 Do you not see that these men are no brigands, 
 as you thought?" 
 
 " How should I see that ? " demanded Ber- 
 nard de Rohan, turning sharply upon him. 
 *' Who but brigands would commit an act like 
 this?"
 
 CORSE DE LEOy. 45 
 
 ** Think you that brigands would have 
 torches with them?" said his companion, calmly. 
 " Pause a moment, pause a moment : let them 
 get round yon point of the rock ; for if they 
 hear us coming, and see how few we are, we 
 shall be obliged to do things that we had 
 better not. Beyond the rock they will be 
 cooped up in a little basin of the hills, where 
 they can be attacked with advantage." 
 
 " You seem to know the country well," said 
 Bernard de Rohan, gazing upon him with 
 some suspicion, as the light of the torches 
 faintly reflected from the other side of the 
 valley served partially to display his dark, but 
 fine countenance. 
 
 " Ay! I do know it well !" replied the other: 
 *' so well, that from the foot of that rock which 
 they are now turning, I will guide you up by a 
 path over the shoulder of the hill till we meet 
 them in fi'ont, at the same time that some of 
 your people attack them in the rear." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan did now hesitate; but it 
 was only for a moment. His mind was not 
 naturally a suspicious one ; and, of course, had
 
 46 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 the proposal been made by any one whom he 
 knew, the advantages of such a plan would have 
 instandy struck him, and he would have fol- 
 lowed it at once. But the man who suggested 
 it was unknown to him. Nay more, there was 
 something in his tone, his manner, in his whole 
 appearance, which, to say the best, was strange 
 and unusual. His garb, as far as it had been 
 seen, was unlike that of the peasantry of Savoy ; 
 and, in short, there was that about him which 
 naturally tended to create a doubt as to his 
 ordinary pursuits and occupations. 
 
 Bernard de Rohan hesitated then, but it was 
 with the hesitation of only one moment. He 
 had been accustomed to deal with and to com- 
 mand fierce and reckless men ; and though his 
 years were not sufficient to have given him what 
 may be called the insight of experience, he had 
 by nature that clear discernment of the human 
 character which is the meed of some few, and 
 may be called the insif/ht of instinct. 
 
 During his momentary pause, then, he saw 
 that the dark eye of his strange companion was 
 fixed upon him as if reading what was passing
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 47 
 
 in his mind. The jovial priest also seemed 
 to penetrate his thoughts, and said in a low 
 voice, " You may trust him ! You may trust 
 him ! He never betrayed any one." 
 
 " I do trust him," cried Bernard de Rohan, 
 turning round and grasping the stranger's hand, 
 " I trust him entirely. — You and I," he con- 
 tinued, " will go over the hill alone. If I judge 
 right we have both been in many a hot day's 
 strife, and can keep that narrow road without 
 much assistance. It is better that there should 
 be a show of more people behind." 
 
 As he spoke, the faint flash of the receding 
 torches showed him a smile upon his companion's 
 countenance. " Come on slowly," said Corse de 
 Leon, " and keep near the rock ; we shall soon 
 get up with them, for they are incumbered and 
 we are free." 
 
 Thus saying, he led the way, remaining, as 
 far as possible, under the shadow of the crags, 
 till the last of the party before them had turned 
 the angle beyond, and the whole valley was 
 again in darkness. The cavalier and those who 
 were with him then hurried their pace, till they
 
 48 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 reached a spot where a point of the rock jutted 
 out into the valley. There the stranger paused, 
 bidding the attendants of the young nobleman 
 pursue their way along the road, till they came 
 up with the rear of the ^otlier party,' and then 
 attack them as suddenly and vehemently as pos- 
 sible. " Make all speed," he said, " for we shall 
 be there before you, cutting off the corner of the 
 hill. — Here, priest ! " he continued, " here's a 
 pistol and a dagger for you. You'll need some- 
 thing to work with. Now quick on your way, for 
 the moon will be out in a few minutes, if one may 
 judge by the paleness of that cloud's edge, and 
 her light would betray our scanty numbers. — 
 Follow me, baron ! — Here ! Upon this rock! — 
 Catch by that bough ! — Another step and you 
 are in the path ! " 
 
 As he spoke, he himself sprang up, seeming 
 well acquainted with every stock and every stone 
 in the way ; Bernard de Rohan followed with 
 less knowledge of the path, but all the agility 
 of youth and strength, and they had soon nearly 
 reached the brow of the hill. 
 
 " Out upon the palemoon I" cried Bernard
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 49 
 
 de Rohan's companion, pausing and gazing up 
 towards the sky, " She shines at the very mo- 
 ment she should not. See how she is casting 
 away those clouds, as if she were opening the 
 hangings of her tent ! We may go slow, for we 
 shall be far before them." 
 
 He now led the way onward with a slower 
 pace ; and after ascending for somewhat more 
 than a quarter of a mile, the path began to 
 descend again as if to rejoin the road. Every 
 step was now clear, for the moon was shining 
 brightly; and though no one, probably, could 
 see Bernard de Rohan and liis companion as 
 they took their way amongst the rhododendrons 
 and junipers which were thickly mingled with 
 the fragments of rock around, yet they them- 
 selves from time to time caught a distinct view 
 of the valley. An occasional flash of light upon 
 their left hand, too, but a good deal in the rear, 
 soon showed Bernard de Rohan that his guide 
 had told him the truth in legard to the short- 
 ness of the path he had taken, though he could 
 not absolutely see the road, or those who were 
 travelling along it. At length, however, they 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 reached a spot where the path which they were 
 following wound along within ten yards of the 
 chief road itself, and choosing a small break 
 nearly surrounded with tall shrubs and broken 
 masses of the crag, Corse de Leon stopped, say- 
 ing, " It will be well to stay for their coming 
 here. They will take full ten minutes to reach 
 this place. You wait for them here, I will 
 climb a little farther up to watch them as they 
 come, and will be back again in time." 
 
 If Bernard de Rohan entertained any sus- 
 picion in regard to his guide's purposes, he knew 
 that it would be vain to show it, and therefore 
 he made no opposition to the plan that his com- 
 panion proposed, but let him depart without a 
 word ; and then choosing a spot amongst the 
 trees, where he could see without being seen, he 
 gazed down into the little basin formed by the 
 surrounding hills. The clear light of the moon 
 was now streaming bright and full into the 
 valley, only interrupted from time to time for a 
 single moment by fragments of the clouds driven 
 across by the wind ; but at first Bernard de 
 Rohan could see nothing of the party which he
 
 was 
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 51 
 
 pursuing ; for the road as usual wound in 
 
 and out along the irregular sides of the moun- 
 tain, being raised upon a sort of terrace some 
 two hundred feet above the bottom of the valley. 
 In a moment or two, however, he caught sight 
 of them again, coming slowly on ; but with their 
 torches now extinguished, and presenting no- 
 thing but a dark mass, brightened here and 
 there by the reflection of the moon's light from 
 some steel cap or breastplate. 
 
 The time seemed long, and their advance 
 slow, to Bernard de Rohan ; for although he had 
 lain in many an ambush against the foe, and 
 had taken part in many an encounter where the 
 odds against him were scarcely less than those 
 which were now presented, yet of course he 
 could not but feel some emotion in awaiting the 
 result — that deep and thrilling interest, in 
 fact, which has nothing to do with fear, and 
 approaches perhaps even nearer to joy — the 
 interest which can only be felt in the anticipa- 
 tion of a fierce but noble strife, where, knowing 
 the amount of all we risk, we stake life and all 
 life's blessings upon the success of some great 
 E 2
 
 52 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 and generous endeavour. He felt all this, and 
 all the emotions which such a state must bring 
 with it, and thus, longing to throw the die, he 
 found the moments of expectation long. 
 
 Now seen, and now lost to his sight, the 
 party continued to advance, and yet his strange 
 companion did not make his appearance. The 
 young nobleman judged that he could not be 
 far, indeed, for once or twice he heard the 
 bushes above him rustle, while a stone or two 
 rolled down into the bottom of the valley; 
 and he thought he distinguished Leon's voice 
 murmuring also, as if talking to himself. At 
 length there was a clear footfall heard coming 
 down the steepest part of the mountain, and in 
 another moment the stranger stood once more 
 by Bernard de Rohan's side. As he came 
 near, he threw off the cloak which he had hi- 
 therto worn, and cast it into one of the bushes, 
 saying to it as he did so, " I shall find you, if 
 I want you, after this is over." 
 
 His appearance now, however, left Bernard 
 de Rohan scarcely a doubt in regard to the 
 nature of his usual occupation. When his cloak
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 53 
 
 was thus thrown off, his chest and shoulders 
 
 were seen covered with that peculiar sort of 
 
 corselet or brigantine, which originally gave 
 
 name to the bands called Brigands. His arms 
 
 were free, and unincumbered with any defensive 
 
 armour ; and over his right shoulder hung a 
 
 buff baldric, suspending his long heavy sword. 
 
 This was not all, however ; another broad 
 
 leather belt and buckle went round his waist, 
 
 containing, in cases made on purpose for 
 
 them, a store of other weapons, if his sword 
 
 blade should chance to fail : amongst which 
 
 were those long and formidable knives which 
 
 in the wars of the day were often employed 
 
 by foot soldiers to kill the chargers of their 
 
 mounted adversaries. Daggers of various 
 
 lengths were there also, together with the pe- 
 
 tronel or large horse pistol, which was so 
 
 placed, however, as to give free room for his 
 
 hand to reach the hilt of his sword. 
 
 In this guise he approached Bernard de 
 
 Rohan, saying, " You see, baron, I am better 
 
 prepared for this encounter than you are. You 
 
 have nothing but your sword, you had better 
 E 3
 
 54 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 take one of these," and he laid his finger upon 
 the butt of a petronel. 
 
 " My sword will not fail me," replied Bernard 
 de Rohan, with a smile. '* I see, indeed, you 
 were better qualified to judge whether these 
 are brigands or not than I was." 
 
 " They are no brigands," replied the other — 
 " brigands know better what they are about," 
 and as he spoke he threw away his hat, and 
 tied up his long black hair, which fell over his 
 ears and shoulders, with a piece of riband. " I 
 cannot very well understand," he continued in 
 the same low tone, " what has become of your 
 people and the priest ; I could see nothing of 
 them from the height, and I almost fear that 
 these villains, fearing pursuit, have broken 
 down the little wooden bridge behind them, at 
 what we call the Pas de Suzzette, where the 
 stream falls into the river." 
 
 '' Hark !" said Bernard de Rohan. " They 
 are coming up," and grasping his sword, he 
 took a step forward. 
 
 " Wait," said the Brigand, laying hold of his 
 arm. " Give your people the last minute to
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 55 
 
 attack them in the rear. By heavens they 
 ought to have been here by this time." 
 
 The sound of horses' feet and human voices 
 now became distinct from below, and oaths 
 and imprecations were still heard loud and 
 vehemently, as the captors hurried on their 
 prisoners. 
 
 " Get you on, get you on !" exclaimed one 
 voice ; " don't you see how quietly your lord 
 is going." 
 
 " He is not my lord," cried another in a 
 faint tone. " I am wounded and hurt, and 
 cannot go faster." 
 
 " Get on, get on, villain ! " reiterated the 
 other voice. " You would fain keep us till the 
 fools behind mend the bridge and come up 
 with us. Get on, I say ! — If he do not walk 
 faster, prick him with your dagger, Bouchart. 
 We will skin him alive when we get to the end 
 of the march ! Drive it into him ! " 
 
 A sharp cry succeeded — Bernard de Rohan 
 
 could bear no more, but bursting away from the 
 
 hand of the Brigand, he sprang into the road. 
 
 Leon followed him at once; but even before 
 
 E 4
 
 56 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 he was down, the young cavalier's sword had 
 stretched one of the advancing party on the 
 ground, and was crossed with that of another. 
 
 " Hold, hold ! " shouted the loud voice of 
 the Brigand. " Hold, and throw down your 
 arms ! Villains, you are surrounded on all 
 sides !'* 
 
 For a moment their opponents had drawn 
 back ; but the scanty number of the assailants 
 was seen, before Corse de Leon uttered what 
 seemed so empty a boast. 
 
 " Cut him down," cried a voice from behind, 
 " cut him down ! " and one of the horsemen 
 spurred on towards him. Another, at the same 
 moment, aimed a blow at the head of Bernard 
 de Rohan from behind, which struck him on 
 the shoulder and brought him on his knee, 
 while a shot was fired at the Brigand, which 
 struck his cuirass, but glanced off harmless. 
 
 " It is time we should have help," said Corse 
 de Leon in a cool tone, and — while with his 
 right hand he drew a pistol from his girdle, 
 levelled it at the head of one of those who were 
 contending with Bernard de Rohan, fired and
 
 COPiSE DE LEON. 57 
 
 saw the man fall over into the valley below • — 
 with the left he applied a small instrument to 
 his lips, producing a loud, long, shrill whistle, 
 which those who have heard it will never forget. 
 It is like the scream of a bird of prey, but infi- 
 nitely louder; and the moment it proceeded 
 from the lips of the Brigand, similar sounds 
 echoed round and round from twenty different 
 points above, below, and on the opposite side 
 of the valley. 
 
 When Bernard de Rohan staggered up from 
 his knee, the scene was completely changed. 
 Corse de Leon stood no longer alone, but with 
 three stout men by his side armed to the teeth. 
 The fragments of rock and large stones that 
 were rolling from above showed that rapid 
 footsteps were coming down the side of the 
 mountain. Up from the rocky bed of the stream 
 ^ve or six other men were seen climbing with 
 the activity of the chamois or the izzard, and to 
 complete the whole, the whistle was still heard 
 prolonged up the valley, while, from the same 
 side, the ear could distinguish the galloping of 
 horse coming down with furious speed.
 
 58 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 The party of the adversary, however, was 
 large. All were well armed ; all evidently 
 accustomed to strife and danger, and had all 
 apparently made up their minds to struggle to 
 the last. They accordingly made a fierce charge 
 at once along the road, in order to force their 
 way on; and the strife now became hand to 
 hand, and man to man, while, above the con- 
 test, the loud voice of the brigand leader was 
 heard shouting, " Tie them ! Tie them ! — Do 
 not kill them, if you can help it ! " 
 
 Kor was his assumption of certain success 
 unjustified. Every moment fresh numbers were 
 added to the party of Corse de Leon. The ad- 
 versaries were driven back along the road, 
 dragging the prisoners with them some way, 
 but were stopped by fresh opponents, dropping, 
 as it were, from the mountains, and cutting 
 them off in their retreat. They were still 
 struggling, however, when at length eight or 
 nine horsemen, the sound of whose approach 
 had been heard before, reached the scene of 
 combat, and then seeing that farther resistance 
 was vain, several of them uttered a crv of
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 59 
 
 " Quarter ! quarter ! We will throw down oar 
 arms." 
 
 *' Here, take my sword, Doland," said the 
 brigand leader to one of his men. " Wipe it 
 well, and ^o back for mv hat and cloak which 
 I left amongst the bushes by the cross of St. 
 Maur. — Well, baron," he continued, turning 
 to Bernard de Rohan, '•' I am afraid you have 
 to regret the want of your armour — that was 
 a bad blow on your head." 
 
 '' No, it struck my shoulder," replied Bernard 
 de Rohan, " where my buff coat is doubled. 
 There is no great harm done." 
 
 '•' You had better keep behind," continued 
 Corse de Leon in a low voice. " I wished not 
 to have displayed my men at all had it been 
 possible to avoid it, but it could not be helped. 
 However, you had better not show yourself with 
 us. It may make mischief." 
 
 " But the lady," said Bernard de Rohan, 
 " the lady, let me go and speak to her and 
 set her free — I have no fear of being seen." 
 
 " Leave it to me, leave it to me," said the 
 Brigand. " You shall have opportunity enough
 
 60 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 to speak with her. And she shall know who is 
 her deliverer. — Will you not trust me after all 
 this night's work?" 
 
 " Entirely," replied Bernard de Rohan ; 
 " but it is natural, when one aids a lady in 
 scenes like these, to wish to speak with her, 
 to soothe and tranquillise her." 
 
 " Especially when one loves her," replied 
 the Brigand, laughing. " But you shall speak 
 with her in a moment, only keep back for the 
 present." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan had neither the will nor 
 the power to resist. The Brigand, indeed, 
 might well assume the tone of command, for 
 at that moment there could be no successful 
 opposition to his will ; but, besides this con- 
 sideration, there were other feelings in the 
 bosom of the young cavalier which inclined 
 him to yield at once. 
 
 Every thing that he had seen was calculated 
 to surprise and perplex him. The knowledge 
 which his strange companion seemed to have of 
 his history and circumstances; the state of active 
 preparation in which he had found him, as if he
 
 CORSE BE LEON. 61 
 
 had been aware, long before, of all that was about 
 to occur, and had taken measures to meet every 
 contingency ; the interest which he had shown 
 in an enterprise that seemed not to concern 
 him at all, and the active and vehement op- 
 position he had evinced to persons apparently 
 engao^ed in the same trade of violence with 
 himself, were all unaccountable to Bernard de 
 Rohan ; and he paused in some anxiety to see 
 what would be the next act in the strange drama 
 in which he himself was bearing a part. 
 
 While the brief conversation which I have nar- 
 rated took place between the Brigand and the 
 young cavalier, the successful party had drawn 
 closer and closer round their adversaries, and 
 were busily disarming and tying them. This 
 operation, being carried on with great dexterity 
 and rapidity, had advanced considerably when 
 Leon again strode forward into the midst of 
 them to give farther directions. 
 
 " Not so tight ! Not so tight, Antoine ! " he 
 said : " you'll cut his wTists with those thongs. 
 Take off his corselet, Pierre. You cannot get 
 it off when his arms are tied. — If he resists,
 
 62 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 pitch him over into the stream. — That horse 
 will break away and be lost. — Some of you 
 come and untie my Lord of Masseran and his 
 people. — Noble signior," he continued, and 
 Bernard de Rohan thought that he heard a 
 good deal of bitter mockery in his tone, " I 
 pray you tell me what is to be done with these 
 insolent villains who have dared to lay violent 
 hands upon you and your Lady Wife's fair 
 daughter. Shall we either put them to death 
 on the spot — which, perhaps, would be the 
 wisest plan, as the dead are very silent ; or shall 
 we send them, bound hand and foot, to your 
 chateau, that you may give them your own 
 directions as to what they are to say and do ?" 
 These words were addressed to a tall grace- 
 ful man, somewhere between forty and fifty 
 years of age, who had appeared as one amongst 
 the prisoners of the party just overthrown. He 
 seemed not particularly well pleased with the 
 Brigand's speech, and replied in a tone some- 
 what sullen, " You must do with them as you 
 please, sir, and with us also, though from your
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 63 
 
 words I suppose that you mean us good and 
 not evil." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, my good lord," replied the 
 other — "I am here to free you, and you shall 
 be safely conducted by my people to your own 
 abode. Am I, by your authority, then, to treat 
 these men as they deserve ? " 
 
 The Lord of Masseran seemed to hesitate 
 for a moment, but then replied sharply, '•' By all 
 means ! By all means ! They well deserve 
 punishment." 
 
 " Oh ! spare them ! spare them ! " cried a 
 lady's voice. " They have done evil certainly ; 
 but they might have treated us worse. Do not 
 hurt them, sir." 
 
 " Lady," replied the Brigand, " 1 will only 
 punish them as they deserve, and you yourself 
 shall hear the sentence. Strip off every man's 
 coat. Take off the bridles of their horses, and 
 therewith flog them down the valley to Gande- 
 lot's Inn. When they are there, they will know 
 what to do with themselves. Now, lady, this is 
 but small measure of retribution for bad acts. —
 
 64 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 Quick, my men, quick. — You must take them 
 over the hill, for the bridge is broken." 
 
 He then spoke a few words to one of his 
 companions in a low tone; after which, he 
 returned once more to Bernard de Rohan, who 
 had remained behind, asked particularly after 
 the wounds he had received, and inquired 
 •whether he were fit to escort a lady some two 
 leagues that night. He spoke with a smile; 
 and there was no hesitation in the young cava- 
 lier's reply. Before their short conversation 
 was ended, the Brigand's orders in regard to 
 his prisoners were in the act of execution ; and 
 certain it is that the discipline to which they 
 were subjected was sufficiently severe, if one 
 might judge by many a piteous cry which 
 echoed up the valley, for some minutes after 
 they were driven in a crowd down the road. 
 The young lady covered her eyes with her 
 hands, and remained silent ; but a grim smile 
 came upon the countenance of the Lord of 
 Masseran, as if there was something pleasant 
 to him in the music of human suffering.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 65 
 
 There were still some ten or twelve of 
 Leon's band around ; and their next task was 
 to untie the hands of such of the Lord of 
 Masseran's people as were still bound. " Now, 
 sir," continued the Brigand as soon as this was 
 accomplished, " you shall have good escort 
 back to 3'our chateau. But w^e must go in 
 separate parties. You and your four servants 
 under the careful protection of Elois here, by 
 the mountain path you know of. The young 
 lady, I myself will escort by the longer, but 
 the smoother road." 
 
 " Nay ! nay !" exclaimed the Lord of Mas- 
 seran quickly. " Why separate us ? If you 
 mean well by her, why not let " 
 
 " Because it pleases me not," replied the 
 Brigand in a stern tone. " Who is lord here 
 upon the side of the mountain but I ? You are 
 lord in your chateau, and none dare answer 
 you. But I am lord in the moonlight and on 
 the hill-side, and none shall answer me." 
 
 " Oh ! in pity, in pity !" exclaimed the young- 
 lady, holding out her hands with a gesture of 
 entreaty. But the Brigand advanced to her 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 horse's side, and spoke a word to her in a low 
 tone. She let her hands drop again without 
 reply, and Bernard de Rohan, who had re- 
 mained in the shade, while the moonlight fell 
 full upon her, could see her eyes suddenly turn 
 towards the spot where he stood. 
 
 *' Lead on the Lord of Masseran, Elois," 
 said the voice of Corse de Leon. " Leave that 
 poor fellow who seems wounded with the lad}^ ; 
 and take the rest with you." 
 
 There was no reply, and the Savoyard no- 
 bleman, with his companions, was led on by a 
 strong party of the brigands up the valley, and 
 then across the stream. As he passed Bernard 
 de Rohan, he fixed his eyes upon him for a 
 moment, but made no observation ; and at the 
 same time the Brigand held up his finger to the 
 young cavalier, as if directing him still to for- 
 bear for a time. 
 
 As soon as the hill hid the other party from 
 their sight, Bernard de Rohan, unable to bear 
 the restraint any longer, sprang forward to the 
 lady's side, and threw his arms around her. 
 His head was bare, and as he looked up towards
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 67 
 
 her, the moonlight fell full upon his face. As 
 if still doubtful, however, she gazed wildly and 
 eagerly upon him : parted the curls of his hair 
 with her hands back from his forehead : then 
 threw her arms round his neck, and bending 
 her head, wept upon his shoulder. 
 
 r 2
 
 68 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 " At length I at length ! Bernard," said the 
 voice of the young lady ; and the heart of Ber- 
 nard de Rohan echoed the words " At length ! 
 at length !" as he pressed her hand in his. 
 
 " At length ! at length ! Bernard," she said, 
 "you have come back to me." 
 
 " Did you not send me from you, yourself, 
 Isabel?" he said, thinking there was something 
 almost reproachful in her tone. " And have I 
 not returned the moment you told me I might 
 • — the moment you called me to aid, and I trust 
 to deliver you ? Would I ever have quitted 
 you, but at your own word ?" , 
 
 "It is true ! it is all true!" she said, in a 
 gentle tone; "but I knew not, dear Bernard, 
 all that was to befall me — all the painful, the 
 anxious circumstances in which I was to be 
 placed. We were then too young, far too
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 69 
 
 young, for me to press my father's promise. I 
 had no right to rob you of so many years of 
 glory. My brother, too, wanted protection and 
 guidance in the field. At that time, every 
 thing looked bright, and I thought that you, 
 Bernard, would lead him to honour and bring 
 him back in safety. I knew you would, and 
 you have done it. But in those days I little 
 dreamed that my mother, in her widowhood, 
 would willingly wed a stranger, and make her 
 hand the hire of this Savoyard, to serve the 
 cause of France against his native prince. But 
 you have returned to me, Bernard," she con- 
 tinued, in a more joyful tone — "you have 
 returned to me, and all will be well again." 
 
 So ever thinks the inexperienced heart of 
 youth, when even for a single moment the dark 
 clouds break away, and a ray of sunshine, how- 
 ever transient, brightens up a day of storms. 
 
 " Be not too sure of that, lady ! " said the deep 
 
 voice of the Brigand — ''be not too sure of 
 
 that ! There have been more dangers around 
 
 you already than you know of. They have not 
 
 F 3
 
 70 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 yet passed away, and perchance may fall upon 
 him as well as you." 
 
 "Heaven forbid!" she cried, turning her 
 eyes first upon the countenance of the man 
 who spoke, and then with a softer and a ten- 
 derer look upon her lover. " If it is to be so, 
 I shall wish you back again, Bernard." 
 
 " Not so," said the Brigand, " not so ! We 
 are fools to think that life is to be a bright 
 day, uncheckered with storms or with mis- 
 fortunes. There is but one summer in the 
 year, lady : the winter is as long ; the autumn 
 has its frosts and its sear leaves ; and the spring 
 its cold winds and its weeping skies. In the 
 life of any one the bright portion is but small, 
 and he must have his share of dangers and 
 sorrows as well as the rest. They will be 
 lighter if you share them, and if he shares yours. 
 — Let us go forward on our way, however. 
 Will you mount one of these horses, baron, or 
 walk by the lady's side ? — Oh, walk, will you ? 
 Then follow the onward path. We will come 
 on some hundred yards behind, near enough to 
 guard you, but not to interrupt."
 
 CORSE DE LEOy. 71 
 
 Bernard de Rohan and the lady proceeded 
 on their way. Nor did they fail to take advan- 
 tage of the moments thus afforded for con- 
 versinsr alone, thouorh no one in such circum- 
 stances does take sufficient advantage of the 
 moments. Our minds are so full of thoughts, 
 our hearts so full of feelings, that they crowd 
 and confuse each other in seeking to make their 
 way forth. But a small part is ever spoken of 
 that which might be spoken : and had the time 
 of their journey been more than doubled, there 
 would still have been questions to ask, and plans 
 to arrange, and hopes and wishes and fears to 
 express ; and Love, too, would have had a world 
 to tell and to hear ; and many a caress would 
 have remained to be given, and many a vow 
 would yet have required to be renewed. 
 
 Thus, when at length, after advancing for 
 nearly two hours, several distant lights were 
 seen upon the side of a dark hill beyond, as if 
 issuing from the windows of some building, 
 they found that they had not said half that they 
 might have said, and wished that the minutes 
 could come over again. It is not, indeed, in 
 F 4
 
 72 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 such circumstances alone tliat man casts away 
 opportunities. It is all his life long, and every 
 moment of his life. Those opportunities are 
 like the beautiful wild flowers that blossom in 
 every meadow and in every hedge, while, heed- 
 less or careless, unseeing or unknowing, man 
 passes them by continually, or walks upon his 
 wa}^ and tramples them under his feet. 
 
 When they reached that spot, however, and 
 the castle of Masseran was before their eyes, 
 the Brigand came up at a quick pace, saying, 
 *' Let us pause a moment, and see whether our 
 companions have arrived before us. It might 
 be dangerous for his deliverers to come too near 
 the Lord of Masseran's gates without sufficient 
 numbers." 
 
 As he thus spoke, he put the peculiar whistle 
 which he carried to his lips, producing a lower 
 sound than before, but sufficiently loud to be 
 heard around, and call forth many an answer 
 up to the very gates of the castle itself. 
 
 " They are here," continued the Brigand, 
 *' and the good lord is in his hold. Now, lady, 
 vou have doubtless promised things which you
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 may find it difficult to perform. You have pro- 
 mised to see this noble cavalier, and give him 
 — if needs must be, by stealth — the happiness 
 of your presence ; but I know better than you 
 do how things will befall you. You will be 
 watched : you will never be suffered to leave 
 that castle's gates without a train, which will 
 cut you off from speaking with any one. The 
 gardens of the casde, however, will doubtless 
 be free, for the walls are high, the gates 
 securely locked, and the way up to them 
 watched. Nevertheless, there is the small pos- 
 tern in the corner of the lowest terrace, hid by 
 a tall yew tree : lay your hand upon the handle 
 of the lock at any time of the day you please. 
 If it open not at the first trial, wait a moment, 
 and try it again. You shall never try it three 
 times without finding that door give way to 
 your hand." 
 
 " But he tells me," said the lady, speaking 
 more directly to what was passing in the 
 Brigand's thoughts than to what he actually 
 expressed — " But he tells me that he is actually 
 on his way to visit my mother's husband,
 
 74 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 charged with messages of import to him from 
 the noble Marquis of Brissae, and that to- 
 morrow morning he will be there, openly de- 
 manding admittance." 
 
 " See him in the evening also, lady, whatever 
 befall," replied the other. " There are more 
 dangers round you than you wot of. — But I 
 will speak to him farther as v/e return. Now 
 you had better go on." 
 
 A few minutes more brought them nearly to 
 the gates of the castle. The Brigand had re- 
 mained behind to wait the coming up of his 
 people. Bernard de Rohan turned to see if 
 they were approaching; but he could now per- 
 ceive no one upon the road but a single figure 
 coming slowly on at some distance, and leading 
 a horse by the bridle. It was a moment not to 
 be lost. Once more he threw his arms round 
 the lady beside him, and she bent her head till 
 their lips met. There were no farther words 
 between them but a few unconnected names of 
 tenderness, and in a minute or two after they 
 weie joined by the wounded servant, who had 
 remained behind with the lady and those who
 
 CORSE DE LEON, 75 
 
 accompanied her when the Lord of Masseran 
 and the rest were sent on. 
 
 " Ah ! my lord," he said, looking wistfully 
 in the face of the young cavalier, " you have 
 forgotten me, but I have not forgotten you ; 
 and if it had not been for my love and duty to 
 my young mistress, I would have been with you 
 in Italy long ago, especially when the countess 
 sold herself to her stranger husband." 
 
 " No, indeed, Henriot, I have not forgotten 
 you," replied Bernard de Rohan; " and I be- 
 seech you, for love of me as well as your young- 
 mistress, stay with her still, and be ever near 
 her. I much doubt this Lord of Masseran, and 
 have heard no little evil of him. She may 
 want help in moments of need, and none can 
 give her better aid than yourself; but I fear 
 you have been much hurt," he added, *' for you 
 walk feebly even now." 
 
 " It will soon pass, my lord," replied the 
 man; " but I see a light at the gate: we had 
 better go on quickly, if, as I judge, you would 
 not be recognised." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan took one more embrace.
 
 76 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 and then parted with her he loved. He paused 
 upon the road till, by the light which still shone 
 from the gate of the castle, he saw her and her 
 follower enter and disappear beneath the low- 
 browed arch. He then turned away, and retrod 
 his steps along the side of the hill. He was 
 left to do so for some way in solitude, though 
 he doubted not that the hill-side and the valley 
 below him were both much more replete with 
 human life than they seemed to be. At the dis- 
 tance of little more than half a mile from the 
 castle, he was forced to pause, for the moon had 
 now sunk behind the mountain, and there were 
 two roads, one branching to either hand. 
 
 " Keep to the right," said a deep voice near 
 him, as he stopped to choose his path ; and the 
 next moment the Brigand, coming forth from 
 the bushes amongst which he had been sitting, 
 walked on upon his way beside him. 
 
 " Ours is a busy life, you see," he said ; " but 
 yet it is not every night that we have so much 
 business to do as we have had lately." 
 
 " Nor, I should think," replied Bernard de 
 Rohan, " is it every night that you have upon
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 77 
 
 your hands business which can leave so much 
 satisfaction behind." 
 
 " I know not," answ^ered the Brigand, " and 
 yet in some sort what you say is true. For I 
 have had pleasure in what I have done — I have 
 had pleasure in serving that bright lady — 
 why, it matters not: I have had pleasure in 
 serving you — why, it matters not : I have had 
 pleasure in frustrating a base and villanous 
 scheme — why, it matters not. But you must 
 not think, baron, that in the ordinary business 
 of my every-day life there are any of those weak 
 thoughts about me which poison its enjoyments 
 and make the memory of each day bitter. You 
 and I are different beings, born for a different 
 course." 
 
 " We are both men/' said Bernard de Ro- 
 han. 
 
 " Ay!" answered the Brigand — " And so 
 are the dove and falcon both birds. As well 
 migtt that dove think that the life of the falcon 
 must be miserable, because it is a bird of prey, 
 as you judge of my feelings by your own. I am 
 a bird of prey — I am the brother of the eagle
 
 78 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 on the rock. Our joys and our pursuits are the 
 same ; and they leave no more regret with me 
 than they do with that eagle, when he folds his 
 wings in his eyrie, after the day's chase is 
 done." 
 
 The comparison was one which, as Bernard 
 de Rohan very well understood, was pleasant 
 and satisfactory to his companion's feelings, but 
 he could not admit its justice to any great ex- 
 tent. He cared not to point out, however, 
 where it failed, and merely replied, " But 
 there is a difference between men and brutes. 
 Man has his reason to guide him, and must be 
 governed by laws. The eagle has no law but 
 the instinct which God has given him." 
 
 " Is not God's law the best?" exclaimed the 
 Brigand. " God gave the eagle his law, and 
 therefore that law is right. It is because man's 
 law is not God's law that I stand here upon 
 the mountain. Were laws equal and just, 
 there would be few found to resist them. While 
 they are unequal and unjust, the poor-hearted 
 may submit and tremble; the powerless may 
 yield and suffer : the bold, the free, the strong,
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 79 
 
 and the determined fall back upon the law of 
 God, and wage war against the injustice of 
 man. If you and I, baron," he continued, 
 gi'owing excited with the heat of his argument, 
 " if you and I were to stand before a court of 
 human justice, as it is called, pleading the same 
 cause, accused of the same acts, would our trial 
 be the same, our sentence, our punishment? 
 No ! all would be diiFerent ; and why ? Be- 
 cause you are Bernard de Rohan, a wealthy 
 baron of the land, and I am none. A name 
 would make the difference. A mere name 
 would bring the sword on my head and leave 
 yours unwounded. If so it be, I say — if such 
 be the world's equity, I set up a retribution for 
 myself. I raise a kingdom in the passes of 
 these mountains — a kingdom where all the 
 privileges of earth are reversed. Here, under 
 my law, the noble, and the rich, and the proud 
 are those that must bow down and suffer ; the 
 poor, and the humble, and the good those that 
 have protection and immunity. Go ask in the 
 peasant's cottage : visit the good pastor's fire- 
 side : inquire of the shepherd of the mountain,
 
 80 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 or the fanner on the plains. Go ask them, I 
 say, if under the sword of Corse de Leon they 
 lose a sheep from their flock, or a sheaf from 
 their field. Go ask them if, when the tyrant 
 of the castle — the lawless tyrant ; or the tyrant 
 of the city — the lawful tyrant, plunders their 
 property, insults their lowliness, grinds the face 
 of the poor, or wrings the heart of the meek, 
 ask them, I say, [if there is not retribution to 
 be found in the midnight court of Corse de 
 Leon, if there is not punishment and justice 
 poured forth even upon the privileged heads 
 above." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan felt that it would be use- 
 less to argue with him ; for it was evident that 
 he was not one of those who are doubtful or 
 wavering in the course they pursue. There 
 was some truth, too, in what the man said : 
 truth which Bernard de Rohan ventured to 
 admit to his own heart, even in that age, when 
 such sentiments could only be looked upon as 
 treasonable. He was silent, then, considering 
 how to reply, when the Brigand himself went 
 on.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 81 
 
 " Think not," he continued, '•' that I have 
 chosen my part without deep thought. There 
 are some — and perhaps you think me one of 
 them — who are driven by circumstances, led 
 by their passions, or their follies, or their vices, 
 to a state of opposition with the rest of man- 
 kind, and who then, when cast out from 
 society, find a thousand specious reasons for 
 warring against it. But such is not my case. 
 Ever since my youth have such things been 
 dwelling in my mind. I had pondered them 
 long. I had fully made up my mind as to what 
 w^as right and what was wrong, years before in- 
 justice and iniquity — years before the insolence 
 of privileged tyranny drove me forth to practise 
 what I had long proposed. Here I exercise 
 the right that is in man. I take the brown 
 game upon the mountain, which is mine as 
 much as that of any noble in the land. I pay 
 no tax to king or to collector. There is no duty 
 on the wine I drink. There is no toll upon 
 the roads I follow. You will say that I do 
 more than this, that I take from others what is 
 not mine and what is theirs ; but I have told 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 you why I do so. They have taken from me 
 what was not theirs ; and I wage war against a 
 world which first waoed war aojainst me — in 
 which, even amongst themselves, the hand of 
 every one is against his brother — in which, 
 whether it be in camp, or court, or city, or 
 mart, or church, injustice and iniquity are 
 striving to snatch from one another the rod of 
 oppression and keep the humble beneath their 
 own yoke." 
 
 " I cannot think," replied Bernard de Rohan, 
 willing to answer as generally as possible, *' I 
 cannot think that the state of society is so 
 terrible as you represent it. There may be 
 occasional instances of corruption and oppres- 
 sion, "and doubtless there are. I have seen 
 some myself, and endeavoured to prevent them, 
 but still these things are by no means ge- 
 neral." 
 
 " Not general I" exclaimed the Brigand, turn- 
 ing upon him almost fiercely — " Sir baron, I 
 say they are universal. There are one or two 
 exceptions, it is true. You are one of those 
 exceptions yourself. You are one of those who
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 83 
 
 deserve to be convinced ; and I can convince 
 you. I can show you men who pretend to be 
 holy, and humble, and good, oppressing most 
 basely those who are in their power. I can 
 show you tyranny and injustice at every step 
 and in every station throughout the earth, from 
 the tradesman's shop to the monarch's throne. 
 I can show it to you in every garb and in every 
 profession, and in every place. I can — ay, 
 and will show it to you, within these twelve 
 months, in such forms of cruelty and blood that 
 you shall say the brigand on the hill-side is 
 mild compared with the man of courts, or the 
 man of refectories ; that he may be an eagle, 
 but that these are vultures." 
 
 " I see not," replied Bernard de Rohan, with 
 a smile, " I see not how you can show me all 
 this. You forget that we shall most likely 
 part here in Savoy. That as soon as 1 can 
 rescue Mademoiselle de Brienne from the situ- 
 ation in which she is placed, I shall hasten 
 onward to my own country, and we shall most 
 likely never meet again." 
 
 " Not so, not so," replied the Brigand. " We 
 G 2
 
 84 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 shall meet again. Either with her or without 
 her you must, as you say, go thither soon. My 
 steps are bound likewise towards France ; for 
 think not that I dwell always here, or appear 
 always thus : were it so, my head would soon 
 be over the gate of Chamberry. I will find 
 means to show you a part of what I have said 
 — perhaps to give you some assistance likewise, 
 when you most need and least expect it. But 
 remember," he added, " if misfortunes should 
 befall me, or danger threaten me, it is a part of 
 our compact that you do not strive to give me 
 any aid ; that you neither raise your voice nor 
 your arm in my behalf.'* 
 
 " Nay, nay," replied Bernard de Rohan, " I 
 cannot promise that. I must ever remember 
 the generous assistance you have afforded me 
 this night, and must do my best to prove that I 
 am grateful for it." 
 
 " The best way of proving that," replied the 
 Brigand, " is by doing what I ask you. You 
 are held wise for a young man : now ask your- 
 self, if you can judge so well of what is for 
 my advantage as I can judge myself. I tell
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 85 
 
 you, that I have many means of deliverance 
 which you know nothing of; and therefore any 
 attempt to aid me, without my asking you, 
 might ruin me and ruin yourself likewise." 
 
 " If you will ask me," replied Bernard de 
 Rohan, " when aid can be serviceable to you, I 
 shall be contented." 
 
 " I will, I will," answered the Brigand ; " and 
 now tell me : what have you arranged with fair 
 Isabel of Brienne, for I take an interest in 
 your fate and hers." 
 
 " You seem indeed to do so," replied the 
 young cavalier; '' and yet I know not why it 
 should be so, for I cannot remember that we 
 ever met before." 
 
 '' Once," replied the Brigand, " only once. 
 Several years ago we were side by side, but 
 for a moment. You and I, and that fair girl, 
 and her brother — her brother, the young 
 Count Henry, who is now in Paris. It was 
 but for a moment ; but that moment was one 
 by me never to be forgotten." 
 
 " I cannot recall it," replied Bernard de 
 Rohan. '• It is strange, too, if it was a moment 
 G 3
 
 86 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 of such importance. But you say that her 
 brother is in Paris : I wrote to Henry to meet 
 me in Grenoble, and I think he must be there 
 by this time." 
 
 " Oh ! he is in Paris still," replied the other. 
 " He is a good youth ; but lie is weak and 
 young — ay, younger than Jiis years. He will 
 be easily persuaded to stay in Paris, and flutter 
 in bright silks, and flaunt at Journaments, run 
 at the ring, or fence at Moors' heads upon a 
 turning pole. He is at Paris still, depend upon 
 it; and if you count upon his coming ere you 
 claim the lady's hand, you must seek him in 
 the capital, and bring him with you." 
 
 " I shall demand her hand at once," re- 
 plied Bernard de Rohan ; " but we doubt that 
 there will be opposition from one who has no 
 right to make it ; and to bear down that oppo- 
 sition Henry de Brienne must be with me. 
 He is the guardian of his father's promise so- 
 lemnly given to me before I first went to Italy. 
 But I will write to him as soon as day breaks 
 to-morrow. Hark ! do you not hear voices 
 coming up the pass ? "
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 87 
 
 " Most likely your servants and the priest,'* 
 replied the Brigand. 
 
 " I wonder they have not joined us before," 
 replied Bernard de Rohan. " We should have 
 fared ill if their assistance had been all we had 
 to ti-ust to." 
 
 " They could not do better," replied the 
 Brigand. "The other party had caught a sight 
 of us when you stood to argue with me at the 
 corner of the rock, and they broke down the 
 little wooden bridge behind them. Your ser- 
 vants know none of the paths, the priest knows 
 not that which we took, so doubtless by this 
 time they think that we are hewed into mince- 
 meat. However, remember at that spot, by the 
 broken bridge, a loud halloo, a blast of your 
 horn, or a whistle thrice repeated, will at any 
 time bring some one to you who can lead you 
 to me should you want assistance. — Now, jolly 
 priest, now," he added, raising his voice, "here 
 "we are safe, though no great thanks to you." 
 
 " If you are safe, and sound, and sober," said 
 the priest, coming up with the attendants of 
 Bernard de Rohan, "it is more than I ex- 
 G 4
 
 88 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 pected ; for we could not reach you for our 
 lives ; and as we were scrambling over the hills, 
 and each losing his way according to his fancy, 
 we heard as much noise as at a boor's wedding, 
 though the concert was somewhat different. 
 But now let us hasten back as fast as possible : 
 why we are a league and a half from the inn, 
 and I shall be so hoarse with shouting and the 
 night air that I shall not be able to sing ma-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 89 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 The Count de Meyrand was awake early, and 
 dressed with the most scrupulous exactness of 
 appearance, without a riband tumbled, or a 
 point out of place. He descended slowly about 
 seven of the clock from the chamber in which 
 he had passed the night, by the long black 
 double-railed staircase, that led at once from 
 the rooms above into the kitchen, which, as I 
 have said before, served also as the saloon of 
 the inn. His air and his countenance bore the 
 same appearance of indifference which they 
 usually displayed, and he made no inquiry 
 whatsoever regarding the events of the pre- 
 ceding evening, although he had retired to rest 
 more than an hour before Bernard de Rohan 
 had returned to the inn. His servants came and 
 went, seeking directions concerning this thing 
 and that, and communicating with him, from 
 time to time, in a low tone. The aubergiste,
 
 90 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 with many a lowly reverence, asked his distin- 
 guished guest manifold questions concerning 
 his breakfast ; but still the Count de Meyrand 
 was not heard to ask any questions either re- 
 garding the fate of his friend, or the somewhat 
 remarkable events which had lately taken 
 place. 
 
 At length, however, the jovial priest made 
 his appearance ; and whether it was that the 
 count was in a better humour for raillery than 
 on the night before, or whether he remarked, 
 by the keen twinkling of the other's eye, that 
 he was about to commence an attack upon 
 him, which would not easily cease, he chose 
 to be the first to open the encounter, say- 
 ing, " Well, good father, though I know it is 
 not an easy thing to cool a priest's courage, yet 
 I trust your last night's expedition has rather 
 diminished your chivalrous ardour." 
 
 " Not a whit," replied the priest. " Every 
 thing depends upon how much a man's courage 
 wants cooling. Yours, noble count, seems not 
 of a quality very likely to boil over ; and doubt- 
 less ten steps from the door of the inn would
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 91 
 
 have sent you home shivering. Mine carried 
 me, however, a little further." 
 
 " Ay, doubtless," interrupted the count, 
 ** up to the point where you met with these 
 rogues ; and then you waited behind a great 
 stone to see who would have the best of the 
 fray. Is it not so ? I see you have brought 
 home no desperate wounds with you." 
 
 " None," replied the priest, '• that I cannot 
 bear as tranquilly and well as you, my noble 
 lord, could bear the sorrow of your best friend. 
 My trade, however, is not bloodshed ; I love not 
 hard blows, and shall always keep out of their 
 way as far as I can. So my confession is made ; 
 but here comes one who has a greater liking for 
 wounds and bruises than I have ; and now 
 Heaven send us all as good food as I have a 
 good stomach. ^line host ! mine host ! that 
 omelet will be overdone, and the sin of burnt 
 eggs is one to which I refuse absolution. — By 
 Hercules ! as the Romans used to say — Body 
 of Bacchus! as the Italians say — Dame! as 
 we say in France, did ever mortal man see such 
 a basket of fine trouts ? Why it is a gift for an
 
 92 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 abbot! Look! my noble baron, look!" he 
 continued, turning to Bernard de Rohan, who 
 now made his appearance, " did you ever see 
 such fair river gods in your life ? Put them 
 upon the ashes, host, put them upon the ashes!" 
 
 Bernard de Rohan did not pay so much at- 
 tention to the fishes as the priest, by his com- 
 mendation, seemed to think they deserved ; but, 
 turning to his friend, he shook him by the hand, 
 saying, ^' Well, Meyrand, you certainly always 
 were a very unaccountable sort of personage, 
 or I should be inclined seriously to quarrel with 
 you for suffering me to go last night without 
 assistance, at the imminent risk of getting my 
 throat cut for want of your help." 
 
 " If you risked getting your throat cut, De 
 Rohan," replied his companion, " that was your 
 fault; I had nothing to do with that; I even 
 deviated so far from my usual habits as to ask 
 you to stay, and not do it. I have always a 
 reason for every thing I do, good Sir Bernard, 
 and I take it for granted that other people 
 have a reason too. I supposed that you had 
 some motive for going and getting your throat
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 93 
 
 cut, and therefore did not in the least blame 
 you for doing so if you chose ; but I had no rea- 
 son for any thing of the kind, and therefore I 
 staid where I was. Indeed I had every reason 
 in the world not to go ; I was warm and comfort- 
 able, and had good w^ine and good viands before 
 me; I was tired with a long day's hunting, and 
 had got my boots off. Then what to me was 
 the Lord of Masseran that I should try to save 
 his life or liberty ? I had no motive for serving 
 him : indeed, quite the contrary. Every one 
 knows him to be an egregious scoundrel, and 
 at this very moment he owes me thirty thousand 
 crowns, which he will never pay; and which 
 I have no chance of getting, unless some honest 
 brigand should cut his throat, when the King 
 of France would doubtless take possession of 
 his lands, and pay his creditors." 
 
 " Good faith, you are better acquainted with 
 him than I am," replied Bernard de Rohan. 
 " Pray let me know something of his history ; 
 for I never heard any thing of him till some 
 six months ago, when letters from France 
 informed me that the widowed Countess of
 
 94 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 Brienne, the mother of my friend and com- 
 rade, Henry of Brienne, was about to be mar- 
 ried to a Marquis of Masseran." 
 
 " Oh ! his history is told in a few words," 
 repHed the Count de Meyrand, laughing ; " but 
 serve the breakfast, my good host, and do not 
 stand with your mouth open listening to the 
 venerable character of your noble lord, for I 
 take it we are here upon his domain." 
 
 " No, no !" replied the host, " he is no lord 
 of mine, noble sir; this is ducal domain we 
 stand upon." 
 
 " It matters not,'* answered the count: " this 
 Lord of Masseran, then, Bernard, though his 
 mother was a Frenchwoman, was born on the 
 other side of those Alps, a Piedmontese vaga- 
 bond; half Frenchman, half Italian; — a sort of 
 water snake, neither adder nor eel; though a sort 
 of third-size sovereign, an underling of the Duke 
 of Savoy. He who would have been beggarly 
 for a French gentleman, was ten times more 
 beggarly for a prince; and thus in all probability 
 he would have gone on living — filled with all 
 the small Italian vices of our day; sharing.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 95 
 
 it is said, with the brigands who take refuge 
 on the territories of such small lords ; and em- 
 ploying the stiletto or the drug when it suited 
 his purpose to get rid of troublesome friends ; 
 — thus, I say, he would have gone on living 
 what is considered in Italy a very respect- 
 able, quiet, insignificant life, had a fancy not 
 suddenly come into the head of our worthy 
 king to take possession of the dominions of his 
 friend and cousin, the Duke of Savoy; which 
 fancy at once raises this Lord of Masseran 
 into a person of importance. He has, it seems, 
 upon his lands one or two small towns, and 
 one or two small castles ; but these towns and 
 these castles are so situated, as to command 
 several passes and defiles valuable to France. 
 Now, my Lord of Masseran is a conscientious 
 man, and of course nothing would ever induce 
 him to take part with any one who could not 
 pay him for the same. From the poor Duke of 
 Savoy, not a livre tournois was to be expected. 
 The King of France himself, though a perfect 
 Croesus in promises, was known to be some- 
 what threadbare in the treasury. He, however,
 
 96 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 was the more hopeful speculation of the two, 
 for he had power if he had not money, and 
 there was a probability of his paying one friend 
 out of what he pillaged from another. With 
 him, then, my Lord of Masseran chose to deal, 
 and promised to give free passage to the troops 
 of France upon certain conditions, which are 
 of course a secret. One thing, however, is evi- 
 dent; my Lord of Masseran did with the king 
 as some of our followers do when they take 
 service of us. He asked, in short, for some- 
 thing in hand. Now the worthy monarch of 
 France had nothing to give but the hand of a 
 fair widow in her fortieth year. With that 
 hand, however, went a dowry of some twenty 
 thousand crowns a year, and the Lord of Mas- 
 seran came to Paris and opened the campaign 
 against the widow's heart. She has the repute, 
 as you should know better than any one, of 
 being somewhat hard and stern in her pur- 
 poses, and cutting with her tongue. She was 
 inconsolable, too, for the death of her noble 
 liusband; always wore black, like the mother 
 of the late king, and looked the picture of
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 97 
 
 widowhood. My Lord of ]\ras£eran, however, 
 with his Piedmontese eloquence, found means 
 to win the widow, with the support of the king. 
 The lady thought, it would seem, to spend her 
 days in Paris, but that city soon became a re- 
 sidence unsuited to the health of her new hus- 
 band. There were strange stories current re- 
 garding him ; but there was one thing certain, 
 namely, that he was marvellously fond of those 
 small, square, spotted pieces of mischief, which 
 have the art of conveying so many fortunes 
 from hand to hand. He played largely; he 
 won generally ; and his fortune seemed im- 
 mense. One night, at the Louvre, he bor- 
 rowed from me the large sum I have named, 
 with a promise to repay it the next morning; 
 but it would seem that, after I left the hall, 
 either fortune went against him, or he took 
 an irresistible longing for Savoy. His lady 
 raged and raved, we were told ; but she 
 found that she had now to do with one, 'upon 
 whose dull ear the sweet sounds of a woman's 
 tongue, raised to ever so high a pitch, had no 
 effect. The Lord of Masseran paid not the 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 least attenlion to any thing that slie said; he 
 did not even seem to hear her, but with the 
 most kind courtesy and ceremonious respect 
 handed her to the carriage which was prepared 
 to bear her away ; and she found herself on 
 the road to Savoy, before she could arrange 
 any scheme for resistance. This is his history; 
 mine is soon told ; I choose not so easily to aban- 
 don my hold of my Lord of Masseran ; and I am 
 here hunting his game, riding through his woods, 
 and visiting his castle gate ; for he seems to me 
 to be as deaf to my sweet solicitations for re- 
 payment, as he showed himself to the melodious 
 intonations of his lady's voice. — Now, priest, 
 though your clerical appetite may be good, do 
 not devour all the trout in the dish, for I am 
 hungry as well as you, and have told a long 
 story." 
 
 " And a good one too," replied the priest, 
 laughing, and putting over the dish to the 
 count ; but he suddenly added, " Have you 
 never got within the gates of his casde then, 
 my noble lord?" and he fixed his eyes full upon 
 the face of the Count de Meyrand.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 99 
 
 A very slight change of colour took place 
 on the count's cheek: but he replied at once, 
 " Oh yes, I have been within, but to no pur- 
 pose." 
 
 " He must be an obdurate man, indeed," 
 said the priest, '- if your persuasions, my noble 
 lord, can have no effect upon him. I wonder 
 what mine would have ! Perhaps he might 
 listen to the voice of the church ; I will go up 
 and try." 
 
 " Why what hast thou to do with him?" de- 
 manded the count, suddenly turning his eyes 
 sharply upon the priest. " On what pretext 
 wilt thou go thither ? " 
 
 " To exercise my calling," replied the priest, 
 with a sly smile — " to exercise my calling in 
 one of its various ways." 
 
 " I knew not that your calling had various 
 ways," replied the count, his usual air of in- 
 difference verging into a look of supercilious 
 contempt. 
 
 " Oh yes it has," replied the priest, well 
 pleased, as it seemed to Bernard de Rohan, 
 that he had piqued the count out of liis 
 H 2
 
 100 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 apathy. " Our calling has various ways of ex- 
 ercising itself. We address ourselves to all 
 grades and classes. If I convert not the Lord 
 of Masseran, I may convert his cook, you know. 
 My efforts for the good of his soul may prove 
 for the good of my own body"; and the dis- 
 course that is held over venison and capons 
 comes with a fervour and an unction which is 
 marvellously convincing." 
 
 There was a sly jocular smile upon the 
 priest's countenance, especially while address- 
 ing the Count de Meyrand, that somewhat 
 puzzled Bernard de Rohan, and evidently an- 
 noyed the count himself. It was not difficult to 
 see that in the most serious things he said — 
 though indeed there were few that he did say 
 which were serious at all — there was a lurking 
 jest, that seemed pointed at something which 
 the hearer did not clearly see, but which might, 
 or might not, be something in his own cha- 
 racter, purposes, or pursuits. 
 
 The significance of his tone towards the 
 Count de Meyrand, liowever, did not pass 
 without that gentleman's observation ; and after
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 101 
 
 listening to him for several minutes more, 
 while the party concluded their breakfast, he 
 turned towards him as he rose, saying, " It 
 seems to me, priest, that you would fain be 
 insolent. Now let me tell you, that though 
 3'ou are very reverend personages in Savoy, 
 and men meddle with you warily, in France we 
 have a way of curing clerical insolence, which 
 is a good scourging with hunting whips. Per- 
 haps you do not know that this is the way 
 French gentlemen treat those who are in- 
 solent." 
 
 " I know it well," replied the priest, turning 
 upon him sharply — "I know it well, as I hap- 
 pen to be a French gentleman myself." 
 
 He instantly changed his tone, however, and 
 added, with his wonted smile, " Nay, but now, 
 Heaven forbid ! that I should be insolent to the 
 noble Count de Meyrand. He being a generous 
 and well-bred gentleman, and, like every other 
 gentleman, indifferent to all things upon earth, 
 can never take offence, where no offence is 
 meant ; but as he looks furious, I will take my- 
 self out of harm's way. The blessing of a 
 H 3
 
 102 CORSE DE LEON, 
 
 whole skin is great. Adieu, my son ! adieu ! 
 we shall meet some time again, when I shall 
 find you, I trust, restored to temper, and as 
 lamb-like and meek as myself." 
 
 While he thus spoke, the priest gradually 
 made his way to the door, and issued forth ; 
 while the Count of Meyrand, calling one of 
 his attendants to him, whispered something, 
 which Bernard de Rohan construed into an 
 order unfavourable to the safety of the jovial 
 priest's shoulders. 
 
 " Nay, nay, Meyrand," he said, <* let him 
 have his jest, for pity's sake. Recollect he is a 
 priest." 
 
 " His -gown shan't save him," replied the 
 count. " Those priests have too much im- 
 munity already in all parts of the world. But 
 what do you now, De Rohan? will you hunt 
 with me to-day, and we will drive this Lord of 
 Masseran's deer from one end of Savoy to the 
 other ? Or do you go on to Paris at once, and 
 deny me your good company ?" 
 
 " I write to Paris," replied the cavalier, "and 
 send off a messenger immediately. But I my-
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 103 
 
 self go up to [seek this Lord of Masseran. I 
 have despatches for him from the Marechal de 
 Brissac, and also some orders to give by word 
 of mouth." 
 
 " I hope they are not disagreeable orders,*' 
 replied the count, turning towards the door 
 of the inn ; " for he is not one of those whom 
 I should like to offend in his o^n castle." 
 
 " Oh no, I shall say nothing that should 
 offend him," replied Bernard de Rohan. '• But 
 besides that, I shall not go till after the arrival 
 of the rest of my men who come across the 
 mountain this morning; and he might find it 
 rather dangerous to do me harm." 
 
 " His ways of dealing with troublesome 
 friends are various," replied the count. " I 
 should love neither to dine nor to sleep in his 
 dwelling. — A word to the wise, good friend, 
 a word to the wise ! — Now, my men, quick ! 
 quick ! get ready the horses, bring out the 
 dogs. — You will not be tempted, De Rohan?" 
 
 " I cannot now," replied his friend. " An- 
 other day, if I stay so long. — I wish you sport, 
 
 I wish you good sport;" and turning towards 
 H 4
 
 104 'corse DE LEON. 
 
 his chamber, he caused a table to be brought, 
 and materials for writing to be placed before 
 him. He there remained for nearly an hour 
 and a half, busily tracing upon paper those 
 small black characters which since some man — 
 whether Cadmus, who if he did it, may well be 
 said to have sown dragons' teeth, and reaped a 
 harvest of strife, or whoever else the learned 
 world may have it — those black characters, I 
 say, which since some man, not contented with 
 what mischief the tOJigue can do, invented writ- 
 ing for the propagation thereof, have worked 
 more of woe and mischief, as well as of happi- 
 ness and prosperity, than any other invention 
 that the prolific mind of man ever brought 
 forth. At length the sound of a trumpet coming 
 down the hill saluted his ear, and in a few 
 minutes after, it was announced to him that 
 the rest of his train had arrived.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 105 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 We must now conduct the reader at once to the 
 entrance of the castle of Masseran. The gate 
 itself was shut, though the drawbridge was down 
 and the portcullis was up. There was a little 
 wicket, indeed, left ajar, showing the long dark 
 perspective of the heavy archway under the gate 
 tower, gloomy and prison-like, and the large 
 square court beyond, with its white stones 
 glistening in the sun ; while the grey walls of 
 the castle and part of a window, as well as the 
 door of the keep, appeared at the opposite side. 
 On either side, under the archway, but scarcely 
 to be seen in its gloomy shadow, was a long 
 bench, and on the left hand a low door leading 
 up to the apartments in the gate tower. The 
 right-hand bench was occupied by one of the 
 soldiers of the place, and at the door was the 
 warder's wife talking to him, while our friend.
 
 106 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 the jovial priest, who had escaped without harm 
 or hinderance, notwithstanding the threats of 
 the Count de Meyrand, was waiting at the 
 wicket^ from time to time looking through into 
 the court, and from time to time turning round 
 and gazing upon the mountains, humming an 
 air, which was certainly not a canticle. 
 
 After a pause of some ten or fifteen minutes, 
 the warder himself appeared, a heavy man, past 
 the middle age, and dressed in rusty grey. 
 " He wo'n't see you. Father Willand," he said. 
 '• He's walking in the inner court, and in a 
 dangerous sort of mood. I would rather not 
 be the man to cross him now." 
 
 " Poh ! nonsense," replied Father Will and, 
 laughing. " Go in again to him, good warder : 
 tell him I have business of importance with 
 him, and I know that this refusal is only one of 
 his sweet jokes. He will see me, soft-hearted 
 gentleman. Go and tell him — go and tell 
 him, warder !" 
 
 *' Faith, not I," replied the warder. " That 
 business of last nio-ht seems to have "'ailed him 
 sorely, and he is just in the humour to fire a
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 107 
 
 man out of a cnlverin, as we know his father 
 once did ; but in these days it wo'n't do — culve- 
 rins make too loud a report, you know. — I will 
 not go near him again." 
 
 " Then I will go myself," replied the priest. 
 "He wo'n't hurt me. — Xay, warder, you would 
 not squeeze the church in the wicket gateway ! 
 By Heaven — or as I should say less profanely, 
 by the blessed rood — if you pinch my stomach 
 one moment more, you will pinch forth an 
 anathema, which will leave you but a poor 
 creature all your life." 
 
 " Well, be it on your head," cried the warder, 
 with a grim smile, " though a two-inch cudgel, 
 or a fall from the battlements, is the best 
 thing to be hoped for you." 
 
 The priest was not to be deterred, however ; 
 and making his way onward, he crossed the outer 
 court, turned to the right, and passing through 
 a long stone passage, feeling damp and chilly 
 after the bright sunshine, he entered a colon- 
 nade or sort of cloister, which surrounded the 
 inner court. It was a large open space of 
 ground, with tall buildings overshadowing it on
 
 •108 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 all sides. The sun seldom reached it ; and 
 there was a coldness and a stillness about its 
 aspect altogether — its grey stones, its few 
 small windows, its low arched cloisters, its sun- 
 less air, and the want of even the keen activity 
 of the mountain wind — which made most 
 people shudder when they entered it. 
 
 But there was nothing the least chilly in the 
 nature of Father Willand. His heart was not 
 easily depressed, his spirits not easily damped; 
 and when he entered the cloister, and saw the 
 Lord of Masseran walking up and down in the 
 court, an irresistible inclination to laugh seized 
 him, notwithstanding all the warder had said of 
 his lord's mood at that moment. 
 
 It is true — although from the description 
 of the worthy officer of bolts and bars one 
 would have expected to see the Lord of Masse- 
 ran acting some wild scene of passion — he 
 was, on the contrary, walking calmly and 
 slowly backwards and forwards across the court, 
 with his eyes bent on the ground, indeed, but 
 with his countenance perfectly tranquil. It 
 was nothing in his demeanour, however, that
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 109 
 
 gave the priest a desire to laugh, for he was 
 very well aware that the passions of the Lord of 
 Masseran did not take the same appearances as 
 those of other men, and he saw clearly that he 
 was at that moment in a state of sullen fury, 
 which might very likely have conducted any 
 other man to some absurd excess. His personal 
 appearance, also, had nothing in it to excite mirth 
 in any degree. He was a tall, thin, graceful- 
 lookinor man of the middle ao^e, with a nose 
 slightly aquiline, eyes calm and mild, lips some- 
 what thin and pale, and a complexion, very 
 common in the northern part of Italy, of a sort 
 of clear pale olive. His dress was handsome, but 
 not ostentatious ; and, on the whole, he looked 
 very much the nobleman and the man of the 
 world of those times. The priest, however, 
 laughed when he saw him ; and though he tried 
 to smother it under the merry affectation of a 
 cough, yet the effects were too evident upon 
 his countenance to escape the eye of the Lord 
 of Masseran as he approached. 
 
 " Ha ! Father Willand," said the marquis,
 
 110 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 as their eyes met — "I told the warder to say 
 that I did not wish to see you to-day." 
 
 " Ah, hut my excellent good lord," replied 
 the priest, bowing his head low, with an air 
 of mock humility and reverence, " it was I 
 who wanted to see your lordship; so I e'en 
 ventured to make my way in, though the warder 
 — foul fall the villain — has so squeezed my 
 stomach in the wicket, that, like a bruised tin 
 pot, it will never again hold so much as it did 
 before." 
 
 " You are somewhat of a bold man," said 
 the marquis, with a cold, bitter, side-long look 
 at the priest — " you are somewhat of a bold 
 man to make your way in here, when I bid 
 you stay out. You may come in once too 
 often. Father Willand." 
 
 " Heaven forbid, my lord," replied the 
 priest : " I shall never think it too often to 
 serve your lordship, even though it should be 
 at your funeral — a sad duty that, my lord, 
 which we must perform very often for our best 
 friends." 
 
 " I should imagine, priest," replied the mar-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. Ill 
 
 qiiis somewhat sternly, " you would laugh at 
 the funeral of your best friends." 
 
 " I will promise your lordship one thing," 
 replied the priest, " to laugh at my own, if 
 death will but let me. But surely, my lord, 
 this is a time for merriment and gaiety ! Why, 
 I came to congratulate your lordship upon 
 your escape from those who attacked you last 
 night — Ugh ! ugh ! ugh ! " 
 
 While the priest, unable to restrain himself, 
 thus laughed aloud, the marquis bit his lip, and 
 eyed him askance, with a look which certainly 
 boded no great good to the merry ecclesiastic. 
 They were at that moment close to a spot 
 where a door opened from one of the masses of 
 building into the cloister, and the Lord of 
 Masseran raising his voice a little, exclaimed 
 in a sweet Italian tone, " Geronimo ! " 
 
 For a moment the priest laughed more 
 heartily than before; but seeing the marquis 
 about to repeat his call, he recovered himself, 
 and laying his finger on the nobleman's arm, 
 said, " Stay a moment, my lord, stay a mo- 
 ment, before you call him. First, because the
 
 112 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 sweet youtli must not exercise his ministry 
 upon me. — It would make too much noise, 
 you know, and every one in the valley is aware 
 that I have come hither. — Next, because there 
 are certain friends of mine looking for me at the 
 bottom of the slope, and expecting me within 
 half an hour, so that I cannot enjoy your Ge- 
 
 ronimo's conversation " 
 
 " It is in general very short," said the 
 Marquis. 
 
 " And, thirdly," continued the priest, " be- 
 cause I have come up to tell you two or three 
 things which require no witnesses. I am here 
 upon a friendly errand, my good lord, and you 
 are such a niggard that you refuse me my 
 laugh. However, I must have it, be it at you, 
 at myself, or at any one else ; and now, if you 
 behave well and civilly, I will tell you tidings 
 that you may like well to hear. If you don't 
 want to hear them, I will take myself away 
 again, and then'neither priest nor warder is 
 much to blame. Shall I go ? " 
 
 He spoke seriously now, and the Lord of 
 Masseran replied, in a somewhat more placable
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 113 
 
 tone, a moment's reflection showing him that 
 the priest, in all probability, would not have 
 come thither except upon some important 
 errand : — " No, do not go," he said, " but speak 
 to me, at least, seriously." He looked down 
 upon the ground for a moment, and then 
 added, " You may well think that I am angry, 
 after all that took place last night; for you, who 
 hear every thing, have doubtless heard of that 
 also." 
 
 As he spoke, he suddenly raised his keen dark 
 eyes to the countenance of the priest, as if in- 
 quiring how much he really did know^ of the 
 matter in question. 
 
 «0h yes," replied Father Willand, " I"do 
 hear every thing, my good lord, and I knew all 
 that had happened to you last night before I 
 sat down to my breakfast this morning : I heard 
 of your happy deliverance, too, from the hands 
 of the daring villains who captured you, for 
 which gracious interposition I trust that you 
 will keep a candle burning perpetually before the 
 shrine of Saint Maurice." 
 
 The priest spoke in a serious tone, but still 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 there was an expressive grin upon liis counte- 
 nance; and, after pausing for a moment or two 
 more, he added, as the marquis was about to 
 reply, " You think I am jesting, or that I do 
 not understand what I am talking about, but I 
 know the whole business as well as you do 
 yourself, and somewhat better. I tell you, 
 therefore, that it is a great deliverance that you 
 have met with, though, perhaps, you think it 
 less a deliverance than an interruption." 
 
 The priest paused as if for the marquis to 
 reply ; but the Lord of Masseran was silent 
 also, regarding his companion with a quiet, 
 sly, inquiring air, which, perhaps, could be as- 
 sumed by no other countenance upon earth 
 than that of an Italian. It might be inter- 
 preted to say, " You are more in my secrets 
 than I thought. A new bond of fellowship is 
 established between us.'' 
 
 As he remained actually silent, however, the 
 priest went on to say, " What I come to talk 
 to you about is this very matter; for you may 
 chance be outwitted, my good lord, even where 
 you are putting some trust. — But what I have
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 115 
 
 to say," he continued, "had better not be said 
 amongst so many windows and doors." 
 
 " Come with me ! come with me !" said the 
 Lord of Masseran, and leading the way through 
 the cloisters, he threaded several long and in- 
 tricate passages, none of them more than dimly 
 lighted, and many of them profoundly dark. 
 He was followed by the priest, who kept his 
 hand in the bosom of his robe, and, if the truth 
 must be said, grasped somewhat firmly the hih 
 of a dagger, never feeling perfectly sure what 
 was to be the next of the Marquis of Masseran's 
 sweet courtesies. Nothing occurred, however, 
 to interrupt him in his course, and at length 
 the lord of the castle stopped opposite to a 
 doorway, over which a glimmering light found 
 its way. As soon as it was opened, the bright 
 beams of the day rushed in, and the marquis 
 led the way into a wide garden, which sloped 
 down the side of the hill, and lay between 
 the walls of the castle itself, and an outwork 
 thrown forward to command one of the passes 
 of the mountain. It was walled on all sides, 
 and nothing could be seen beyond it ; but in 
 I 2
 
 116 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 itself it offered a beautiful contrast to the wild 
 scenery round, being cultivated with great care 
 and neatness, and arranged in the Italian style 
 of gardening, which was then very little known 
 in France, where it had been first introduced 
 some years before by Catherine de Medicis. 
 Long and broad terraces, connected together 
 by flights of steps, formed the part of the gar- 
 den nearest to the chateau, while below ap- 
 peared many a formal walk, sheltered even in 
 that mountain scene by rows of tall cypresses 
 and hedges of other evergreen plants. 
 
 " Here we can speak undisturbed," said the 
 marquis, as soon as he had taken a few steps in 
 advance. " Now what is it you have to tell 
 me, priest ? " 
 
 '* Did you ever hear of such a person as 
 Bernard de Rohan?" demanded the priest, fix- 
 ing his eyes upon the countenance of the Lord 
 of Masseran. 
 
 '*! have — I have heard of him," replied the 
 marquis, turning somewhat pale. " What of 
 liim? what of him? Is he not still beyond the
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 117 
 
 " He is within a few leagues of your dwell- 
 ing," answered the priest. 
 
 " I thought so, I thought so," exclaimed the 
 Lord of Masseran, striking his brow with his 
 hand. '' But he shall find he has come too 
 soon." 
 
 " You must take heed what you do," replied 
 
 the priest, grinning. " Did you ever hear how 
 
 the fox vowed vengeance against the lion, and 
 
 was wroth, and forgot his cunning, and flew at 
 
 the lion's muzzle, and the lion put his paw upon 
 
 him, and squeezed the breath out of the poor fox's 
 
 body? — My A'ery good lord, you do not know that 
 
 this Bernard de Rohan has men at arms at his 
 
 back, and despatches to you from the Marechal 
 
 de Brissac, which may not be pleasant for you to 
 
 receive ; and, moreover, he is a great friend of a 
 
 certain Count de Meyrand, and they have been 
 
 conferring earnestly together both last night 
 
 and this morning, and the name of the Lord of 
 
 Masseran was more than once mentioned. So 
 
 now, my son, you see what is going forward, and 
 
 must take your measures accordingly." 
 
 The wily Piedmontese sunk back into him- 
 I 3
 
 118 CORSE BE LEON. 
 
 self as he heard the unpalatable tidings com- 
 municated to him. From the few significant 
 words which the priest had spoken, it was evi- 
 dent enough to the Lord of Masseran that by 
 some means or another all the plans and pur- 
 poses in which he was engaged at the time were 
 nearly as well known to the personage with 
 whom he was then conversing as to himself^ 
 and yet he could not bring himself to speak 
 with him freely thereupon. He wanted advice. 
 He wanted assistance. The priest appeared to 
 know more than he said ; and to arrive at a 
 certainty upon that point, the Marquis of Mas- 
 seran now applied himself with all the skill and 
 shrewdness of which he was master ; but in 
 good Father Willand he met with more than 
 his match, for with equal dexterity and shrewd- 
 ness the ecclesiastic had resources which the 
 Lord of Masseran himself had not. He could 
 evade a question by a laugh, or a jest, or a 
 figure, or a pun, and never did diplomatist 
 more skilfully turn and double in a conference 
 than he did in his conversation with the Mar- 
 quis of Masseran.
 
 CORSE DE LEOy. 119 
 
 At length, driven to speak more clearly, the 
 marquis paused suddenly on the terrace across 
 which they were walking, and, fronting the 
 priest, demanded abruptly and sternly, " Tell 
 me, then — tell me what is this situation in 
 which you say I am placed, which you always 
 allude to and never explain. Tell me this, and 
 tell me how I may meet the danger, or by the 
 powers of heaven and hell you shall never quit 
 this place alive." 
 
 " A pretty and a sweet persuasion," exclaimed 
 the priest, laughing heartily ; " but, my dear 
 son, I am not so easily killed, even if such 
 parricidal thoughts were any thing more than a 
 jest. You know not what a tough morsel an 
 old priest is — hard of mastication, for even 
 stronger teeth than yours. Nay, nay, think of 
 tenderer food ! In other terms, ask me pleasantly 
 and civilly, my good son, and you may then 
 chance to receive an answer. If you were to 
 kill me forty times over it would do you no 
 good. My secrets are like the goose's golden 
 eggs — not to be got at by slaughter." 
 
 " There is something that you want, priest," 
 I 4
 
 120 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 replied the marquis in the same abrupt tone. 
 " Quick ! tell me wliat it is — if it be any thing 
 in reason you shall have it." 
 
 The priest smiled with a meaning look ; 
 but thought for a moment or two before he re- 
 plied : for to say the truth he had not, in his own 
 mind, fixed upon that which he was to demand 
 as his recompense. He had, it is true, an 
 object in view, and the chief means of attaining 
 that object was to persuade the Marquis of 
 Masseran that he dealt with him truly and 
 sincerely. Now he well knew that the mind 
 of the worthy lord was so constituted that it 
 could by no means be brought to conceive 
 that any man dealt honestly with another, 
 unless he had some personal object to gain by 
 so doing, and, therefore, the priest determined 
 to assign such an object, although he was, in 
 reality, without one. " Well," he said, "well, 
 you shall promise me, most solemnly, first, not 
 to tell any one what I reveal to you ; and also, 
 if you find that what I tell you is true, and if 
 the way that I point out to you prove success- 
 ful, you shall give the priest of the church of
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 121 
 
 Saint John of Bonvoisin a fat buck in August 
 every year when he chooses to send for it : you 
 shall also give him a barrel of wine of your 
 best vintage, and five silver pieces for alms to 
 the poor, and this in perpetuity." 
 
 '' Fie, now, fie I" replied the Lord of Mas- 
 seran — *' for your own life were quite enough; 
 but in perpetuity, that is more than I can en- 
 gage for : it is owning your vassalage, good 
 father." 
 
 '' It must be even so, though," replied the 
 priest : '• or you have not my secret. I care 
 not for venison, sinner that I am, it is the good 
 of the church I think of." 
 
 " Well ! well !" answered the Lord of Mas- 
 seran, " most disinterested father, I give you 
 my promise ; and now be quick, for I expect a 
 visiter full soon, my dealings with whom may 
 depend upon your words : what is it that I 
 should fear ?" 
 
 " That Adrian, Count of Meyrand," said the 
 priest, " and Bernard Baron de Rohan, laying 
 their heads together for their own special pur- 
 poses "
 
 122 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " That can never be, that can never be," cried 
 the marquis, with a scoff. " They both love 
 the same woman. They both seek her. They 
 can as soon unite as oil and water. No, no, that 
 is all vain ! " and he turned away with a sneer. 
 
 " Suppose," said the priest, smiling in a way 
 that again shook the Marquis of Masseran's 
 feelings of security, " suppose that the one 
 should love her money and the other herself, 
 and they should agree to settle it thus : — We 
 will prove to the King of France that the 
 Lord of Masseran holds secret communication 
 with the Duke of Savoy and the Emperor Fer- 
 dinand. Suppose this were the case, I say, do 
 you think, my son, that there would be any 
 chance of their really proving it ? Could the 
 noble Count of Meyrand say boldly that, to his 
 knowledge, the Lord of Masseran conspired 
 secretly with some troops of Savoy to carry off, 
 as if by force, himself, the Lord of Masseran, 
 and Mademoiselle de Brienne, for special pur- 
 poses of his own, somewhat treasonable towards 
 France, only that the scheme was defeated by 
 an accident ? Could Bernard de Rohan say that
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 123 
 
 he had seen the Lord of ^Nlasseran in the hands 
 of his captors, going along with no great signs 
 of unwilhngness, and showing no great signs 
 of gratitude to those who set him free?" 
 
 "Was he there?" exclaimed the Lord of 
 Masseran, eagerly. " What a youth in a buff 
 coat ? By heaven, his eyes have been haunting 
 me all night. He seemed to look through me." 
 
 " The same person," replied the priest, with 
 a low laugh ; " and he did see through you, 
 my son. You have been very transparent 
 lately. I ask no questions, but put it to your- 
 self, whether these two gentlemen can say these 
 things to the King of France. Then may not 
 the one say, ' Sire, I love this girl, and have got 
 her father's promise for her hand ; here is her 
 brother, too, consents to our marriage : I claim 
 as my reward your good will and approbation.' 
 Then may not the other say, ' Sire, the Lord of 
 Masseran, as I have showed you, betrays your 
 trust. He has fair castles and fortresses, beau- 
 tiful lands and lordships, vineyards, olive 
 grounds, corn fields : I pray you, in return for 
 havins discovered his dealinos with the em-
 
 124 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 pire, put me in possession of his lands and lord- 
 ships till your majesty shall think fit to conclude 
 a peace/ " 
 
 The Lord of Masseran looked moodily down 
 upon the ground ; and though, to say the truth, 
 he did not yet put great faith in the priest's 
 sincerity, he asked briefly, ** Well, what re- 
 medy? How is this to be avoided?" 
 
 " That," replied the priest, " for certain I 
 cannot tell you; but I can tell you what I 
 would do were you Father Willand and I Mar- 
 quis of Masseran. I would order horses to be 
 saddled and grooms to be prepared, and by the 
 most silent, secret, and sudden way, I would 
 betake myself to Paris, cast myself at the 
 king's feet, accuse this Count of Meyrand of 
 seeking to corrupt me, tell him that Savoy had 
 offered me bribes, and, failing there, had striven 
 to carry me off. I would do all this, and 
 then " 
 
 "Hush !" said the Lord of Masseran — 
 " Hush ! here is some one coming to seek 
 me : " and leaving the priest, he advanced a few 
 steps towards a servant who now approached
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 125 
 
 from the house. The marquis asked a question 
 in a low tone, to which the other replied, loud 
 enough for Father Willand to hear, — 
 
 " He will not come within the gates, sir, but 
 desires to speak with you for a moment with- 
 out: he says he is but in his hunting garb, and 
 unfitted to enter your halls." 
 
 " How many men has he with him?" de- 
 manded the Lord of Masseran. 
 
 " No one but a page, my lord, near the 
 gates," replied the man. " The rest I saw 
 gathered together about a mile down the road, 
 on the other side of the valley." 
 
 " I will come !" said the Lord of Masseran, 
 " I will come !" and he added, in a lower tone, 
 some words which the priest did not hear, but 
 •which he judged had reference to himself, from 
 perceiving the eyes of the speakers turned more 
 than once shrewdly towards him. — "I will be 
 back again in a k\v minutes, good father," the 
 Lord of Masseran continued. " Wait for me, 
 for we have yet much to speak of" 
 
 " I will wait, I will wait," replied the priest ; 
 " only be not long, my good son ; for though I
 
 126 COIISE DE LEON. 
 
 have much to say to you, I have little time to 
 spare." 
 
 The Lord of Masseran gave him every as- 
 surance that he would return speedily ; and 
 then left the garden, followed by the attendant 
 who had summoned him. The priest looked after 
 them, and listened, and being someway con- 
 nected with the race of that gentleman called in 
 history Fine-ear, he distinctly heard the door 
 by which he and the marquis had entered the 
 garden locked after the latter had quitted it. 
 " There is another door," he muttered to him- 
 self, with a smile, looking towards one of the 
 archways upon the terrace leading to the cha- 
 teau. 
 
 The next instant, however, there was a 
 sound from that quarter also, as if somebody 
 turned the key there likewise ; but the priest 
 continued to smile notwithstanding, and, pro- 
 ceeding slowly along the terraces, as if merely 
 to amuse himself by a walk, he approached the 
 thick wall of the garden, and stopped at the 
 entrance of one of those little guerites, or watch 
 towers, with which the whole enclosure was
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 127 
 
 Studded from place to place. Up the narrow 
 staircase in the stone he made his way, and then 
 looked carefully out through the loop-hole 
 which was turned towards the chief entrance of 
 the chateau. No living object, however, was to 
 be seen in the immediate neighbourhood of the 
 castle itself; though, as the attendant had said, 
 about a mile down the road which passed through 
 the valley was a group of men and horses and 
 dogs gathered together in various listless atti- 
 tudes, while two large eagles were seen whirling 
 in immense circles high up above the tops of the 
 mountains, upon the lower part of whose tall 
 sides a flock of sheep appeared feeding in peace- 
 ful tranquillity. 
 
 " I may as well go," said the priest to him- 
 self, as he gazed out upon this quiet scene. " I 
 have said all that it is necessary to say, and this 
 sweet lord may not have done all that he may 
 think it necessary to do. I like not his whis- 
 perings, so I may as well go." 
 
 But as the priest thus murmured to himself, 
 he looked out again in the same direction, vrhen 
 two persons came slowly forth from behind an
 
 128 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 angle of one of the towers, and taking their 
 way under the garden wall approached the 
 very spot where Father Willand stood. There 
 was no difficulty in recognising the Lord of 
 Masseran and the Count de Meyrand. " Now 
 what would I give," murmured the priest to 
 himself, " for one of those famous inventions — 
 those ear trumpets — those sound catchers — 
 which we read about in old histories." 
 
 The good priest, however, possessed none 
 such ; and though his ears, as we have said, 
 were very sharp — though he thrust his head as 
 far as he could into the loop-hole — though the 
 count and his companion, thinking that no 
 one observed them, spoke loudly and vehe- 
 mently — and though they passed directly under 
 the turret where the priest stood — nevertheless 
 the words that he could catch were very few, 
 " Well, my good lord, well," said the Lord of 
 Masseran, "you blame me without cause. I 
 have done my best, and am as disappointed as 
 you are." 
 
 " I do not blame you," replied the other; " I 
 only tell you what must be the result if the
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 1*29 
 
 plans you have proposed cannot be carried 
 through immediately." 
 
 " Not that I have proposed, not that I have 
 proposed," replied the other ; *' the suggestion 
 was your own." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the Count of Meyrand, 
 
 " this is something new to me. All I know is, 
 
 that I have got the whole of your scheme drawn 
 
 out in your own hand, the names false, indeed, 
 
 or written in cipher, but for that we will soon 
 
 find a key. What I asked was this, either 
 
 that you should pay me the large debt you owe, 
 
 or that you should give me such assistance in 
 
 my suit to Mademoiselle de Brienne as would 
 
 enable me to call her my wife within two 
 
 months. Those two months have now well niorh 
 
 o 
 
 expired, and I will be trifled with no more." 
 
 The latter part of this sentence was lost to 
 the ear of the priest ; but he guessed what it 
 must be ; and certainly the slight portion that 
 he had heard gave him a very strong inclination 
 to hear more. He paused, then, to consider 
 whether this could be accomplished by any pos- 
 sible means, but it was evident that such could 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 not be the case ; for even while he turned the 
 matter in his mind, the little path along which 
 the Marquis de Masseran and his companion 
 walked led them farther and farther from the 
 wall of the garden. We must now, however, 
 follow the two noblemen, and leave the priest to 
 his fate, which we shall very speedily see. 
 
 " Well, well, my good friend," replied the 
 Marquis de Masseran, in answer to the last ob- 
 servation of the count, " the time has not yet 
 fully expired, and it shall be your own fault if 
 my promise is not completely fulfilled." 
 
 " How" can it be my fault?" said the count. 
 " I have nothing to do with the fulfilment of 
 your promise." 
 
 " Yes you have," answ^ered the Marquis of 
 Masseran : "I will give you the means ; but if 
 any pitiful scruple, any lady-like hesitation 
 upon your part, prevents you from employing 
 them, the fault is your own." 
 
 " Mark me now, my good lord," replied the 
 count — " it was understood between us that 1 
 was to have no share in any thing contrary to 
 my allegiance to the crown of France. With
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 131 
 
 your own plans I had nothing to do. If you 
 chose to give the agents of the empire an oppor- 
 tunity of making you a prisoner, and taking 
 possession of your fortresses for reasons and 
 with purposes best known to yourself, I had 
 nothing to do with that — that \vas your own 
 affair ; I would be in no degree implicated with 
 it — I would receive no bribes from Savoy or 
 Austria," he continued, with a sneer ; " all I 
 agreed to do was, to rescue the lady, if, on any 
 occasion, I were informed that she was travellifig 
 as a prisoner between Font Covert and Brian- 
 zone, This I promised to do, and I should 
 have had no scruple then to use my opportuni- 
 ties to the best advantage,'* 
 
 The Lord of Masseran smiled with a mean- 
 ing look which his companion easily interpreted. 
 The count added with a frown, " You mistake 
 me : I would have done her no wrong, sir ! 
 Though I would have taken care to keep her 
 so long with me, that she could give her hand 
 to no one else, I would have treated her with 
 all honour." 
 
 " Doubtless, doubtless," replied the Lord of 
 K 2
 
 132 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 Masseran ; ^' but what I mean now, my lord 
 count, is, that if I again, at a great risk to 
 myself, give you good opportunity, you will 
 have no hesitation in using a little gentle force 
 to compel this lady's union with yourself. We 
 have priests enough who will perform the cere- 
 mony with a deaf ear to all the remonstrances 
 that her reluctance and maiden modesty may 
 suggest ; but when we have carried the matter 
 so far as that, remember that my safety, nay, 
 my life itself, maybe compromised, if you yield 
 to any weak supplications. Once commit our- 
 selves, and our only safety is in her being your 
 wife ! Then she will be silent for her own 
 sake." 
 
 " By heavens," said the count, in a deep 
 low tone, " she shall be my wife if it be but in 
 j-evenge for the scorn with which she treated me 
 in Paris. If it costs the lives of her and me, 
 and all our kin, she shall be mine, Lord of 
 Masseran." 
 
 " So be it then," replied the marquis ; " but 
 to accomplish my new scheme, I must be absent 
 some few days."
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 133 
 
 The count gazed upon him somewhat suspi- 
 ciously. " Some few days ?" he said. " What ! 
 long enough, marquis, to go to Paris or 
 Vienna ?" 
 
 " Neither," replied the ^Marquis of Masseran, 
 coolly. " Three days will suffice, if well used. 
 In three days I will be back again." 
 
 "And in those three days," replied the 
 count, '' this Bernard de Rohan, whom we 
 were talking about just now, will have fair 
 opportunity of visiting the bright lady, and 
 even perhaps, by the connivance of her fair 
 mother, mav carry her within the French 
 frontier, and plead her father's promise at the 
 court of the king." 
 
 " Not by her mother's connivance," replied 
 the marquis. " Her mother loves him as little 
 as you do ; and even were he at the court of 
 France to-morrow, her protest against the mar- 
 riage would be sufficient to stop it. But to 
 guard against all danger, and — if possible — 
 to put the mind of a suspicious man at ease, I 
 will tell you that one great cause of my going 
 hence is to prevent this Bernard de Rohan 
 K 3
 
 134 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 from setting foot within my walls. I know his 
 coming : I know why he comes, far better than 
 you do. I have heard his motives and his 
 views within this hour, from one who is well 
 acquainted with them, and if he present himself 
 at my gates, he will find a stern refusal till I 
 return. Then I must see him, but I shall then 
 be prepared. Will this satisfy you? If it do 
 so, tell me at once ; for it is high time that I 
 should mount my horse, and quit this place 
 without delay." 
 
 Though in reality any thing but satisfied, the 
 Count de Meyrand expressed his consent to 
 the proposal, determined in his own mind to 
 watch all the proceedings of a confederate whom 
 he could so little trust, even in the dark and 
 tortuous schemes in which their interests were 
 combined. He tried, as he parted from the 
 marquis, to conceal his doubts lest they should 
 betray his purposes ; but that worthy gentle- 
 man was far too practised a reader of the human 
 lieart and human countenance to be so de- 
 ceived ; and when they separated, it was with 
 the full conviction that each would endeavour
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 135 
 
 to deceive and circumvent the other, unless 
 some strong necessity continued to bind them 
 together. 
 
 " Now," thought the Marquis de Masseran, 
 as he paused for a moment looking after the 
 Count de Meyrand — " Now for this priest. I 
 must have more information from him — more 
 full, more complete. — Then what is to be done 
 with him ? It mio^ht be danc^erous to confine 
 him ; — and yet it were easy to say that he had 
 held treasonable discourses. — A fall from the 
 walls might be as good as any thing. — I will 
 speak with Geronimo about it." 
 
 He had been standing with his back towards 
 the castle, and his eyes fixed upon the ground 
 while he thus held parley with himself. On 
 the other side of the valley, which was there 
 profound, rose up the mountain, with the road 
 into Piedmont winding along it, at the distance 
 of perhaps a quarter of a mile, to use the ordi- 
 nary expression, as the crow flies, but fully a 
 mile by the road; and as he ended his mur- 
 muring soliloquy, the Marquis of Masseran 
 looked up in that direction. To his utter sur- 
 K 4
 
 136 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 prise and consternation when he did so, he be- 
 held the figure of the priest walking quietly 
 along the highway towards the lower ground of 
 Savoy. 
 
 He hastened back to the castle ; but he was 
 assured at the gates by all the several per- 
 sons who were standing there, that no one had 
 passed. On examining the doors of the garden, 
 every one of them was found to be closed ; and 
 tlie Marquis of Masseran came to a conclusion 
 which was not pleasant for a man engaged in 
 his peculiar pursuits, namely, that he was de- 
 ceived and betrayed by some one of his own 
 household.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 137 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 The observation may seem trite, that to every 
 period of life is assigned by the Almighty and 
 Munificent Being, who at our creation adapted 
 to each part of our material form the func- 
 tions that it was to execute, and the labours it 
 was to sustain, either peculiar powers of en- 
 durance or counterbalancing feelings, which 
 render the inevitable cares and sorrows appor- 
 tioned to every epoch of our being lighter and 
 more easy to be borne. The woes of childhood 
 are, in themselves, speedily forgotten. The 
 pains are soon succeeded by pleasures, and care, 
 gnawing care, the rack of after-life, is then un- 
 known. Boyhood, eager, enthusiastic, hopeful 
 boyhood, the age of acquisition and expectation, 
 though it may know from time to time a bitter 
 pang, scarcely less in its degree than those that 
 afflict mature life, has so many compensating 
 enjoyments, its own sunshine is so bright, the
 
 138 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 light that shines upon it from the future is so 
 dazzling, that the griefs serve but as a prepar- 
 ation and a warning, too little remembered when 
 once they are past. Old age, with its decay, 
 with the extinction of earthly hopes, with the 
 prospect of the tomb, has also dulled sensibilities 
 that allow us not to feel many of the more 
 painful things of early years. The blunted 
 edge of appetite may not give so keen a zest 
 to pleasure ; but the apathy which accompanies 
 it extends to griefs as well as joys, and if wisely 
 used, is one of the best preparations for a re- 
 sionation of that state of beinor which we have 
 tried in the balance of experience and have 
 found wanting — wanting in all that can satisfy 
 a high and ethereal spirit — wanting in all 
 things but its grand purpose of trial for a life 
 to come. But besides all this, unto that period 
 of old age, thus prepared and admonished for 
 another state, God himself has also given com- 
 fort and consolation, a promise and a hope — 
 a promise brighter than all the promises of 
 youth — a hope brighter than all those that 
 have withered away upon our path of life.
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 139 
 
 There is still another age, however, an age the 
 most perilous, often the most full of pains : an 
 age when the eager aspirations of youth reach 
 out the hand towards fruition ; when the great 
 truths of disappointment break upon us ; when 
 we first learn the bitter lesson that hope has told 
 us idle tales, that fortune is of fickle favour, 
 that friendships are too often false, that our 
 own hearts do ourselves wrong, that enjoyment 
 itself is often a vanity and often a vision, that 
 we must suffer and grieve and repent in the 
 midst of a world which, shortly before, we 
 fancied was composed of nothing but brightness 
 and beauty and happiness. I speak of the time 
 of life when we first put on manhood, and meet 
 all its sorrows at the moment when we expect 
 nothing but its joys. For that period, too, 
 there is a bright compensation given, there is a 
 sustaining principle implanted in our breast, 
 common to the highest and the lowest, the 
 savage and the civilised — a principle that fur- 
 nishes a balm for many wounds, that surrounds 
 us with an atmosphere of consolation, hope, and 
 joy, and enables us to live on in one splendid
 
 140 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 dream even in the midst of hard and dark 
 reah'ties. 
 
 That principle is love; and that principle was 
 warm and strong in the bosom of Bernard de 
 Rohan as, on the day after ^ that in which the 
 conversations we have mentioned in our last 
 chapter took place, he stood, a few minutes 
 before the setting of the sun, under a group of 
 tall fir trees that had pitched themselves upon 
 a pinnacle of the rock, about ten yards distant 
 from the farther angle of the garden, attached 
 to the chateau of Masseran. The trees grew 
 very close together ; and, what between scanty 
 soil and the mountain winds, their large trunks 
 had contorted themselves into manifold strange 
 shapes. From this group, two or three rows of 
 the same kind of firs ran down the side of the 
 hill into the valley. One would have supposed 
 that they were the remains of some old avenue, 
 had the lines been but a little more regular. 
 
 The shadow of those trees completely con- 
 cealed any one who stood beneath them, and 
 the eyes must have been very near that could 
 have perceived Bernard de Rohan as he leaned
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 141 
 
 against one of them, gazing upon a particular 
 part of the garden wall immediately under 
 one of the small watch turrets. He thus waited 
 some time, with an eagerness of expectation, it 
 is true, which in no other situation or circum- 
 stances had he ever known before ; but at the 
 same time with many sweet thoughts and hopes 
 and happy memories which cheered the mo- 
 ments, and made even the impatience that he felt, 
 appear like some of those drinks w^hich man has 
 invented to satisfy his thirst, and which are at 
 once pungent and grateful to the taste. He 
 had w^aited some time, we have said, when at 
 length, as a distant snowy peak of the moun- 
 tain began to change its hue and turn rosy with 
 the rays of the setting sun, the small postern 
 door on which his eyes were fixed was seen to 
 move upon its hinges, and then stood ajar. 
 Bernard de Rohan sprang forward, passed the 
 small open space in a moment, and pushing 
 back the door more fully, stood within the 
 garden of the castle of Masseran. 
 
 Scarce a step from the gate, with her hand 
 pressed upon her heart, as if to stop the pal-
 
 142 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 pitatioii of fear and agitation, stood a lady, 
 perhaps of twenty years of age. She was 
 certainly not more ; and her beauty, like the 
 morning sun, seemed to have the promise of 
 a long bright race before it. She was very 
 graceful, and very beautiful. The whole form 
 seemed to breathe of a bright and high spirit ; 
 but even had it not been that her person so 
 perfectly harmonised with her mind, and was, 
 in fact -— as nature probably intended should 
 always be the case — an earthly type of the 
 soul within, yet Bernard de Rohan would 
 still have loved her as deeply, as tenderly as 
 he did, for he knew that spirit to be bright 
 and beautiful : he knew the heart to be tender, 
 and devoted, and affectionate ; he knew the 
 mind to be pure and high, and fixed in all its 
 purposes of right. 
 
 He had been brought up with her from 
 youth ; her father had been his guardian, and 
 a parent to him when his own parents were 
 no more. She had fancied herself a sister to 
 him till the hearts of both told them it was 
 happy she was not so. No disappointments
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 143 
 
 had ever befallen them in the course of their 
 affection ; no obstacles had been thrown in their 
 way till that time ; and yet, though neither op- 
 posed, nor troubled, nor disappointed, they 
 loved each other with true and constant hearts, 
 and feared not the result of any hour of 
 trial. 
 
 She was very beautiful certainly. It was not 
 alone that all the features of her face were 
 fine, but it was also that the form of the face 
 itself was beautiful, and the way that the head 
 was placed upon the neck, and the neck rose 
 from the shoulders, all gave a peculiarity of 
 expression, a grace, which is only to be com- 
 pared to that of some ancient statue from a 
 master's hand. The eyes, too, were very, very 
 lovely, deep blue, and full of liquid light ; 
 with dark black eye-lashes that curtained them, 
 like a dark cloud fringing the edge of the 
 western sky, but leaving a space for the bright 
 light of evening to gush through upon the 
 world. Her complexion was clear warm brown ; 
 but now, as she stood, there was something, 
 either in the agitation of the moment, or in
 
 144 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 the cold light of the hour, which made her 
 look as pale as marble. 
 
 She was pressing her hand upon her heart, 
 and leaning slightly forward, with an eager 
 look towards the door, as if prepared to fly 
 should any one appear whom she did not ex- 
 pect. The instant she saw Bernard de Rohan, 
 however, her whole face was lighted up with a 
 glad smile, and she sprang forward to meet him 
 with the unchecked joy of pure and high 
 affection. They were in a moment in each 
 other's arms. 
 
 "My Isabel! my beloved!" he said. "I 
 thought that this man had determined to shut 
 me out from beholding you again." 
 
 " And so he would," replied the lady. " So 
 he would if he had the power. But oh I Ber- 
 nard, I fear him — I fear him in every way — 
 I fear liim on my own account, I fear him on 
 yours." 
 
 '' Oh ! fear not, fear not, Isabel," replied 
 Bernard de Rohan. '• He can but bring evil 
 upon his own head if he attempts to wrong 
 either you or me. Already has he placed him-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 145 
 
 self in clanger. But tell me, my beloved, tell 
 me, is he really absent from the castle, or was 
 it but a pretence to avoid seeing me when I 
 came yesterday ?" 
 
 " No, he is absent," replied Isabel de Bri- 
 enne. " In that, at least, there is no decep- 
 tion, for I saw him ride out with but a few 
 horses yesterday towards mid-day. He took the 
 small covered way by the back of the castle, 
 and by the other side of the gardens. I saw 
 him from the window of my chamber in the 
 keep, and I do not believe that he has since 
 returned." 
 
 " It must have been to avoid me," said 
 Bernard de Rohan, thoughtfully ; " and j^et 
 how could he know that I was here ? Did he 
 ever hint at such knowledge, my Isabel?" 
 
 " Not to me," she answered ; '' but I have 
 scarcely seen him since that terrible night. I 
 have been in my mother's sick chamber, to 
 which his cruelty and brutality have brought 
 her. Nor would he ever — even if I had seen 
 him — nor would he ever mention your name 
 to me. He would fain have me forget it, Ber- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 CORSE DE Leon. 
 
 nard ; but on that score I have much to tell 
 you too." 
 
 '^ I know that I judge your heart right, dear 
 Isabel," replied Bernard de Rohan, " when I 
 say he would find it hard to make you forget 
 that name ; and yet I have had warnings within 
 the last two days of many a dark and evil scheme 
 it would seem against your peace and mine. 
 A vague hint has been given me that one whom 
 I know to be brave, and whom the world holds 
 to be honest — one who was once my particular 
 friend and my comrade in many a day of diffi- 
 culty, and strife, and peril — one who I know 
 must be well aware, from many things that I 
 have casually said in thoughtless freedom of 
 heart, that you and I are linked together by 
 promises that can never be broken — has been 
 labouring hard to supplant me in your affec- 
 tion. Yet I will not believe them, Isabel — I 
 will not believe, in the first place, that you would 
 hear one word on such a score from any man. 
 Neither will I believe — though he has certainly 
 lingered strangely away from the army, though 
 he has changed, I may say, marvellously, and
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 147 
 
 from a gay, rash, thoughtless youth become a 
 cautious, calculating, somewhat impenetrable, 
 man — I will not believe that Adrian de Mey- 
 rand would do me wrong. No, no, I will trust 
 him still." 
 
 " Trust him not, Bernard ! trust him not!" 
 replied Isabel. " Trust him not, Bernard ! I, 
 at least, know what he is. You say that your 
 Isabel," she continued, gazing on him tenderly, 
 " would not hear one word of love spoken by 
 any other lips than your own. You do her 
 right, dear Bernard. She would not, if she 
 could help it ; and even when against her will, 
 against remonstrance and anger, she has been 
 forced to hear such words, she has scarce for- 
 given herself for what she could not avoid, and 
 has I'eproached herself for that which was forced 
 upon her. Do you, too, reproach her, Ber- 
 nard?" 
 
 " Oh no," he replied, holding her to his 
 heart, and gazing into the pure bright eyes 
 which seemed, as they were, deep wells of in- 
 nocence and truth. " Oh no, dear Isabel, what 
 was done unwillingly needs no reproach ; but 
 L 2
 
 348 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 how was this ? Tell me all ! — De Meyrand 
 then has wronged me?" 
 
 " If he knew of your love for me, he has,'* 
 replied Isabel de Brienne ; " but promise me, 
 Bernard, that no rash or hasty act will make 
 me regret having spoken to you openly, and I 
 will tell you all." 
 
 " None shall, my Isabel," replied her lover. 
 " It is only dangerous rivals, or insolent ones, 
 that require the sword of a brave man. De 
 Meyrand is not the one, and probably may 
 never be the other. Speak, dear one ! I must 
 hear all." 
 
 " Well, then," she answered, " before we 
 quitted the court, I remarked that this Count of 
 Meyrand paid me assiduous court ; and though 
 certainly, he was very attentive also to my 
 mother and her new husband, still I avoided 
 him, for there was something in his look and 
 his manner that did not please me. I re- 
 marked, however, that many of the nobles of 
 the court — nay, even the king himself — 
 seemed so to smooth the way and remove all 
 obstacles, that he was frequently near me. One
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 149 
 
 day he followed me through die crowded halls 
 of the Louvre by my mother's side, and when I 
 could not avoid him, poured into my ears a 
 tale of love which I speedily cut short. I told 
 him, at once, that my heart was given and my 
 hand plighted to another ; and I besought my 
 mother to confirm what I said, and stop all 
 farther importunity. He had fascinated her, 
 Bernard, and though she did what I requested, 
 it was but coldly. He left me for the time ; but 
 the very next day, while I was alone in my 
 mother's chamber, he came in and pursued the 
 same theme. Then, Bernard, I fear I acted ill. 
 He aroused my anger. I was indignant that he 
 should thus persecute me after what I had said. 
 I treated him with some scorn. I told him cut- 
 tingly, in answer to a question which he should 
 not have asked, that even were I not plighted 
 in faith, and bound by affection to another, I 
 should never have felt for him ought but cold in- 
 difference. He lost his temper at length, though 
 it was long ere he would leave me ; and as he did 
 at length quit the room, I could hear something 
 muttered between his teeth which sounded 
 L 3
 
 150 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 very much like a menace. Since then I have 
 only seen him three times. Once more at the 
 court; but by that time my brother had re- 
 turned from Italy. He was with me, and the 
 count did not come near.. I have twice seen 
 him here, when I have been forced out by the 
 Lord of Masseran upon the pretence of a hunt- 
 ing party. He comes not near the castle, how- 
 ever, and, when we did meet, he was distant 
 and stately in his manner; but still there was 
 something in his eyes that made me shudder." 
 
 " For the last two days he has been in the 
 same small inn v/ith myself," replied Bernard 
 de Rohan. " I will speak to him to-night, my 
 Isabel — calmly and gently, I promise you; 
 but he must learn to yield this suit, if he still 
 entertains it. Nay, look not grieved, dear one. 
 I will keep my promise faithfully, and forgive 
 the past, so he offend not in the future." 
 
 " I grieve and apprehend, dear Bernard," she 
 replied ; " but think not that I would strive to 
 stay you from any course that you yourself judge 
 right. I know you are moderate and just, and 
 that you will not think, as some might do, that
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 151 
 
 you prove your love for me by fiery haste to 
 expose a life on which hangs all my hopes of 
 happiness. Your honour is to me far more 
 than life; but oh, Bernard, judge but the more 
 calmly, I beseech you, of what that honour 
 requires, by thinking, that not your life and 
 happiness alone are the stake, but mine also. 
 Having told you all truly — as I ever will 
 through life — I must scarce venture a word 
 more to persuade or to dissuade ; and yet I 
 cannot think honour can call upon you even 
 to speak angry or reproachful words, when this 
 man himself was not told, by me at least, that 
 it was his friend he was trying to supplant." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan's brow was somewhat 
 cloudy, though he smiled. '' I fear my Isabel," 
 he said, " that he knew the fact too well. I 
 can call many a time to my mind, when I have 
 dropped words concerning you which he could 
 not mistake. However, I have said I will pass 
 over all that is gone, and now let us think of 
 other brighter things." 
 
 " I know not," she replied — '' I know not why, 
 Bernard, but a dark shadow seems to overhang 
 L 4
 
 152 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 me, which prevents my thinking of brighter 
 thhigs. Within the last year so much has hap- 
 pened to cause apprehension and anxiety, so 
 much to give birth to pain and grief, that my 
 spirit has sunk ; and whereas every thing used 
 to seem full of brightness and hope, all is now 
 full of despondency." 
 
 " Cheer thee, cheer thee, Isabel," replied 
 Bernard, adding those caresses that cheer far 
 more than words — "I will take thee from 
 the midst of the sad things that must surround 
 thee here. I know, dear Isabel, that thy 
 mother was often harsh and always cold, and 
 since I and your brother have left you, you 
 have had no support or comfort under the pain 
 which her behaviour must have given." 
 
 " Oh, it was not her harshness nor her cold- 
 ness, Bernard," replied Isabel Brienne; " I could 
 have borne that easily; but when I recollected 
 my dear father; when I remembered all his 
 high and noble qualities ; his kindness, his ten- 
 derness to her, and saw her again stand at the 
 altar to give her hand to another so unlike him 
 in every thing, dark, treacherous, avaricious, and
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 153 
 
 deceitful ; it was then I first felt that I really 
 wanted aid and consolation. It was then that 
 I wanted help, I wanted protection and sup- 
 port ; and even at that time I would have writ- 
 ten to you to come to me with all speed, if it 
 had not been for some foolish feelings of 
 shame." 
 
 " They were indeed wrong, my Isabel," re- 
 plied Bernard. *' For surely, Isabel, with our 
 faith plighted by your own father's will, with 
 a long dear intimacy from childhood until 
 now, if you could not repose full unhesitating 
 trust and confidence in me, where, where could 
 you place it, Isabel?" 
 
 " I know it was foolish," she replied. " I 
 know it was very foolish, Bernard — but yet, 
 even now — " and she looked down blushing 
 upon the ground — " but yet, even now, the 
 same foolish hesitation makes me scruple to tell 
 you what I firmly believe is the best — nay is 
 the only plan by which we could hope to avoid 
 the dangers that surround us." 
 
 " Nay, Isabel, nay," replied Bernard de Ro- 
 han, " after saying so much, you must say
 
 154 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 more. You must tell me all, freely, candidly. 
 The brightest part of love is its confidence. It 
 is that perfect, that unhesitating reliance, that 
 interchange of every idea and every feeling, 
 that perfect community of all the heart's se- 
 crets and the mind's thoughts, which binds two 
 beings together, more closely, more dearly, than 
 the dearest of human ties — more than the vow 
 of passion, or the oath of the altar. It is that 
 confidence which, did we not deny its sway, 
 would give to earthly love a permanence that 
 we find but seldom in this world. Oh, Isabel, 
 you must not, indeed you must not, have even 
 a thought that is not mine." 
 
 " Nor will I, Bernard," she replied. " Nor 
 will I; though I may blush to say what I was 
 going to say, I will not hesitate to say it. It is 
 this, then, Bernard. You must take me hence 
 without delay." 
 
 " Oh how gladly," he cried, throwing his arms 
 round her, and kissing the glowing cheek that 
 rested on his shoulder — " Oh how gladly, Isabel ! 
 I waited, but for the arrival of your brother to 
 propose that step to you myself. If this Lord
 
 COKSE DE LEON. 155 
 
 of Masseran chooses to refuse me admission, I 
 cannot force my way in, and you may be sub- 
 ject to every kind of pain and grief before I 
 receive such authority from the king, or from 
 Brissac, as will force him to give you up." 
 
 " That is not all, Bernard, that is not all," 
 rephed the lady. " This man is deceitful to 
 all. Suppose but for a moment that, finding 
 the King of France obliged to withdraw his 
 troops from Italy, as I hear has been the case, 
 he resolves to betray the trust that has been re- 
 posed in him, to submit himself again to the 
 Duke of Savoy, to receive the troops of the 
 emperor. Suppose, Bernard, he removes me 
 and my mother beyond the limits of Savoy, 
 beyond the power of the king of our own coun- 
 try, beyond your reach, Bernard, what would be 
 the consequences then ? I should be but a mere 
 slave in his hands. — But listen to me still, dear 
 Bernard, there is more, more to be said; I 
 have good reason to believe and know that all 
 these dangers are not merely imaginary ; but 
 that he is actually dealing with the empire. I 
 have seen couriers come and go, and heard them
 
 156 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 converse long with him in the German tongue. 
 I have seen officers who spoke neither French 
 nor Italian, surveying the castle, and consult- 
 ing with him over plans of other fortresses. 
 Twice, also, when I have hesitated to ride forth 
 with him, fearing dangers — I did not well know 
 what — my mother, who is already his complete 
 slave, has held out vague threats to me of re- 
 moving me to far distant lands, where my obe- 
 dience would be more prompt and unhesitating. 
 Now, even now, Bernard," she continued, " I 
 believe that he is gone upon some errand of 
 this kind, and it would in no degree surprise 
 me, ere three days are over, to see this place 
 filled with German soldiers." 
 
 " Then, dear Isabel," exclaimed Bernard de 
 Rohan, " we must lose no time. I wrote to 
 your brother to meet me at Grenoble, and I 
 have sent off messengers to him there and at 
 Paris. But we must not wait for his coming. 
 Your father's written consent will justify us, 
 and the king is already aware that this man's 
 faith and adherence to France is insecure. It 
 would have been better, indeed, if your brodier
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 157 
 
 had been here, for then he might, in the first 
 place, liave openly demanded you at the hands 
 of this man." 
 
 " Oh no, no, Bernard," she replied ; " I re- 
 joice greatly that Henry is not here. I feel a 
 sort of terror at the idea of his fallins: into the 
 hands of this Lord of Masseran. You know 
 that Henry's death would place great wealth 
 at the disposal of my mother ; and, though it is 
 dreadful to say, yet I do fear there is no act at 
 which this Italian w^ould hesitate, to obtain 
 wealth or power, or any of the objects for 
 which men strive on earth. I would not for 
 the world that Henry should put himself into 
 the hands of one so treacherous. If Henry be 
 at Grenoble, we can fly to him at once, and 
 be united there." 
 
 " Better, far better, dear Isabel," replied 
 her lover, " that we should be united before we 
 go. There is a priest here who seems to have 
 some regard for me, and who lingers still at 
 the inn, I know not why. He will be easily 
 persuaded to unite our hands, as our hearts are 
 already united, and then my right to protect
 
 158 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 and defend you will bear no denial. Let it 
 be soon, too, my Isabel. Why not to-morrow 
 night?" 
 
 She replied not for a moment or two. Not 
 that she hesitated — not that there was a doubt 
 in her own mind of what her answer must 
 be — but yet she paused with her hand clasped 
 in that of Bernard de Rohan, and her eyes hid 
 upon his shoulder, while he went on to per- 
 suade her, though there needed no persuasion. 
 
 " Consider, dear Isabel," he said, " the se- 
 cret of this postern door is one that may be 
 discovered at any time. He might return within 
 a day. If we were to meet often, our meeting 
 might be discovered. What it is necessary to 
 do, it is necessary to do at once." 
 
 It need not be said that Bernard de Rohan's 
 entreaties were successful. Isabel promised 
 to be there at the same hour on the following 
 night prepared for flight, and Bernard de Ro- 
 han undertook to have the contract of their 
 marriage drawn up by some neighbouring no- 
 tary, and a priest ready and willing to unite 
 them.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. "_ 159 
 
 " In four or five hours," he said, " we shall 
 be within the pale of France, and as you saw 
 the other night, we shall have plenty of willing 
 guards thither, dear Isabel. Besides that wilder 
 retinue, too, my own train is down at the ham- 
 let; but of course I must bring few people with 
 me for fear of attracting attention. Have you 
 any body in the castle, dear Isabel, besides 
 good Henriot, who can give you aid and assist- 
 ance ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," replied the lady, " there is the 
 maid who conveyed to you the note to-day. I 
 can trust her." 
 
 " She seemed sullen or stupid," replied Ber- 
 nard de Rohan : " I could not induce her to 
 utter more than one or two words, and those I 
 did not distinctly hear." 
 
 " She is very silent," replied Isabel ; " but is 
 not so dull as she looks. Give her but one 
 thing to think of, and one object to attend to, 
 and she will execute what she is directed to do 
 well enough ; and perhaps it is all the better 
 that she observes nothing which passes round 
 her, and is so sparing of her words."
 
 160 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " Hush !" said Bernard de Rohan. « There 
 is a hght upon the terrace, near the castle, and 
 some one seems coming hither. Adieu ! dear 
 Isabel, adieu ! Though the evening is too dim 
 for them to see us, it is better that I should 
 leave you till to-morrow. But forget not, dear 
 one; and oh ! be rather before than after the 
 hour." 
 
 Thus saying, he pressed her to his bosom for 
 a moment, and then passed through the postern 
 door. He closed it not entirely, however, for 
 some vague apprehension concerning the sweet 
 girl he had just left behind, caused him to 
 pause and listen till he assured himself that the 
 person whom he had seen approaching was no 
 unfriendly one. In a few minutes, he heard 
 another female voice saying distinctly to Isabel, 
 " Your lady mother, mademoiselle, desires that 
 you would come and play to her on the lute." 
 
 " I come, I come, good Maddelene," replied 
 the voice of Isabel de Brienne ; and in tiie clear 
 evening air Bernard de Rohan could hear the 
 sound of receding footsteps.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 161 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 "Has not the Count de Meyrand returned?" 
 demanded Bernard de Rohan, as he re-entered 
 the kitchen of the little inn, and saw it te- 
 nanted only by one or two of his own attend- 
 ants, the host and hostess, and a waiting-boy. 
 
 " He has not only returned, my lord," re- 
 plied the landlord, "but has gone away again, 
 and, sorry am I to say, gone away altogether. 
 He came back, and departed in great haste, 
 paying for all that he. had like a prince." 
 
 " This is strange," replied Bernard de Ro' 
 han. " Did he leave no message for me ?" 
 
 " No message, my lord," replied the host — 
 " he gave your man. Master Martin, a note for 
 you, however ; but he has just gone up the hill 
 and taken the note with him." 
 
 " Do you know where the count has gone 
 to?" demanded the young nobleman. 
 
 " Oh, to Pont Beauvoisin, on his way to 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 Paris," the landlord answered : " he has been 
 gone well nigh two hours." 
 
 It is a very connnon piece of policy on the 
 part of hosts, aubergistes, landlords, and others 
 of the same class and character, by whatsoever 
 denomination they may be known, to laud up 
 to the skies the guest just departed, praising in 
 him those especial virtues which they wish to 
 inculcate upon the guest who happens to be 
 their listener. Thus the landlord was proceed- 
 ing to paint in high colours the generosity and 
 careless liberality of the Count de Meyrand, 
 when some persons speaking, and a loud rich 
 buttery laugh, merry in every tone, announced 
 that the good priest. Father Willand, was ap- 
 proaching the auberge, with some companion. 
 
 " We shall live like clerks now he is gone, 
 we shall live like clerks," exclaimed the voice of 
 the priest. " By the holy mass, he was not 
 content with eating more than his own share of 
 every thing, but his very look changed every 
 thing that he did not cat, and turned it bad. 
 His aspect was so cold that it chilled the pot- 
 tage ; his look so sharp that it turned the wine
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 163 
 
 sour. I will make a new prayer night and 
 morning — May I never again meet such a 
 companion at an inn as this Count de Mey- 
 rand." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan found, on the entrance of 
 the priest, that it was his own attendant, Martin, 
 with whom Father Willand had been conversinor. 
 
 o 
 
 The attendant immediately produced the Count 
 de Meyrand's note, which his master read at- 
 tentively, and with an appearance of satisfac- 
 tion. " So, my friend De Meyrand has gone 
 on business of importance to Paris," he said 
 aloud. 
 
 " Ay, as the fox is said to go to his hole," 
 repHed the priest. 
 
 " I dare say, indeed," replied the young 
 cavalier, '* that there are many foxes in that 
 hole, my good father ; but still your comparison 
 is not a very pleasant one for the good count." 
 
 " The comparison was more aimed at his 
 way of going to Paris than at either Paris or 
 himself," replied the priest. " I repeat, he is 
 gone to Paris as a fox is said to go to his hole ; 
 that is, back-foremost." 
 
 M 2
 
 164 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " Nay," replied Bernard de Rohan, "I never 
 yet saw fox so stupid. Why should a fox go 
 back- foremost ? " 
 
 " To hide the way he goes," answered the 
 priest — " to make the footsteps point out of 
 the hole instead of into it. So the good pea- 
 sants tell one." 
 
 " But how can this apply to the Count de 
 Meyrand?" asked Bernard de Rohan, with his 
 curiosity now considerably excited. 
 
 *' Because he tells you," replied the priest, 
 *' that he is going to Paris, and we watched 
 him from the top of the hill and saw him turn 
 quite the other way before he got two leagues 
 out into the plain." 
 
 " Strange enough ! " replied Bernard de 
 Rohan, not choosing to appear as much inter- 
 ested as he really was — " strange enough ; but 
 he may well have some friends to see — some 
 town to visit in the way. — Come, my good host ! 
 come, let us have supper speedily, and give us 
 more light, for the night is growing dark and 
 sombre.- — Good priest," he continuecl, turning 
 to Fatlier Willand, and speaking in a low voice,
 
 CORSE D£ LEON. 165 
 
 ** I have a word for your private ear by and 
 by — somewhat to consult upon, regarding 
 which I need sound discretion and good coun- 
 sel. I beseech you, therefore, pause at the end 
 of the first stoup of wine." 
 
 *' My son, my son !" replied the priest, 
 " men have always made a mistake with regard 
 to the abode of truth. Truth and my brains 
 lie together at the bottom of the second pottle 
 pot, for most men are sure to tell the truth 
 when they get to that pitch; and my brains are 
 never clear, clean, and neat till they have been 
 washed in that quantity at least. Fear not, 
 fear not, I will be careful — though, if you are 
 going to confess yourself, you ought to wish me 
 as drunk as possible, for the penances I enjoin 
 are always light when my knees feel like an 
 unstarched ruff. — Were it not better, however, 
 to talk this matter over first, while my good 
 host prepares the supper, and then we can 
 consider it in our cups, you know?" 
 
 " It may, indeed, be as well," replied Ber- 
 nard de Rohan. " Follow to my chamber, 
 good priest, then. — Go on, Martin, with a light," 
 M 3
 
 166 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 and taking liis way up the dingy staircase, 
 Bernard de Rohan led the priest to the large 
 square lofty bed-room which had been assigned 
 him as his place of repose, and which no one 
 would have imagined that lowly and humble- 
 looking inn could boast of. The moment the 
 door was closed and the attendant gone, the 
 priest's eyes assumed a shrewder, l)ut more 
 serious, expression, and he said, " Know you 
 that I have been here twice yesterday, and three 
 times to-day, seeking you?" 
 
 " In truth, I did not," replied the young 
 cavalier. " On what account did you seek 
 me ? " 
 
 " To tell you to make good use of your time," 
 answered the priest. " The Lord of Masseran 
 is absent. He, I doubt not, is really gone to 
 Paris — gone to justify himself to the king 
 aeainst accusations which he hears are to be 
 made against him. You have, therefore, time 
 to do all that you would, and nothing is re- 
 quired but to be diligent, quick, and secret." 
 
 " I have been all three," replied Bernard
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 167 
 
 de Rohan. " And I just come from the postern 
 by the fir trees." 
 
 " Then you have seen Corse de Leon," said 
 the priest abruptly. " When and where ? For 
 I could not find him, neither yesterday nor to- 
 day." 
 
 " I met him this morning," replied Bernard 
 — "I met him this morning, and took him for 
 an old drover, so completely had he disguised 
 himself." 
 
 " Then have you seen the lady also ? " asked 
 the priest. 
 
 " I have, my good friend," answered the 
 young cavalier, somewliat surprised to find 
 how completely his proceedings w-ere divined. 
 " I have seen the lady; and it is in regard 
 to that interview that I wished to speak with 
 you. May I trust to you to do for me, to- 
 morrow night, one of the offices of your holy 
 function, and " 
 
 " Marry you, in short," replied the priest. 
 " Marry you to this fair Isabel of Brienne. 
 Wei], my son ! I see no impediment — no harm 
 M 4
 
 168 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 therein. — If you have well considered the 
 matter," he added with a laugli, " and have 
 determined to take upon yourself the holy estate 
 of matrimony, far be it from me to prevent 
 you, although I must say, that it was in gracious 
 consideration and providence for our temporal 
 as well as spiritual happiness, that our holy 
 church exacted from us an oath, not to enter 
 into the condition you so much covet ; however, 
 I will put the couples round your necks, and 
 then you must run along the road together as 
 you can ; but where shall it be?" he continued. 
 " Tell me the whens and the hows, for that is 
 very needful." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan explained to him as much 
 as he judged needful. Indeed, what he was 
 obliged to explain, put his plans completely in 
 the power of the priest. Nevertheless, he did 
 not anticipate any evil on that account. All of 
 us — wise and simple alike — are more or less 
 guided in our dealings with our fellow-creatures 
 by various other principles than the dictates of 
 mere reason. The most suspicious man, the 
 most cautious man, will from time to time place
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 169 
 
 confidence where it is least deserved, from some 
 motives to which his judgment would refuse its 
 assent. The calm and deliberate politician, 
 w^ho has frustrated many of the cabinet knaves 
 of Europe, and concealed his thoughts from the 
 penetrating eye of diplomacy, has often be- 
 trayed his secret to a pretty face, and sometimes 
 let it fall into possession of a roguish valet. 
 
 But Bernard de Rohan was neither a very 
 cautious, nor a very suspicious man. His nature 
 was frank and confiding ; and wherever he 
 showed himself reserved, he was rendered so by 
 the effect of reason and deliberate consider- 
 ation. In the present instance, he was forced 
 to trust the priest ; and he trusted him without 
 regret or hesitation : for there was something 
 in good Father Willand's face and demeanour 
 which was frank and kindly, and to say sooth, 
 Bernard de Rohan had conceived a preposses- 
 sion in his favour, which might or might not be 
 justified. He thought, too, that although his 
 own memory of the good priest's features might 
 have faded in the lapse of many years, and 
 though those features themselves must have
 
 170 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 been much changed by time since he had seen 
 them — he thought, too, that they were not 
 wholly without some corresponding traces on 
 the tablets of remembrance. Memory has her 
 instincts, too; and often, though we cannot re- 
 collect the why or the wherefore, the time or 
 the circumstances regarding an object sud- 
 denly presented to us, we feel that it is con- 
 nected with pleasant or unpleasant things in the 
 past, that there have been causes to love, or 
 hate, or fear a person whose very name and 
 being we have forgotten. Thus was it with 
 Bernard de Rohan and Father Willand ; for 
 though he knew not where they had met before, 
 though he was not sure that they ever had met, 
 he was sure that if they had, there had existed 
 good cause to hold the priest in some esteem. 
 
 When all the arran<]jements for the succeedinsf 
 night had been made between the priest and 
 tlie young cavalier, the latter turned to a point 
 connected with the same subject, which pressed 
 somewhat heavily upon liis mind. 
 
 " And now, my good Father Willand," he 
 said, " you must tell me, sincerely and can-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 171 
 
 didl}', whether you have reason to be perfectly- 
 certain that this Lord of Masseran has betaken 
 himself to the court of France." 
 
 '' My dear son," replied the priest, " there 
 is nothing upon the earth or under the earth 
 that we have any reason to be perfectly certain 
 of. And now, that you put it in my head," 
 he added, pausing thoughtfully for a moment or 
 two — " Now, that you put it into my head, 
 there are several reasons for believing that this 
 Savoyard devil has not gone to Paris. In the 
 first place, I advised him to go, which is a strong 
 reason for supposing he would not ; he being 
 one of those who thinks that no man can be 
 sincere in any thinsj. I was so far sincere, how- 
 ever, that I told him what is really the only way 
 of saving his neck from the gripe of the King 
 of France ; but I had another object, too, which 
 was to clear the place of his uncomfortable pre- 
 sence. At the same time, there is a second 
 reason for believing that he is not gone to the 
 court of France " 
 
 " There are a thousand," interrupted Ber- 
 nard de Rohan.
 
 l75i CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " Ay, but there is one," rejoined the priest, 
 " which, though not one out of your thousand, 
 is stronger than all the rest, namely, that 
 the worthy and truth-loving Lord of Masseran 
 told some of his servants, and those not the 
 most confidential ones, that he had gone to 
 Paris. Now, as he was never known to tell 
 truth in his life when a lie would do as well, 
 this is a second strong reason for believing that 
 he has not gone to Paris. But then again, 
 on the other hand, we have to recollect that 
 it is very possible he might for once tell the 
 truth, in the hope and expectation that, from 
 his known character, it might be mistaken for 
 a lie, and deceive his dear friends that way. In 
 short, the matter is doubtful ; for every saying 
 of the Lord of Masseran is, like one of the 
 learned propositions of the schools on which 
 we dispute so learnedly, compounded of so 
 much lie, that if there be a grain of truth 
 therein, the finest head in France will not 
 separate it in a year. But let me hear, my 
 son, let me hear ! what reasons have you to 
 bring forward on the one side or the other ?'*
 
 CORSE DE LEOy. 173 
 
 " None of very great weight, indeed ! " re- 
 plied Bernard de Rohan, unable to divulge the 
 orders, written or verbal, that he bore from 
 the Marechal de Brissac. '• A report, in- 
 deed, has reached us in Italy," he continued, 
 " that this man is playing a double part be- 
 tween the courts of France and Austria; and 
 when I did hear of his departure I certainly 
 suspected that the end of his journey might be 
 Milan rather than Paris." 
 
 " I will soon learn that," cried the priest, 
 " I will soon learn that. What you suspect is 
 any thing but improbable. And although — 
 knowing well the object of your journey — he 
 might give out that he went to Paris to clear 
 himself before he saw you, yet the whole may 
 be false together, and he himself be within ten 
 miles of his castle at the present time. One 
 thing, however, is clear, my son, no time is to 
 be lost, and in the mean time I will ascertain 
 beyond all doubt what road he took." 
 
 " But can you ascertain ?" demanded Ber- 
 nard de Rohan; " is it possible to learn ex- 
 actly in such a labyrinth-like country as this?"
 
 174 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 The priest laughed. " Beyond all doubt, my 
 son, beyond all doubt," he said. " The past we 
 can always ascertain. — The future is God's," he 
 added more reverently — "the future is God's, 
 and must rest in his dark council chamber. 
 But do you not know ; have you not yourself 
 seen, that though the peasant and the traveller 
 wander along the sides of these mountains with- 
 out beholding any thing but the grey stone, 
 and the clear stream, and the green bush ; 
 though he might whistle all the lays of France 
 and Italy together, and blow all the horns that 
 ever were winded, from Naples to the far north, 
 without rousing any thing but a roebuck or an 
 eagle; there are particular sounds to be ut- 
 tered by particular voices, which woidd call 
 every bush into life, and change every rock 
 into an armed man ? My good friend, my good 
 friend, the mountain is full of eyes ; and the 
 Lord of Masseran himself, though he knows 
 it is so, does not know to what extent. There 
 is only one being under the blue eye of heaven 
 that sees it all, and that is the man whom I 
 met with you the other night."
 
 CORSE D£ LEON. 175 
 
 " He is certainly a very extraordinary be- 
 ing," replied Bernard de Rohan; " and I 
 would fain know more of him." 
 
 " In all probability you will know more," 
 replied the priest. "But you may meet with 
 thousands like him in various parts of the 
 world. There are three places where you ge- 
 nerally find the great rogues congregate — the 
 court, the court of law, and the refectory. 
 The honest man has only two places that I 
 know of — the mountain-side and the highway. 
 There are exceptions, you know — for instance, 
 there is a very honest priest who has the care 
 of the poor souls in the parish of Saint John 
 of Bonvoisin, just across the frontier line in 
 France. — Sinner that I am ! — what should he 
 be doing here using his time no better than his 
 patron. Saint Anthony, used his head? — Why 
 should he be here, I say, preaching to the 
 stones upon this mountain, when his reverend 
 predecessor preached to fishes and petted a pig? 
 However, the King, a blessing on his good- 
 humoured head, sent the said priest to Bon- 
 voisin to keep him out of harm's way ; for that
 
 176 CORSK DE LEON. 
 
 boisterous heretic, Clement Marol, threatened 
 to drive liis da^jger into him for throwing]: back 
 some of his ribald poetry on his own head. 
 Then again the grave and serious Admiral felt 
 aggrieved at his preaching, one Saint Anthony's 
 day, upon the subject of herrings, which he 
 vowed was a satire upon the tax he had laid 
 on the fishery. However, there the good priest 
 is — or rather there he is not, but ought to 
 be — one of the honestest men in all France, 
 if you will take his own word for it : a great 
 rogue according to some men, and a good soul 
 according to others. There may be two or 
 three like him in other parts of France ; and 
 depend upon it, wherever they are, you will 
 find the poor speak well of them, the widows 
 and the maidens over forty shake their heads 
 and disparage them when they compare them 
 with their reverend predecessor ; while some 
 very grave men in the parish look wise and 
 suspect them to be heretics, without being 
 able to prove it." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan smiled; but wishing to 
 hear somewhat more of Father Willand's ac-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 177 
 
 quaintance with his friend Corse de Leon, he 
 replied, " I thought that this same good priest 
 you mention, if not a Savoyard by birth, had a 
 Savoyard cure, and that the first of his penitents 
 was our good friend Corse de Leon." 
 
 " You are mistaken, my son," I'eph'ed the 
 ecclesiastic. " You are mistaken altosfether. 
 He has no cure in Savoy, though he mav have 
 business there ; and as to Corse de Leon being 
 a penitent, he is very impenitent, indeed. I re- 
 member now," he continued in a thoughtful way, 
 ** it is some five or six years since, when I was 
 travelling through a little village called Pom- 
 mieres, not far from the foot of Mount Rosa, 
 that the people called me to confess a young 
 man who had been crushed under an earth slip 
 of the mountain. It was difficult to get him to 
 confess at all ; and one priest from Saint Mau- 
 rice had left him. But I set about the matter 
 in a different way ; told him I did not think he 
 would die, and had great hopes of his not being 
 damned if he did. He said he would rather 
 die than not ; but I argued him out of that, 
 and in the end got him to make a full confes- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 sion. What lie did confess is no business of 
 yours, my son ; but I found him to be a man 
 who had suffered many wrongs, and had en- 
 dured bitter griefs ; but one who was naturally 
 as kind of heart as he vvas bold, fearless, and 
 determined, and as noble and generous in his 
 purposes as he was sometimes wild, fierce, and 
 intemperate in their execution. I sat by his 
 bed-side for six weeks ; for the three first of 
 which he fluttered between life and death. At 
 the end of that time he recovered, and his frame, 
 like iron tempered in the fire, seemed to become 
 but the stronger and more active for what it had 
 undergone. Two or three years elapsed ere I 
 met him again, and by that time he had become 
 Corse de Leon. The cause of his quitting his 
 native country, France, which was just before 
 I first met with him, was that on his return 
 from the army, where he had served his king 
 for years, he found his sister injured, insulted, 
 and disgraced by the intendant of a high noble- 
 man, who was lately dead. He first sought for 
 justice ; but could not obtain it. He then visited 
 the death- bed of the poor girl, and found her
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 179 
 
 head supported by the daughter of that very high 
 noble, and her lips moistened by the hand of — 
 Bernard de Rohan. He turned away as soon as 
 death had done his work, and, mad for revenge, 
 had sought the house of the intendant. But 
 the generous spirit of two high youths, Bernard 
 de Rohan and Henry de Brienne, had been 
 beforehand with him, and had driven forth with 
 ignominy the oppressor w^hom he sought. Still, 
 however, the thing rankled on his mind, and 
 the injustice which he had once suffered and 
 but too often seen, turned a portion of his blood 
 to bitterness. — But hark! there is mine host 
 knocking at the door to tell us that supper is 
 ready ; and what is all human nature compared 
 with supper ? " 
 
 N 2
 
 180 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 The evening was dark and somewhat stormy ; 
 and, tliough the hour was the same as that in 
 which Bernard de Rohan had met Isabel on 
 the preceding day, so much less light was there 
 now in the heavens, that he could scarcely see 
 the postern gate, while with a beating heart he 
 watched it from the small clump of fir trees of 
 which we have already spoken. Although a 
 hollow and whistling wind blew sharp and 
 strong amongst the mountains, the heavy 
 vapours hung unmoved around the peaks ; and, 
 though there was a reddish glare upon the 
 edges of some of the clouds in the western sky, 
 no light was derived from any lingering rays 
 of the sun. Every thing was gloomy, and dark, 
 and cheerless ; and yet the heart of Bernard de 
 Rohan beat high with love, with joy, with ex- 
 pectation.
 
 CORSE D£ LEON. I8l 
 
 She was to be his — the being whom he had 
 so long, so deeply, so tenderly loved. Within 
 one short hour she was to be his own, bound to 
 him by that indissoluble bond, to which he 
 looked forward all the more joyfully, because it 
 was to be eternal. Whose heart would not 
 beat hio-h at the fulfilment of the dream of 
 
 o 
 
 years ? 
 
 At length he thought he saw the door move, 
 and, darting forward, he opened it gently. 
 Isabel was waiting within with the faithful 
 Henriot and her silent maid; and though she 
 trembled very much as Bernard threw his arms 
 around her, it was agitation, not fear, which 
 moved her. The Lord of Masseran was still 
 absent : there was no one likely to interrupt 
 them ; and when her lover strove to soothe and 
 to encourage her, telling her that his own men 
 were within sound of his horn, and many more 
 imseen, surrounding them on all sides, she re- 
 plied, by assuring him in a low voice, that she 
 had no apprehension, and was ready to follow 
 him whithersoever he would. Still, however, 
 he saw that she was agitated; and as he led her 
 N 3
 
 182 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 forth, he poured many a soothing and a tender 
 word into her ear, drawing her nearer to his 
 heart, and seeming to assure her, by every 
 action as well as by every word, that the love 
 and the protection which he was about to 
 vow, was as tender, as unchangeable, as the 
 brightest dream of hope and expectation could 
 picture it. 
 
 " Do you know the chapel dowji in the 
 valley, my Isabel?" he asked, as he led her 
 onward down a narrow path that wound along 
 the side of the hill, as close under the walls of 
 the castle as might be. " We have obtained 
 the keys, and the priest is waiting." 
 
 " But at this hour," demanded Isabel, ea- 
 gerly — " can he perform the service at this 
 hour?" 
 
 " He has procured full authority," replied 
 Bernard, in the same low tone. " Nothing, dear 
 girlj has been left undone." 
 
 " Hark !" said Isabel, stopping. "Did you 
 not hear some voices above?" 
 
 He paused, and listened, but no sound met 
 his ear. " The echo of our own voices," he an-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 183 
 
 swered : " thougli we speak low, they catch the 
 angles of the rock, and are given back again to 
 our own ears. But let us hasten onward, dear- 
 est. Once thou art mine, such apprehensions 
 will cease." 
 
 Nothing occurred to interrupt them. Step 
 by step over the rough and incumbered path 
 the}' pursued their way, till at length, in the 
 lowest part of the valley, shut in between the 
 small river and the rock on which the castle 
 stood, appeared an old Gothic chapel. The 
 pinnacles, the towers, the mouldings of the 
 little building, in all their rich tracery, were 
 fully visible; for, as the party descended, the 
 chapel lay exactly between them and a clear 
 part of the stream, so that the glistening sur- 
 face of the water formed a back ground to the 
 dark lines of the building, though none of the 
 surrounding scenery, except the bold masses of 
 some adjacent rocks, could be distinguished. 
 
 Thither, by another path which, being cut 
 
 through the rock, gave admission to the castle 
 
 at once, had Isabel often come to attend the 
 
 service on Sundays and on holydays ; but all 
 
 N 4
 
 184 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 seemed changed as she now approached it ; as 
 much, indeed, in regard to the feehngs with 
 which she revisited it, as to the aspect of the 
 place itself. Through the windows on the side 
 which they approached, a small ray of light 
 stole forth from the altar like a pure and holy 
 religion in the midst of ages of darkness, and 
 guided onward by that they were soon at the 
 door of the chapel. It yielded easily to the 
 hand, and Isabel, half led, half supported by 
 Bernard de Rohan, found herself approaching 
 that altar where the last vow of maiden love 
 was to be spoken. On one side of that altar 
 stood the good priest. Father Willand, but on 
 the other, to the surprise both of Bernard de 
 Rohan and of Isabel de Brienne, appeared the 
 ordinary priest of the place, pale, somewhat 
 agitated, and looking from time to time round 
 the building with a wild and fearful glance. 
 
 " Quick ! " cried Father AVilland, as the 
 party approached, "you have been very long, 
 my children. Let us despatch this business 
 speedily, and put out the lights." 
 
 " I am forced," said the other priest, " by
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 185 
 
 commands that I dare not disobey, to be here 
 this night ; but I call you all to witness that it 
 is against my will that I am here ; and in case 
 the Lord of Masseran " 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! " exclaimed Father Willand, 
 '' we don't want you to be here at all, my good 
 friend. All we want is the chapel — I will read 
 the service, brother. — Approach, my children, 
 approach ; " and taking up the book, he com- 
 menced at once, and in the most abridged form 
 that the church allowed, the marriage service 
 between Bernard de Rohan and Isabel de 
 Brienne. 
 
 The latter needed support not a little ; but 
 the quiet maid, who was the only woman that 
 accompanied her, was far too inanimate and 
 statue-like to afford her any. It was in no 
 ordinary circumstances that poor Isabel was 
 placed. True, indeed, she was not called upon 
 to give her hand to one who was nearly a 
 stranger to her, as is but too often the case — 
 true, that with her all the sweet and delicate 
 feelings which surround the heart of woman 
 from her youth, were not to be rudely plucked
 
 186 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 away -without preparation, like flov/ers torn by 
 a harsh and reckless hand, which, while it takes, 
 injures the plant which bore them; true, that 
 she was giving herself to one whom she had 
 long known and deeply loved, and towards 
 whom she had ever looked as to her promised 
 husband : but still she was becoming his bride 
 suddenly, secretly ; she was flying with him in 
 darkness and in concealment, with the presence 
 of none of those bound to her by the ties of 
 blood to sanction the new bonds that she was 
 taking upon her. 
 
 The fear, too, of discovery and pursuit, was 
 superadded to all the other feelings which such 
 circumstances might well produce. She knew 
 that it might not, and probably would not, be 
 long, before her mother — who had been left 
 evidently as a sort of spy upon her actions and 
 a gaoler of her person, rather than a friend, a 
 protector, and an adviser — might send to make 
 sure that the harsh commands of the Lord of 
 Masseran were strictly observed, and that she 
 did not quit the walls of the castle for a moment 
 during his absence ; and she was well aware
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 187 
 
 that the discovery of her flight would produce 
 instant pursuit. Thus, though generally she 
 kept her eyes either bent down upon the ground, 
 or raised with a look of affection and confidence 
 towards Bernard de Rohan, yet from time to 
 time she cast a hasty glance over her shoulder 
 towards the door of the chapel ; and as she did 
 so, she remarked that the sraiie fears seemed 
 also to possess the waiting woman, whose eyes 
 were generally turned in the same direction. 
 
 No interruption took place, however. The 
 words — the irrevocable words that bound her 
 and Bernard de Rohan together — were spoken 
 in a low but a firm voice. The ring was upon 
 her finger. The benediction was pronounced, 
 and for a moment, for one short moment, she 
 was clasped as a bride in the arms of him she 
 loved, when there came suddenly a noise as of 
 something thrown down in the small vestry on 
 the right-hand side of the altar. 
 
 The priest instantly put out the lights. Ber- 
 nard de Rohan still held her close to his heart 
 with his left arm, but, at the same time, laid his 
 right hand upon his sword. Before he could
 
 188 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 draw it, however, three men sprang upon him, 
 two from the vestry itself, and one from a win- 
 dow behind him, through which several had 
 forced a way. 
 
 All was now darkness and confusion in the 
 chapel ; but it was evident that the number of 
 persons it contained increased every moment. 
 The young cavalier strove violently to free him- 
 self, and by an exertion of his great strength, 
 dragged his assailants hither and thither ; but 
 still they clung to him, still, twining round his 
 arms, they prevented him from grasping either 
 sword or dagger, and from reaching the small 
 hunting horn which he carried at his side, and 
 which he knew, could he but blow it, would 
 bring assistance speedily. Frustrated in his at- 
 tempt to lift it to his lips, he raised his voice 
 and shouted loudly ; but fresh assailants poured 
 upon him ; a scarf was tied over his mouth ; his 
 hands were pinioned behind, and he found 
 himself irretrievably a prisoner. 
 
 All was darkness, as I have said; not the 
 least light appeared in the chapel, and no words 
 were spoken aloud by any one; so that all Ber-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 189 
 
 nard de Rohan could hear was the moving of 
 many feet — a low murmuring whisper, as if 
 of consultation or direction, and the sobbing of 
 a bosom which he knew too well to be that of 
 her he loved best on earth. At one time a 
 voice was raised somewhat louder than the rest, 
 and he thought he distinguished the tones of 
 Adrian de Meyrand. The next moment an- 
 other voice, that he did not know, replied, 
 " No, not that way. Keep that door shut. 
 There is another here which leads us thither 
 more quickly." 
 
 Now completely overpowered — although his 
 heart burned within him, and he longed for the 
 strength of him who cast down the temple of 
 Gaza, 'to burst the bonds upon his hands — 
 Bernard de Rohan strove no longer with those 
 who held him, for he felt that to struggle was 
 utterly vain. Nevertheless, it was not without 
 rude violence that they dragged him along 
 through the vestry, and from thence by a small 
 door into the open air. The scarf was still 
 over his mouth, so that he could not speak, 
 and could scarcely breathe ; but as there was
 
 190 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 some slight increase of light, he looked eagerly 
 around Iiim. Isabel, however, was not to be 
 seen. There were some dark scattered groups 
 here and there, but he could distinguish no 
 one clearly, and was dragged on towards the 
 rock on which the castle of Masseran stood. 
 
 Into whose power he had now fallen there 
 was no doubt. The character of the man was 
 well known ; and had Bernard de Rohan 
 thought at that moment of his own probable 
 fate, he could have anticipated nothing but the 
 darkest and most atrocious termination of the 
 act which had been just committed. At that 
 moment, however, he thought alone of Isabel 
 de Brienne ; and he remembered, with grief 
 and agony that will not bear description, what 
 might be the consequences to her, of falling 
 into the hands of the Lord of Masseran under 
 such circumstances, and beyond the pale of her 
 native country. 
 
 They dragged him on, however, across the 
 short space which lay between the rock on 
 which the castle stood and the chapel, to a spot 
 where a doorway presented itself hewn in the
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. I9l 
 
 solid Stone, under the arch of which appeared a 
 soldier with a light. Into his hands those who 
 broncrht him thither consio^ned the younn^ French 
 gentleman, pushing him forward, and saying, 
 " There, take him, and put him where my lord 
 told you." 
 
 The man with the light replied nothing, but 
 with another, who had been standing behind 
 him, received the prisoner from the hands of 
 his comrades, and with somewhat more gentle- 
 ness than they had shown led him onward. 
 The moment he had taken a step or two for- 
 ward, a large oblong mass of solid rock, which, 
 turning upon a pivot, served the purpose of a 
 door, and when shut, blocked up the whole 
 passage that led under ground to the castle, 
 rolled slowly to behind him. He went on 
 patiently, for it v/as clear that no effort of his 
 own could effect any thing towards his deliver- 
 ance; and when he had gone on some way, 
 and ascended a small flight of steps, he found 
 another armed man standinor with a light, at 
 a door plated with iron. Those who followed 
 told him to go in, and he found himself in a
 
 192 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 dungeon, of which he was evidently not the 
 first tenant, for there was a crust of bread 
 covered with long green mould upon the table, 
 and a broken water pitcher in one corner of the 
 room. There was a bed too with some straw 
 at one side of the door, and a single chair ; but 
 besides these necessaries, there appeared hang- 
 ing from the wall, to which they w^ere attached 
 by a stanchion imbedded in the solid ma- 
 sonry, a large heavy ring, and some strong 
 linked fetters. At these Bernard de Rohan 
 gazed for a moment fiercely, and then turned 
 his eyes to one of his gaolers who had been re- 
 moving the mouldy crust from the table, and 
 the broken water cruise from the corner of the 
 dungeon. 
 
 The man seemed to understand the look at 
 once. " No !" he said, " No ! They are not 
 for 3'ou, unless you are violent. — But we may 
 let you speak now as much as you like," and 
 he untied the scarf from Bernard de Rohan's 
 lips. The young cavalier drew a deep breath, 
 and then demanded, *' What is the meaning of 
 this ? Why am I here ? — Take notice, and
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 193 
 
 remember that I am an officer of Henry the 
 Second, King of France, now actually on his 
 service — that I came hither from the Marechal 
 de Brissac with despatches and messages to the 
 Lord of Masseran, and that bitter will be the 
 punishment of all those who injure or detain 
 me. 
 
 The man heard him to the end with the most 
 perfect composure, and then replied, " We 
 neither know nor care, young gentleman, who 
 or what you are, or in whose service you are. 
 We obey the commands of our own lord ; and if 
 you are inclined to give up all resistance, and 
 be quiet, we will untie your arms, and let you 
 have the free use of your limbs and tongue. 
 There is only one thing necessary for you to tell 
 us. Will you be quiet and peaceable, or will 
 you not ?" 
 
 " I have no choice," replied Bernard de 
 Rohan, in a bitter tone. " As you have wrong- 
 fully and unjustly made me a prisoner, I have 
 no power of resisting whatsoever you choose to 
 do with me." 
 
 " That is talking sensibly," replied the man ; 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " but in the first place, if you please, we will 
 take away all these pleasant little things from 
 youj as I would rather have them in my hand 
 than my throat." And he deliberately stripped 
 the prisoner of all his weapons, to keep them, as 
 he said with a laugh, for his use at a future 
 time. He then untied his arms, which were 
 benumbed with the tight straining of the cords 
 with which they had bound him, and saying, 
 " I will bring you some food," he moved 
 towards the door where his companions stood. 
 
 *' I want no food/' replied Bernard de Ro- 
 han, gloomily ; and in his heart he asked him- 
 self if any human being could find appetite to 
 eat in such an abode as that. 
 
 " You will come to it, j^oung gentleman — 
 you will come to it," replied the man : " before 
 you get out, you will come to it well enough. 
 I have seen many a one who thought of nothing 
 else all the day long but the time for eating and 
 drinking. Why, it was the only thing they had 
 to do with life. 1'hey might as well have been 
 a stone in the wall if it had not been for that." 
 
 With this awful sermon upon the imprison-
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 195 
 
 ment that awaited him, the gaoler set down 
 the lamp he had in his hand, and went away. 
 He returned in a minute or two. however, with 
 some food, which he placed upon the table 
 before which the young cavaher was still stand- 
 ing, exactly as the other had left him. The 
 man gave him a cold look, as if merely to see 
 how he bore it, and then once more quitted 
 the dungeon, turning the key in the heavy lock. 
 Bernard de Rohan remained long in that 
 same attitude, and filled with the same dark 
 and melancholy thoughts. Still, still they 
 pressed upon his brain, although he sought to 
 banish them and to bear his condition with his 
 usual equanimity and fortitude. He was not 
 one ever to give way to despair, where any 
 opportunity existed for active exertion; but here 
 he could do nothing. With his own hand he 
 could not right himself. With his own voice he 
 could not plead his cause. Talent or genius 
 he might possess, but all in vain. Vigour and 
 courage were useless. There was but one thing 
 left — endurance ; a species of courage which 
 the very bravest do not always possess. Ber- 
 o 2
 
 196 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 i:ard de Rohan strove to summon it to his aid. 
 It came but slowly, however; and, when he 
 thought of Isabel of Brienne, his own sweet, 
 beautiful bride, snatched from him in the very 
 first moment that he could call her so, resolu- 
 tion forsook him, and in agony of heart he cast 
 himself down upon the straw in his dungeon. — 
 Was that his bridal bed ?
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 197 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 " Now, then, have I not kept faith with you ?" 
 said a voice in the cliapel. 
 
 " Yes, in truth you have," rephed a second 
 voice ; " but I fear we have been too late. The 
 faUing of that accursed horse has lost us the 
 five minutes — the important five minutes, on 
 which all success in life so often depends." 
 
 " You should not bring fine pampered Bar- 
 bary steeds into these wild mountains, count," 
 replied the other voice ; " but a bold man is 
 never too late. The lover is safe enough for a 
 long time to come, and you can " 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" said the other, as if fearful 
 that their conversation, though the tone in 
 which they spoke was little louder than a whis- 
 per, should reach the ears of some one near. 
 
 " Oh ! she has fainted," said the other. " She 
 o 3
 
 198 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 sank back upon my arm a minute or two ago. 
 Here ! Forli, bring me a lantern !'* 
 
 A lantern was soon brought ; and, one side 
 being opened, the light was suffered to stream 
 full upon the face of Isabel de Brienne. The 
 beautiful eyes were closed; the long dark lashes 
 rested on the fair cheek ; the lips themselves 
 were pale; and there was no indication that 
 the heavy, senseless sleep in which she lay was 
 not the slumber of death itself, except a slight 
 movement of the fingers, as if the cord that 
 tied her wrists caused some corporeal pain, 
 which was felt even through the swoon in which 
 she lay. It was upon her face and form alone 
 that the full light shone, but the feeble rays 
 which found their way around dispelled in some 
 degree, though but slightly, the profound dark- 
 ness that before had filled the whole building. 
 No one could be seen so as to be recognised; but 
 in various parts of the chapel appeared groups 
 of dark figures, all holding aloof from the spot 
 where the unhappy girl lay with her head rest- 
 ing upon the upper step of the altar, except two 
 tall and powerful men, who stood close to her,
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 199 
 
 and another, who knelt down, holding the lan- 
 tern to her face. 
 
 " Were it not better to take her away at 
 once ?" said one of the voices. 
 
 '• There is the ring upon her finger ! " said 
 the other, without answering the question. 
 " Accursed be that brute for thus delaying us ! 
 I will shoot him with my own hand when I get 
 back." He paused a moment, and then con- 
 tinued, — '^ So, he thinks that there is no charm 
 which can ever get that ring off again. But I 
 will find one ; and, if I mistake not, there is 
 even now a mighty magician in the Louvre 
 preparing the counterspell. — No, no, my good 
 lord, we will not change our plan. I must ap- 
 pear as the deliverer, not as the offender. The 
 time is gone by when ladies fell in love with 
 their ravishers ; but where shall it be? — Up 
 towards La Chapelle?" 
 
 " No, no," replied the other — " that will not 
 do. You might say I was going to join the 
 emperor. No, better in the valley just above 
 Les Echelles. There, too, my good friend, 
 we shall be free from those who stopped us in 
 o 4
 
 200 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 our last attempt. It will take us till daylight 
 to get there, and that will be just the time." 
 
 "Hush! she is waking!" said the other. 
 " Quick, close the lantern !" and, after a few 
 words more spoken in a still lower tone, there 
 was a considerable movement in the chapel. 
 Several persons came and went; and Isabel de 
 Brienne, gradually waking again to a con- 
 sciousness of her unhappy situation, heard the 
 stern tones of the Marquis of Masseran, now 
 speaking in a loud voice, and giving various 
 orders to the people that surrounded him. 
 
 " Is the litter not come yet ?" he said. " Go, 
 some one, and hasten it : I will take care that 
 no such plots as these are carried 0:1 again. 
 Have you got the priest ? I trust you have not 
 let him escape." 
 
 " He is safe enough," replied one of the 
 others ; " he is safe enough, and up at the castle 
 by this time. — Here is the litter, my lord," 
 
 " Come, fair madam," said the Lord of Mas- 
 seran. " If you cannot walk, we must have 
 you borne forth. But surely a lady sufficiently 
 active to deceive her own mother, and to find
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 201 
 
 her way hither on such a night as this, may 
 very well walk to the chapel door." 
 
 " My lord," said Isabel, faintly, " I did not 
 deceive my mother. It was only one prisoner 
 who concealed her plan of escape from an- 
 other, compelled — I trust and believe unwil- 
 lingly — to act the part of a spy and a gaoler. — 
 I call every one to witness," she added, speaking 
 as loud as her feeble state would permit, " that 
 I protest against your removing me any where 
 but to the court of the King of France, my 
 native sovereign." 
 
 '• Who said we were going to take you any 
 where but to his court ?" rejoined the Lord of 
 Masseran. " Come, madam, come ! Cease argu- 
 ments and protests; I am your mother's husband, 
 your guardian for the time, and that guardian- 
 ship you shall not break through very easily." 
 Thus saying, he raised her rudely by the arm, 
 and, half leading, half dragging her, conveyed 
 her to the door of the chapel, and placed her 
 in a horse litter which stood near. Some fur- 
 ther delay took place while the men around 
 were mounting their horses and arranging the
 
 202 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 order of their march. When this was completed, 
 however, the Lord of Masseran put himself at 
 tlie head of his troop and proceeded at a slow 
 pace, taking a road that led away from the 
 castle. 
 
 Isabel, unable to move, lay in the litter and 
 wept; but she remarked, that from time to 
 time single horsemen passed from the rear to 
 the front, and from the front to the rear, 
 and that manifold were the orders and direc« 
 tions given to the different persons of whom 
 the party w^as composed. No one, however, 
 spoke a word to her ; but it was some consola- 
 tion to see, as day began to break upon their 
 weary journey onward, that there was the form 
 of another woman amongst the troopers on be- 
 fore. Isabel thought, too, that she had once 
 heard, during the night, the voice of her maid 
 speaking in a somewhat complaining tone ; and 
 the idea of having her society in the state of 
 captivity she was doomed to suffer was no 
 sliglit alleviation. 
 
 It was just at that moment — while the sky 
 was still grey with night, but the rocks and
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 203 
 
 trees and mountains round about growing every 
 instant more clear and defined, that a good deal 
 of bustle and agitation became evident in the 
 party of the Marquis of Masseran. A minute 
 or two afterwards he halted on the edge of the 
 hill, and was seen speaking eagerly with some 
 of his followers. At the same time the sound 
 of a trumpet was heard, and Isabel thought she 
 could distinguish the galloping of horse. She 
 then saw a number of the Lord of Masseran's 
 followers, who were on before her, dismount, 
 and, unslinging their fire-arms, fire a shot or 
 two into the valley. A loud volley of musketry 
 from some distant spot was heard immediately 
 afterwards, and the marquis, apparently in 
 great haste and agitation, ordered the litter to 
 be brought on with all speed, and driven for- 
 ward in advance of the party. The dis- 
 charges of musketry, however, both from his 
 own attendants and from those who seemed to 
 be pursuing him, grew more and more frequent 
 every moment ; the smoke drifted down the 
 valley in long white wreaths, enveloping the 
 litter and making all the objects more indistinct
 
 204 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 than before; while the galloping of horse was 
 now clearly heard, together with loud voices 
 giving orders. Then came the clashing of 
 swords, and two or three men on horseback 
 were driven fiercely past the litter, contending 
 with others hand to hand. After a short scene 
 of tumult and confusion, the sound of the firing 
 appeared to come from a greater distance. The 
 two men on horseback who were guarding the 
 litter suddenly stopped, gazed around them, 
 and galloped away at full speed. The actual 
 driver slipped down the rocks into the valley 
 below, and seemed to hide himself amongst 
 the bushes ; while Isabel remained alone, with 
 her hands tied, and unable to quit the vehicle 
 in which she had been placed. 
 
 A number of voices talking aloud, however, 
 soon met her ear, and a gay and gallant party, 
 somewhat soiled with dust and smoke, rode up 
 to the spot where she lay. The leader of the 
 victorious body sprang from his horse at once; 
 and while one of his followers caught the reins 
 of the horses in the litter, the Count de Mey- 
 rand approached Isabel's side, exclaiming, in a
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 205 
 
 tone of much pity and commiseration, " I fear, 
 indeed, Mademoiselle de Brienne, that you 
 must have suffered terribly. Good God !" he 
 continued, " the villain has actually tied her 
 hands;" and on the spot, with his own dagger, 
 he cut the cords which had left a deep print on 
 the small delicate wrists that they had bound. 
 At the same time, he added many a soothing 
 word, but still with a tone of deference and 
 respect, which made Isabel feel that deliverance 
 by his hand was not, as she had at first been 
 inclined to think, more painful than her former 
 captivity. She spoke a few words of thanks for 
 his assistance and attention ; and, witii an eager- 
 ness that waited not to be questioned, Adrian 
 of Meyrand went on to tell her " that he had 
 heard, late on the preceding night, that some 
 violence had been shown to her, in conse- 
 quence of an attempt she had made to escape 
 from the castle of Masseran, and that her 
 mother's husband was carrying her away far 
 into Savoy. 
 
 " I have good reason to know," continued 
 the count, *• that this man has secret comniuni-
 
 206 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 cations with tlie enemies of France, and I doubt 
 not that his purpose was to remove you for ever 
 from the neighbourhood of your friends and 
 connections, from your native countrj^, and 
 from the protection of the king. Although," 
 he added with a sigh, " I was not sure that my 
 assistance would be acceptable, yet I could not 
 resist my inclination to follow and offer you de- 
 liverance. I was afraid of offending you ; but 
 these bonds upon your hands, sweet lady, evi- 
 dently show that you were carried away against 
 your will, and therefore that what I have done 
 has not been in vain." 
 
 His words agreed so well with the suspicions 
 which Isabel de Brienne had before entertained 
 regarding the views and purposes of the Lord 
 of Masseran, that they taught her to put more 
 faith in the count than she otherwise might 
 have been inclined to do. The respectful tone 
 which he assumed, too, removed, as we have 
 said, many anxieties from her mind, and she 
 again expressed her thanks for the service he had 
 rendered her, but still looked bewildered, in his 
 face, as if inquiring what was to be done next.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 207 
 
 The Count de Meyrand skilfully read that 
 look, and knowing that her situation placed 
 her entirely in his power for the time, he 
 determined to leave her the utmost appearance 
 of unrestrained liberty, so long as she could use 
 it to no effect. He said not a word then in 
 regard to where her steps should be turned, but 
 stood beside the litter with his cap in his hand, 
 and the feather trailinoj on the orround as if 
 waiting for her commands. 
 
 Isabel was embarrassed — she could have 
 wished to tell him all that had occurred; she 
 could have wished to say, " I am Bernard de 
 Rohan's wife. Protect me for the sake of your 
 friend and companion." But there was a 
 hesitation, a doubt, an apprehension: she had 
 known and she had seen, with a woman's clear 
 insight into all those things that appertain to 
 love, how strong and dangerous was the pas- 
 sion which the Count de Meyrand had con- 
 ceived for her ; and though timidity had cer- 
 tainly some share in making her hesitate to 
 acknowledge at once her union with Bernard 
 de Rohan, yet an apprehension of endangering
 
 208 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 him, of making his imprisonment more severe, 
 of putting his very life in peril, if she acknow- 
 ledged her union with him to his rival, con- 
 firmed her resolution of taking time to think 
 ere she so acted. What she was next to do, 
 however, was the immediate question ; and 
 after a long and embarrassing pause she said, 
 half as a question to herself and half to the 
 count, " Where can I go to, and what can I 
 do?" 
 
 That question was what Meyrand expected, 
 and what he desired. " If I might advise," 
 he said in a humble tone, '' Mademoiselle de 
 Brienne would at once proceed to the court 
 of the King of France, and put herself under 
 the protection of her own sovereign, who is 
 the person best qualified to guide and guard 
 her. She will there also have the counsel and 
 assistance of her brother, and will consequently 
 be restored to that situation of freedom, com- 
 fort, and, I trust, peace, of which I must think 
 she was deprived by her mother's marriage with 
 this unprincipled Savoyard." 
 
 " But there are many things," said Isabel
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 209 
 
 in a low tone — " but there are many things, 
 
 Monsieur de Meyrand " and as she spoke, 
 
 the thought came across her of leaving the man, 
 to whom she had so lately given her hand, 
 in danger, in grief, perhaps in misery, and 
 of putting many hundreds of miles between 
 them within a few hours after they had pledged 
 themselves to each other to remain together for 
 life. 
 
 The Count de Meyrand, however, cut her 
 short. " At all events, dear lady," he said, 
 " it is necessary, very necessary, for us to pass 
 the French frontier immediately. — It is at no 
 great distance ; and a few hours will place us 
 in our native land. Depend upon it, this good 
 Lord of Masseran will not lose his prize so 
 easily. Every man I have in Savoy is with me 
 here. He can call hundreds to his aid, and I fear 
 might overwhelm me in spite of all resistance. 
 If, indeed, you wish to remain in Savoy, I 
 will do my best to protect you; but I fear much 
 the consequences, and I would advise, nay 
 persuade you, to take the road to France at 
 once. You can determine upon your future 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 conduct afterwards, when we are once across 
 the frontier; for though France holds this coun- 
 try by armed force, still it is not our own, and 
 while we keep the fortresses, we are obliged to 
 leave the open country to its fate. — Ha!" he 
 continued, gazing along the road, down which 
 a party of his attendants were now leading a 
 horse, bearing the poor quiet souhrettey who 
 had followed her mistress through that eventful 
 night. " Ha ! here come some of my people, 
 seemingly with a woman servant. If she be 
 any one you can depend upon, it may be a 
 great comfort to you to have her with you." 
 
 " She is my own maid," replied the lady, 
 " and I think, my lord, as you do, that we had 
 better in the first instance make our way into 
 France direct, if the distance be not great to 
 the frontier." 
 
 " It is but a few hours' ride," replied the 
 count. " But we must lose no time lest the 
 enemy be upon us." 
 
 Though Isabel was fatigued and exhausted 
 with sorrow, agitation, and want of rest, she 
 signified her readiness to proceed at once, and
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 2 II 
 
 the horses in her litter were turned in the 
 direction of the frontier. Her maid, tooj weary 
 with the long journey on horseback, took her 
 place beside her mistress in the more easy con- 
 veyance; and the Count de Meyrand, riding 
 close to the vehicle, continued to offer to 
 Isabel de Brienne every kindly and soothing 
 attention. Nor was his manner marked by any 
 such signs of admiration or affection as could 
 give her pain ; but at the same time it must be 
 confessed she would have been much better satis- 
 fied to have been left to a communion with her 
 own thoughts. The mere necessity of travelling 
 any distance under the guidance and protection 
 of a man whose love she had been forced to re- 
 ject, and who had pressed it upon her in a way 
 that she felt to be insulting, was painful in the 
 highest degree ; and the prospect of having to 
 proceed far in such circumstances was so grie- 
 vous, that she resolved at all risks to avoid it. 
 What plan she was to form for this purpose 
 was a question which required much thought 
 to answer; but the count took care that she 
 should have no time either for calm consider- 
 p 2
 
 212 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 ation, or for discussing her future prospects with 
 the woman who accompanied her, and who was, 
 in fact, the only one now with her whom she 
 had known long and welh 
 
 Ere tliree hours were over, they passed the 
 frontier into France; and Isabel could not help 
 thinking it strange, that, if the Lord of Mas- 
 seran's purpose had been to throw himself into 
 the hands either of the emperor or of Philip 
 of Spain, he should thus have approached within 
 a few leagues of the French territory. There 
 were other circumstances also in all that had 
 passed which puzzled her ; but she had no 
 means of accounting for any of these matters, 
 and could not lull to sleep the suspicions which 
 they occasioned. 
 
 At the first village which they came to, it was 
 found necessary to pause for the purpose of re- 
 freshing the horses of the litter; and every thing 
 that could be procured for her comfort and con- 
 venience was ordered with prompt and careful 
 attention by the Count of Meyrand. When he 
 had seen that a chamber had been prepared for 
 her in the little inn, where she could repose for
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 21^ 
 
 an hour or two, and that refreshments of various 
 kinds were in active preparation, he ordered his 
 horse to be brought round again, much to her 
 surprise, saying, " It will be better for me now 
 to leave you, Mademoiselle de Brienne. You 
 will be in security here till my return ; but I 
 must go and scour the country towards Cham- 
 bery, to make sure that none of this man's 
 parties have crossed the frontier, and are watch- 
 ing for you on your onward way." 
 
 Isabel was anxious to put the best interpre- 
 tation on her companion's conduct, and it 
 seemed to her that this might merely be a de- 
 licate excuse to leave her for the time. She 
 was willing to imagine that such an explanation 
 had taken place between the count and Bernard 
 de Rohan as to deprive the former of all hope 
 of obtaining her hand, and she fancied that 
 Adrian de Meyrand's conduct, in tlie present in- 
 stance, might be guided by a wish to show that 
 his purposes were only those of friendship and 
 honourable courtesy. She would not, however, 
 banish the suspicions to which woman's instinc- 
 tive insight into the passion of which she is the 
 p 3
 
 214 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 object gave rise, and, for fear of being mis- 
 taken, she would not say one word to prevent 
 his going, although she felt that it was scarcely 
 courteous of her not to do so, and though she 
 thought that there was an expression of disap- 
 pointment on his face at the cold indifference 
 with which she heard the announcement.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 215 
 
 CHAP. XL 
 
 The Count de ^Nleyrand and his horsemen 
 ■wound slowly away from the door of the little 
 cabaret, leaving Isabel de Brienne and her 
 maid the only tenants of the place. Both were 
 extremely tired; and the lady herself would 
 have desired to lie down to rest at once rather 
 than wait for the preparation of any kind of 
 food, but that she was also anxious to converse 
 over her situation with her attendant, and to 
 see, if between them, they could not devise 
 some plan of future conduct which might ob- 
 viate the difficulties which surrounded her. 
 She therefore did not even propose to take rest ; 
 and began the conversation at once ; but taci- 
 turn as the woman always was, she was at pre- 
 sent more so than ever. There was not only 
 a sort of sullenness in her manner which some- 
 what displeased Isabel ; but she spoke rather 
 p 4
 
 216 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 ill the tone of one who had been injured than 
 in compassion for the greater sufferings of her 
 mistress. In answer to all inquiries regarding 
 what had been done in the chapel after iier 
 lady had lost the power of observing what was 
 passing, she replied merely, that she had been 
 as frightened as any body, and thought of 
 nobody but herself. 
 
 " You seem to be grieved. Marguerite," said 
 Isabel de Brienne, after this sort of conduct 
 had proceeded some time — " you seem to be 
 grieved, Marguerite, that you have aided me in 
 this business, and so brought some inconve- 
 niences upon yourself." 
 
 " No, mademoiselle," she said, shortly, " but 
 I am very tired." 
 
 " Then I think you had better go to bed," 
 replied Isabel — " I shall not want you for some 
 hours." 
 
 " I will, presently, mademoiselle," replied the 
 maid ; " but I am very hungry." 
 
 Isabel had not the heart to smile, as she 
 might have done on another occasion ; for 
 Selfishness is, perhaps^ less offensive when it
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 217 
 
 Stands out in its plain simplicity than when it is 
 discovered through a hypocritical disguise. In 
 fact, like ugliness, it is more ugly when painted. 
 Almost as the soubrette spoke, however, the 
 good woman of the house, who was a widow, 
 brought in with her own hands, and the hands 
 of a maid-servant — which were exactly like 
 another pair of her own, for they enacted 
 nothing without her orders — several dishes for 
 the morning meal, which were placed with all 
 due reverence before Isabel de Brienne. The 
 young lady tried to eat ; but as she did so, the 
 thought of many painful things, of the probable 
 situation of him she loved best, and of the dark 
 fate that might be hanging over him, came 
 across her mind ; and, to use the homely but 
 expressive words of old John Hall, when de- 
 scribing the conduct of the first famous Duke 
 of Buckingham, between his arrest and his 
 execution, " The meat would not down." 
 
 The soubrette, however, made up for her 
 mistress's want of appetite, and ate plentifully 
 of all that was set before her. When she 
 had done, Isabel bade her retire to rest, and at
 
 218 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 the same time ordered the food to he taken 
 away. Tlie soubrette at once obeyed, and left 
 the room ; and the kind-hearted hostess remark- 
 ing that the young lady had taken nothing, was 
 pressing her at least to drink some wine, for the 
 excellence of which she vouched, when Isabel 
 de Brienne, whose face was towards the window, 
 gave a slight start, and replied almost imme- 
 diately, " No, my good dame, the first thing 
 that will do me good is a little quiet reflection. — 
 I think," she added, " that I saw just now a good 
 monk, seemingly a pilgrim by the scallop on his 
 shoulder, pass close to the window^, as if to sit 
 down on the bench at the door. Give him that 
 dish of meat, and tell him a lady sent it who 
 begs a prayer of him, as she has been in some 
 trouble since last night.'* 
 
 The worthy dame of the cabaret gladly took 
 up the dish with her own hands, and carried it 
 forth to the wanderer. She then returned to 
 remove some other things, and Isabel asked 
 somewhat eagerly, " What did he say?" 
 
 *' Oh ! madam, he sent you thanks,'* replied 
 the hostess, " and took out a rosary, which he
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 219 
 
 said had hung up at Loretto for many years, and 
 began immediately to repeat as many paters 
 and aves as would cost a score of crowns from 
 our parish priest." 
 
 " Did he say nothing else ? " asked Isabel, 
 with a somewhat disappointed look. 
 
 The hostess replied in the negative, and 
 shortly after left the young lady alone to repose. 
 A deeper shade of melancholy then came over 
 her. She sat and leaned her head upon her hand; 
 and again and again the thoughts of her own 
 situation, and that of him she loved, came 
 across her mind with the painful, fruitless 
 reiteration which is the most wearying, per- 
 haps, of all the forms of care. To know and 
 feel that activity and exertion are absolutely 
 necessary — to have hope, only just suflficient to 
 deprive one of the courage of despair — to be- 
 lieve that there is a possibility of changing our 
 situation, yet not to know how that change can 
 be by any means effected, how exertion should 
 be directed, or w^here hope would guide; — such 
 is the state into which, from time to time, w^e 
 fall in our passage through life, and stand like
 
 220 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 men in one of those thick impervious mists 
 which are not absolutely darkness, but wliich 
 are worse than darkness itself, from not being 
 like it dissolvable by light. 
 
 She thought not indeed so much of herself 
 as of another. She thought of Bernard de Ro- 
 han with deep, with strong, with tender affec- 
 tion ; and after some minutes of vague and wild 
 inquiries as to what she could do next, she was 
 obliged to turn to chance and fortune to find a 
 footing for hope to rest upon — no, not to 
 chance and fortune, but to the beneficence and 
 mercy of God. There, then, her hope fixed, 
 ay, and seemed to refresh itself. " Could she 
 rot," she asked herself — " could she not be, 
 by some means, instrumental in aiding him 
 she loved, let his situation be what it might?" . 
 
 She had gathered from the struggle that had 
 taken place in the chapel, from the want of all 
 sounds of clashing steel, or other indications of 
 actual combat, and also from the manner in 
 which she had been herself dealt with, that 
 her lover had been overpowered and made a 
 prisoner before he could resist. She did not
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 2'2l 
 
 believe that the Lord of Masseran would dare 
 to attempt his life. The risk, she thought, 
 would be far too great for the object to be at- 
 tained, for in truth she knew not what that 
 object was, and believed it to be less than it 
 really was, and far different. If, then, he were 
 a captive in the chateau of Masseran, could 
 she not, she asked herself, find means to pro- 
 cure his deliverance ? She had heard of such 
 things being done — ay, in the very age and 
 times in which she lived. She had heard of 
 woman's weak hand and persevering affection 
 executing what man's strength and wisdom had 
 failed to perform, and hers was a heart which, 
 though gentle, kind, and yielding in the mo- 
 ment of happiness and security, was conscious 
 of fortitude, and strength, and courage, when 
 danger and evil assailed those that she loved. 
 
 " My father's spirit," she said, '' the spirit 
 of him who endured the whole wrath and indig- 
 nation of a despotic king, sooner than abandon 
 the friend of his youth, will bear me up through 
 any trials, while I have the object of delivering 
 him I love."
 
 222 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 But how, how ? was the question ; what 
 means could she take, what stratagems could 
 she employ, while she was watched by the eyes 
 of Adrian de Meyrand ? Should she confide 
 her purposes to him — should she appeal to his 
 courtesy — to his friendship for her lover — 
 to his generosity ? Should she confide in him ? 
 Dared she to do so ? 
 
 As she asked herself these questions, some- 
 thing darkened the light, as if passing across 
 the window. She looked up. — It was all clear 
 again. The day was bright and sunshiny, and 
 the rays pouring in from the south-west. The 
 window was a narrow cottage lattice, in a stone 
 frame, divided into three partitions. It might 
 have been a branch of the honeysuckle that 
 climbed around it, which had been blown across 
 by the wind, and caused the shadow. It might 
 have been but a cloud passing over the sun ; 
 and she bent her head again, and fell once 
 more into thought. The instant after, the 
 shadow came again, and a voice said, " Are you 
 quite alone?" 
 
 Isabel looked up. The pilgrim, whom she
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 223 
 
 had before seen, was standing near the window, 
 leaning on his staff, not exactly turned towards 
 her, but standing with his shoulder towards 
 the open lattice, and his eyes apparently bent 
 onwards towards Savoy. Tliere was something 
 in his air familiar to her, though she could not 
 tell in what it consisted. It had struck her 
 before as he passed : even more perhaps in that 
 momentary glance than it did now, when she 
 saw him fully; and she could scarcely think 
 that it was the pilgrim who spoke ; or, if so, 
 that it was to her he addressed himself. After 
 a moment, however, he turned his face again 
 for an instant towards the window, repeating, 
 " Are you quite alone?" 
 
 "Quite !" replied Isabel. 
 
 " Then come near the window," said the 
 same voice : " sit in the window-seat as if you 
 were looking out. I will rest on this stepping- 
 stone hard by. Let our words be short, and 
 few, and low^ in tone — each word well pondered 
 before it is spoken, and your eyes upon the door 
 of the room from time to time." 
 
 The view which Isabel had of his face had
 
 224 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 shown her the features of an old man, some- 
 wliat sharp and keen, though they were much 
 hidden under his hood, which was formed like 
 that of a capuchin. His beard, which was 
 very white, was not so long as that of the 
 generality of monks, and she concluded that it 
 had been only suffered to grow during the 
 period of his pilgrimage. He was a venerable- 
 looking man, however; and as it was evident 
 that he knew something of her situation, she 
 imagined that he bore her some message, and 
 hastened to follow his directions. The mo- 
 ment she had taken her place at the window, 
 he sat down on one of the stepping-stones 
 placed to aid travellers in mounting their 
 horses, and there, with his face still turned 
 away from her, commenced the conversation by 
 asking, " Do you not know me ?" 
 
 "Your voice and your air," she said, "are 
 familiar to me, but I know nothing more." 
 
 " I am Father Willand," said the pilgrim, 
 " who baptized you in your infancy, watched 
 you for the first nine years of your life, till 
 your father procured me what he thought ad-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 225 
 
 vancement in Paris, and who united you last 
 night to the man for whom that father had ever 
 destined you." 
 
 *' Good Heaven ! " exclaimed Isabel — "I 
 thought you had fallen into the power of that 
 evil Piedmontese ; for I could not conceive it 
 possible, when we were all so completely sur- 
 rounded, that you should make your way out.'* 
 
 " They caught the other priest instead of 
 me," replied Father Willand, '* and I lay hid 
 behind the altar till they were all dispersed 
 and gone. Your husband, lady, however, has 
 fallen into the power of one enemy, and you 
 into the power of another, or what is worse 
 than an enemy, a daring, treacherous, unhe- 
 sitating lover." 
 
 " Call him not so. Father Willand ! — call him 
 not so I" replied Isabel. " Love elevates, enno- 
 bles, and purifies " 
 
 '• Do not let us discuss love, lady," replied the 
 priest, " I have nothing to do with it, but yet 
 understand it, perhaps, better than you do. 
 Love is applied to a thousand different things, 
 and what is its right meaning were of long 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 argument. All I know is, that you must not 
 remain with this man an hour longer than you 
 can help." 
 
 " Tell me how I can escape from him," said 
 Isabel, in the same low tone. " Nothing 1 de- 
 sire more ! — But still let me do him justice: he 
 has this day behaved well and kindly towards 
 me, perilled his life to save me, and treated me 
 with respect and delicacy." 
 
 *' Perilled his life !" said Father Willand — 
 " guns fired without balls, lady ! swords drawn, 
 without bloodshed ! a farce that would not have 
 deceived a child ! They knew you to be but a 
 child, or they would not have tried it ! Did 
 you see one man fall, or fallen ? Did you see 
 one drop of blood shed, for all the powder 
 expended ? " 
 
 " But still," said Isabel, though she had cer- 
 tainly neither seen wounds nor death follow the 
 apparently smart encounter between the Count 
 de Meyrand and the Lord of Masseran — " but 
 still, he has been gentle and kind, and professes 
 to leave me entirely to decide upon my own 
 conduct."
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 227 
 
 " Try him, try him,'' said the priest : " use 
 the hberty he professes to give, and you will 
 find yourself a stricter prisoner than you were 
 when in the castle of Masseran. Hearken," he 
 continued, " for I must not be here long, I have 
 followed you from last night till now; taking 
 shorter paths than you have been led by, it is 
 true: but still, lady, I am somewhat old, and 
 somewhat fat; and, though of the quick tribe, an 
 old greyhound will not run as long as a young 
 one. I must have some repose ; but to-night I 
 shall be ready to give you aid wherever you 
 may then be. When it comes, take it at a 
 moment's warning ; and in the mean time, to 
 make yourself sure of what you are about, 
 exercise this liberty that you think you have. 
 The Count de Meyrand judges you are about 
 to set out for Paris to-morrow morning direct; 
 tell him to-night that you have considered, and 
 determined upon going to Grenoble to meet 
 your brother Harry. Then see what he says. 
 If he agree thereunto honestly, well and good ; 
 trust him ! If, on the contrary, he teach you 
 to feel that his will must be your law, then trust 
 Q 2
 
 228 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 me, and come with me whithersoever I shall 
 guide you ! " 
 
 Isabel paused thoughtfully for a moment. 
 " Not to Grenoble," she said, at length ; *' I 
 must not go to Grenoble yet ! That is too far ; 
 but if any one would convey intelligence to my 
 brother of where I am, and bid him join me 
 instantly at Latour, then, indeed, I might 
 succeed " 
 
 " Succeed in what ? " demanded the priest. 
 
 « In freeing him," replied Isabel ; and though 
 the blood rose up in her cheek as she said it, 
 she added, the more resolutely from a slight 
 smile that came from the priest's countenance, 
 as he turned for an instant towards her — " In 
 freeing my husband." 
 
 " Oh, fear not, fear not, pretty one ! " re- 
 plied the priest. " We'll get your bird out of 
 the cage yet — never fear. Indeed, I did not 
 come hither without taking care that those 
 should have information of where he is, and how 
 lie is, who may best contrive the means for his 
 escape." 
 
 << Still," replied Isabel, " I would rather not
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 229 
 
 be far absent from the spot until I see him 
 free." 
 
 " If you fancy, child," replied the priest, 
 " that I want you to go to Grenoble, you must 
 fancy a fox to be a more stupid beast than a 
 sheep. I only told you to propose it, that you 
 may try this fair Count of Meyrand. Trust 
 him in nothing, child, till you see a dove drop 
 her eggs in a hawk's nest — or till the sweet 
 days come back again when the lamb lies down 
 with the lion ? The nature of the wolf does not 
 change, and he who would insult you one day 
 will not protect you the next ! Mark my 
 words then, lady, and follow my counsel : lie 
 down and take rest even now, so that your 
 mind may be quick and prompt, and your 
 limbs free and active this night. "When this 
 count returns, go on with him to Latour, then 
 tell him your intention is to turn aside to Gre- 
 noble. You will see in a moment whether you 
 may trust him or me. Decide between us at 
 once, when you have so tried him ; and after 
 that, do not lay down your head upon your 
 Q 3
 
 230 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 pillow till you have seen me and given me a 
 reply." 
 
 " But how shall I see you?" demanded Isa- 
 bel — "how shall I know where ?" 
 
 " I will find the means," replied the priest, 
 interrupting her. " We must use bad things 
 to good ends, lady ; and a brown gown, which, 
 between Paris and Loretto, covers more sin 
 and wickedness, "year after year, than all the 
 pope's indulgences can well clear away, will 
 carry me into many a house where no other 
 key could gain me entrance. If you should 
 satisfy yourself that you are in danger where 
 you are, be prepared to follow me at a moment's 
 notice. I will at least set you free to go where 
 you will, and will help you in all good pur- 
 poses, if I can. But above all, be as secret, 
 my child, as the grave ; utter not a word of 
 this to any one. I have heard by tradition 
 that a woman once kept a secret four-and- 
 twenty hours : all I ask of you, is to keep one 
 six ; and now, farewell, for we must talk toge- 
 ther no more." 
 
 Thus saying, lie left her ; and Isabel con-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 231 
 
 tinued to gaze from the window, pondering 
 thoughtfully over all that had been said. It 
 is a terrible question, the first time that man 
 has to put it to his own heart — who can we 
 trust ? But this, alas ! was not the first time 
 that Isabel de Brienne had to ask herself that 
 painful and bitter thing. With her, as with 
 every one, in advancing into life, the question 
 had been often and sadly repeated, and the 
 bounds of the reply had become narrow and 
 more narrow. Oh, how few are there through- 
 out all existence that we can trust — fully, 
 entirely, confidently trust ! The faith of one ; 
 the wisdom of another ; the courage of a third ; 
 the resolution of a fourth ; the activity, the 
 energy, the zeal, of others ; — all ! all ! may be 
 doubtful ; and, alas ! in looking back through 
 life, the sad and terrible summing up will ever 
 be, that our confidence has been far too often 
 misplaced than wrongly withheld. 
 
 The question, however, which Isabel had now 
 to address to herself was more limited in its 
 nature and character. It was only, — which 
 Q 4
 
 232 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 of these two men shall I choose to trust? — that 
 she had now to ask herself. Those she had to 
 choose between were limited to two. One of 
 those two she had already had occasion to 
 doubt and to dislike, to fear and to avoid ; and 
 she could not but feel that over all he had since 
 done to remove the first evil impression of his 
 conduct there was a tinge of suspicion which 
 she could not remove. Of the other, indeed, 
 she knew little; but that little seemed to 
 prove his attachment to herself and to him 
 whom she loved. Acts that have made us 
 very happy leave behind them a sort of tender 
 but imperishable light, which invests all who 
 have had any share in them, and brings them 
 all out in brightness to the eye of memory, 
 from the twilight gloom of the past, like those 
 salient objects in an evening landscape, upon 
 which we still catch the rays of a sun that has 
 long set to our own eyes. Not only the willing 
 agents of our happiness, but those that bore an 
 iniinterested part therein — objects animate or 
 inanimate alike — the spot — the accessories —
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 233 
 
 the very scene itself — • all still retain a portion of 
 that light, and shine to remembrance when 
 other things are forgotten. 
 
 The priest with whom she had just spoken, 
 however, had not only borne a willing, but 
 an active, part, in uniting her to Bernard 
 de Rohan. For that reason, she believed that 
 she might trust him ; but, besides this, he 
 had referred to former years ; and though 
 there was a long lapse of time between, spread- 
 ing a dimness like a light sea-mist between 
 herself and the objects of those days, yet there 
 were vague and pleasant recollections which 
 attached themselves by the fine links of as- 
 sociation to the tones of the old man's voice, 
 to his manner, even to the rough and somewhat 
 reckless jests which he mingled with his dis- 
 course. She remembered such a person a fre- 
 quent guest in her father's house : she remem- 
 bered that father's often -repeated commenda- 
 tions of his honesty of purpose, of his sincerity 
 of heart, of his zeal and disinterestedness; and 
 whether it was that she herself strove to find
 
 234 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 some excuses for any thing that seemed harsh 
 or h'reverent in his manner, or that her father 
 had really pronounced such words, she thought 
 that she remembered his having said that 
 Father Willand's abhorrence of hypocrisy had 
 driven him into an opposite extreme. It is 
 true she could not have recalled his features 
 sufficiently to recognise him under any other 
 circumstances ; but when once told who he 
 was, they seemed to grow more and more 
 familiar to her, and she determined to trust 
 him, let the result of the trial which he had 
 suggested for the Count de Meyrand be what 
 it would.
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. '235 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 In one of the sweetest situations that it is pos- 
 sible to conceive — with green sloping hills 
 covered with the richest vegetation rising on the 
 four sides thereof, and forming, as it were, a 
 beautiful basin, with four long valleys, each of 
 which bears onward its stream of clear and 
 sparkling water — is the little town of Bourgoin, 
 which was at that time, as now, neat, clean, and 
 fresh-looking, with, perhaps, fewer inhabitants 
 than it can at present boast, but without any of 
 the manufactories which have since somewhat 
 diminished its beauty, if they have increased 
 its wealth. 
 
 It was the custom in those days for the signs 
 to hang out far from the doors of the inn ; 
 and often at each side of the doorway was 
 placed the name of the landlord, with a long 
 recommendation of the fare and lodging to be 
 found within, with the price of the various
 
 236 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 meals which were to be furnished to a visiter. 
 A bench was there, also, and a wide door, 
 giving entrance to a court-yard. 
 
 Such was not, however, altogether the aspect 
 of the little auberge at Bourgoin. The village 
 was too small to have a regular inn, or f^ite, and 
 the homely symbol of a bush, suspended from 
 a long pole, thrust forth horizontally from the 
 front of the building, was the only sign that it 
 could boast. The landloi-d and landlady were 
 in their green old age, and were what they term 
 in France bonasse, though that word has been 
 applied to a beast, who, if one may judge by 
 his look, is of a very opposite sort of disposi- 
 tion to that which I wish to describe. They 
 were, in short, good-humoured, honest country- 
 people; and when the landlady beheld a consi- 
 derable company of horsemen draw in their 
 bridles at her door, with a young lady and her 
 maid in a litter in the midst, her first thought 
 was really not of self-interest, but of what she 
 could best do to make her fair guest happy and 
 comfortable during the time that she was about 
 to stay in her dwelling.
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. ^37 
 
 The Count de Meyrand sprang to the side 
 of the litter which contained Isabel de Brienne ; 
 and, as if with an instinctive insight into their 
 lord's wishes, all his attendants but one, who 
 was holding back the curtain, and one at the 
 head of the nearest horse, kept aloof while the 
 lady descended. 
 
 " Monsieur de Meyrand," said Isabel de 
 Brienne, as she quitted the litter, " I cannot 
 help repeating again that it is much against my 
 inclination I have come hither. If you did not 
 choose to conduct me as I asked you, on the 
 direct road to Grenoble, you might at least 
 have suffered me to remain for the night at 
 Latour." 
 
 " Indeed, dear lady," replied the count, still 
 with an air of perfect deference, " it would 
 have been dangerous for you to do so. There, 
 but a few leagues from Chambery, and still less 
 from Beauvoisin, w^e should have been en- 
 tirely at the mercy of an enemy. In regard to 
 Grenoble, I only besought you to pause till 
 you could hear my reasons. You are too much 
 fatigued to attend to them now, but ere you
 
 238 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 set out to-morrow you shall hear them at 
 full." 
 
 " Your politeness, my good lord," replied 
 Isabel de Brienne, with an air of grief and 
 vexation — " your politeness is somewhat com- 
 pulsory." Thus saying she advanced towards 
 the landlady, who had kept back at a sign from 
 one of the count's attendants, but not so far as 
 to prevent her from noting all that had passed — 
 the ears of aubergistes and aubergistes' wives 
 acquiring by long and peculiar practice a facility 
 of hearing every thing, and not hearing any 
 thing, according to circumstances, which is 
 truly astonishing. 
 
 The Count de Meyrand bowed low, and, fol- 
 lowing to the door, he ordered apartments im- 
 mediately to be prepared for his fair charge, 
 and then took leave of her for the night, while 
 a slight smile played upon his lip as he turned 
 away, and he said in his heart, " If I could 
 trust this man of Masseran, I would humour 
 the girl, and see what might be done by soft- 
 ness. She smiled upon me this morning, and 
 made me almost forget her former insolence.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 239 
 
 It were as well, however, to bring down this 
 high temper ; and now the storm is somewhat 
 roused, it may as well go on. No one can say 
 I do her wrong in using some gentle force to 
 bring her to Paris, to the presence of her 
 lawful king, who will soon judge whether that 
 ring be to remain upon her finger or not." 
 
 As he thus thought, he pictured to his own 
 imagination the marriage of fair Isabel de 
 Brienne with Bernard de Rohan annulled by 
 the royal authority. He fancied his own claim 
 to her hand heard and conceded. He thought 
 of how the fact of her travelHng alone with him 
 by slow journeys across the whole of France 
 might render her own consent a matter more of 
 necessity than choice ; and with inward satis- 
 faction he revolved the air of cool indifference 
 with which he would treat the whole proceed- 
 ings, as if there were absolutely nothing on 
 earth worth the attention of so high a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 In the mean while Isabel de Brienne was 
 led to her chamber by the hostess, who asked 
 many a kindly question, not directly pertinent
 
 240 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 to tlie conversation which she had overheard, 
 but tending to elicit tlie cause of that anxiety 
 and distress of mind which she witnessed. 
 Isabel did not satisfy her, it is true; but she 
 replied so sweetly and gently, that the good 
 woman went away with her mind made up that 
 she was the most amiable young lady she had 
 ever seen, and that she was, moreover, very 
 much ill used by some one. Who that was, she 
 could not very well satisfy herself; but never- 
 theless she looked with no very favourable eye 
 upon the Count de Meyrand, and made but 
 short replies to the various questions which he 
 asked her when she came down again. 
 
 After giving various directions to the sou- 
 brette, to which that taciturn person replied 
 less than ever, Isabel seated herself near the 
 window in melancholy thought. Removed al- 
 most by force from Latour, where the good 
 priest. Father Wilhind, expected to find her, 
 and having been now fully convinced by the 
 conduct of the Count de Meyrand, that she 
 was little better than a prisoner in his hands, 
 she knew not whence to hope for succour or
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 241 
 
 deliverance. There was many a dark and 
 painful point in her situation on which we 
 must not dwell ; many a present and many a 
 future danger to herself, to him she loved, and 
 to their mutual happiness. The thoughts con- 
 nected with these points mingled with the chief 
 strain of her reflections, and rendered them, 
 bitter as they were, still more bitter and grievous 
 to be borne. 
 
 As she thus sat and gazed out of the window 
 — at some distance from it, indeed, so that 
 those who were immediately beneath did not 
 see where she was placed — she suddenly be- 
 held a small body of horsemen come over the 
 brow of the gentle hill opposite, and ride down 
 into the village. Isabel instinctively drew back ; 
 for though her actual situation was painful in 
 no slight degree, yet amongst those horsemen 
 she recognised the colours of the Lord of Mas- 
 seran, and it seemed to her that it would be 
 even more terrible to fall into his power than 
 lo remain in that of the Count de Meyrand. 
 The men came on at a quick rate, some four 
 or five in number, and were passing by the 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 door of the little auberge without pausing, 
 when she heard the voice of the Count de Mey- 
 rand call to them and bid them stop to speak 
 with him. The first questions which he asked 
 were put in a low voice, but the man whom 
 he addressed spoke louder in reply, and Isabel 
 heard the latter say distinctly, " Yes, my lord, 
 he is gone on with all speed to Paris, and we 
 are following him as fast as we can. We hope 
 to come up with him at Lyons." 
 
 " By my faith, this is somewhat strange," 
 answered the count; and then again what he 
 said farther was lost to the ear. 
 
 In a few minutes the Count de Meyrand 
 suffered the horseman to go on ; but he seemed 
 much moved by what he had heard, saying 
 aloud, " This man will never be honest. We 
 must not let him be long in advance. The 
 horses must be ready by daybreak to-morrow, 
 Matthew. Pierre put your foot in the stirrup, 
 and ride after those men : I saw one of them turn 
 away from the road just now, by the clump of 
 trees on the top of the hill. If they put their hand 
 into the wolf's mouth,_they must bear a bite."
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 243 
 
 Before the daylight failed, the man to whom 
 he last spoke returned, informing him that as far 
 as he could discover, the whole party had gone on 
 towards Lyons ; and the count, better satisfied, 
 turned once more into the inn, and sat himself 
 down to supper in a musing mood. He sent 
 up, indeed, a humble entreaty that- the fair lady 
 whom he had the honour to escort, as he termed 
 it, would join him at the evening meal ; but 
 the reply returned was, that Mademoiselle de 
 Brienne had retired to rest. 
 
 The count soon after sought his pillow him- 
 self; but accustomed by old habits to wake 
 at any particular hour assigned, he started up 
 with the first gleam of daylight, and gave in- 
 stant orders for preparing to set out. There 
 were few persons yet up in the inn ; but the 
 good landlady was roused, unwillingly, fi'om 
 her bed, and ordered instantly to wake Ma- 
 demoiselle de Brienne, and give her notice 
 that it was time to depart. The count him- 
 self stood at the bottom of the stairs with his 
 arms folded upon his chest, in that gloomy 
 frame of mind to which dissatisfaction with 
 R 2
 
 244 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 ourselves is even more sure to give birth, than 
 dissatisfaction with the things around us. But 
 he was roused from his reverie by hearing some 
 bustle and anxious exclamations above, the 
 voice of the hostess raised to the tones of 
 wonder and astonishment, the tongue of the 
 silent maid heard at a considerably louder pitch 
 than was at all usual, and other indications so 
 decided of something having gone wrong as to 
 induce the Count de Meyrand himself to quit 
 his usual calm deliberation, and spring up the 
 stairs with a quick step and an angry brow. 
 
 He found the door of the room which had 
 been assigned to Mademoiselle de Brienne un- 
 closed, the hostess standing a few steps within, 
 the soubrette near the bed-side, the window 
 wide open, with the morning air sighing quietly 
 through the lattice, and Isabel herself no where 
 to be seen. 
 
 "Where is your mistress?" demanded the 
 count furiously, fixing his eyes upon the 
 soubrette. 
 
 " I know not, sir," replied the woman. 
 
 " Her bed has never been slept in all night,"
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 245 
 
 replied tlie hostess. " Pier sweet cheek has 
 never rested on that pillow, poor thing. She 
 must have got out of the window, that is clear; 
 and if any ill have happened to her, somebody 
 is to blame for it, I am sure." 
 
 " Silence ! " said the count, looking at her 
 sternly. — " Did you not undertake," he con- 
 tinued, turning to the soubrette, '• never to lose 
 sitrht of her ? " 
 
 o 
 
 " I can't sleep with my eyes open," replied 
 the woman. 
 
 " This is that scoundrel Masseran's doing," 
 said the count ; " but he shall find himself de- 
 ceived, for I will be in Paris as soon as he is. 
 You, madam, will be good enough to come 
 along with me, so put your dress in some better 
 array, and lose no time." 
 
 He looked as if he could have said a great 
 deal more, but he restrained himself; and 
 though the anger that he felt at heart found 
 relief in a bitter and sneering smile, unac- 
 companied by any words, he turned upon 
 his heel, walked down to the inn door, and 
 remained for a few minutes looking forth upon 
 R 3
 
 246 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 the morning, as if nothing had happened. 
 In a minute or two after, seeing one of his 
 men pass, he beckoned to him, spoke a word 
 or two in his ear, and suffered him to depart. 
 The man returned in a few minutes, and 
 replied, " They are all ignorant of any thing of 
 the kind, sir. It is evident none of the people 
 of the place know aught about it." 
 
 "Have you seen the landlord?" demanded 
 the count. 
 
 «No!'' 
 
 " Go and make inquiries regarding him." 
 
 The man did as he was bid, and the reply 
 was, " That the landlord had gone away towards 
 the market at St. Laurent an hour or two 
 before daybreak, as was always his custom." 
 
 " That is sufficient," said the count, with a 
 sneer. " Quick with the horses ; let us mount 
 and go on."
 
 COKSE DE LEOX. 247 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 The gi'eat tamers of strong spirits, the quellers 
 of the rebellious heart, the conquerors of the 
 obdurate, the determined, and the enduring, 
 Silence and Solitude, were upon Bernard de 
 Rohan. To know nothing of what is passing 
 without — to have no marker of the steps of 
 time — to see no sun rise or set — to have not 
 even the moving shadow upon the wall to tell 
 us that another lapse of the wearisome hours 
 has taken place — to have nothing, in short, to 
 link us on to human destinies, and to show us 
 that we are wending on our way with our fellow- 
 beings — nothing but the dull beatings of the 
 heavy heart, and the grinding succession of 
 bitter thoughts ; — this, surely, is not life ; and 
 if it be not death, it is something worse. 
 Where there is no change of any thing to mark 
 its passing, time seems, in truth, to sink back 
 R 4
 
 248 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 into that ocean from which it was called at 
 first. Eternity : and, wanting all means of cal- 
 culating its flight, Bernard de Rohan did, in- 
 deed, feel each moment to be an age. Actual 
 pain would have been almost a relief to the 
 despairing vacuity of that which must have 
 been the second day of his confinement. We 
 can scarcely doubt that the punishment of Pro- 
 metheus would have been more complete, had 
 lie been left in the solitude of the frowning 
 heavens, without the vulture as his companion, 
 though his tormentor. 
 
 No one came near the young cavalier 
 throughout the whole day. The food which 
 had been left for him was just sufficient for the 
 four-and-twenty hours : more than sufficient as 
 it proved, indeed, for he tasted it not; and 
 when, at the end of that period, it was re- 
 newed, so quick was the passing in and out of 
 him who brought the fresh supply, that the 
 young cavalier scarcely saw the man's entrance 
 ere the door was again closed, and he was once 
 more alone. 
 
 It seemed to him several hours after this
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 249 
 
 brief visitation had been made — and true it 
 is, he had gone through so many ranges of 
 painful thought, that they might well have 
 furnished occupation and bitterness for more 
 than one long day — when he heard a sound 
 at the door of the dungeon, as if some one 
 endeavoured, witli an unaccustomed hand, to 
 draw back the heavy bolts, and turn a key in 
 the lock. At the same time, he heard a low 
 deep voice murmur ; " The fool should have 
 left a lamp I " — " Ay, that is right ! " and the 
 next moment the key turned, the lock gave 
 way, and the door was thrown open. 
 
 The lamp which had been left with Bernard 
 de Rohan burned but dimly, for it had been 
 long untrimmed, so that at first the young 
 cavalier did not recognise the person who en- 
 tered. The next instant, however, his visiter 
 spoke, and the deep but melodious voice in- 
 stantly brought to the prisoner's recollection 
 his wild companion. Corse de Leon. 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur de Rohan," said the bri- 
 gand, looking around him as he entered, " I 
 have not forgotten you, you see. Out upon
 
 250 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 that scoundrel ! how dared he put you in such 
 a place as this ? He might have given you a 
 befitting chamber, at all events." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan grasped his hand; and, 
 needing no words to assure him that the bri- 
 gand came to set him free, he thanked him 
 again and again, but mingled, however, his 
 thanks with some mar veilings to see him within 
 the chateau of Masseran. 
 
 The brigand smiled. " There is nothing 
 wonderful in it. Monsieur de Rohan,'* he re- 
 plied. " There is not a door in this castle that 
 does not open to me as readily as to its lord. 
 All these things are easily explained. Some of 
 the poor people with whom I have to do think 
 me half a magician, and it is not worth while 
 to undeceive them, though I seek not for any 
 such reputation. Truth is marvellous enough, 
 without trying to make it more wonderful," 
 he continued in a musing tone ; " and all that 
 I do which seems strange, may, nine times 
 out of ten, be explained by a single word. I 
 believe that it is so, too, with the wonders of 
 creation. We gaze with surprised and asto-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 251 
 
 nished eyes upon thousands of things that seem 
 miracles to our earthly nature : we are, our- 
 selves, miracles to ourselves ; but I do believe 
 that all the wonders that we see, the marvel of 
 our very existence, the linking of fates toge- 
 ther, and the long net-work of events and 
 their causes, from the beginning of all things 
 to eternity, might all be explained to us by 
 some simple w^ord, which God's good pleasure 
 now withholds — by some short brief explan- 
 ation which is not fitted for this mass of moving 
 clay to receive." 
 
 As he spoke, he sat himself quietly down on 
 the edge of the bed, took up the lamp, trimmed 
 it in a careless manner, and then added ab- 
 stractedly, " We must wait a few minutes, Mon- 
 sieur de Rohan, for the horses are not come 
 yet, and it is as well to stay here as upon the 
 hill-side." 
 
 " But is there no danger of our being 
 stopped?" demanded Bernard de Rohan. 
 
 Corse de Leon smiled. " It were difficult 
 to stop me,'* he said ; '' but nobody will try to
 
 252 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 do it. You know the Lord of Masseran is 
 gone to Paris?" 
 
 " No, indeed," replied the young cavalier, 
 '^ I know nothing, and I have heard nothing, 
 since I have been a prisoner in this dreary 
 place. He has, of course, taken my Isabel 
 with him ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," replied the brigand. " He set 
 out for Paris with great speed for several rea- 
 sons: first, because he knew suspicions are 
 entertained of him in regard to his dealings 
 with the King of Spain ; next, because he 
 feared that inquiry would be made as to what 
 lias become of you, and he wished to justify 
 himself; and, next, because he did not choose 
 to trust your goodly friend, the Count of Mey- 
 rand, in any thing, but especially " 
 
 " But where, then, is Isabel ?" demanded the 
 young cavalier. 
 
 " Ay, who can say?" rejoined Corse de 
 Leon. 
 
 Bernard de Rohan started up eagerly. " Let 
 us seek for her at once, then," he said. " If, 
 as you say, all the doors of this castle open to
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 253 
 
 you as easily as to their lord, let us seek her 
 through every room in the place, and take her 
 with us when we go. In Heaven's name leave 
 her not here !" 
 
 " She is not here, wherever she is," replied 
 the brigand; "and I trust that by this time 
 she is free; — but I will tell you more by and 
 by, for I hear the clock striking one, and we 
 shall have just time to reach the hill-side before 
 the horses arrive. Come, Monsieur de Rohan, 
 come. They have taken your arms from you, 
 I see. Well, we must find 3'ou others." 
 
 Thus saying, he raised the lamp, and led 
 the way towards the door. As he went, how- 
 ever, the light fell upon the fetters which hung 
 against the wall, and he paused, gazing upon 
 them and frowning heavily. " Ah, ah, accursed 
 implements of tyranny !" he muttered. " When, 
 when will the time come that ye shall be no 
 longer known ? God of heaven ! even then it 
 must be remembered that such things have 
 been. It must be written in books. It must 
 be told in tradition, that men were found to 
 chain their fellow-creatures with heavy bars of
 
 254 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 iron, to make them linger out the bright space 
 given them for activity and enjoyment in dun- 
 geons and in fetters, till the dull flame was ex- 
 tinguished, and dust returned to dust. Would to 
 Heaven that there v^^ere no such thing as history, 
 to perpetuate, even unto times when man shall 
 have purified his heart from the filthy baseness 
 of these days, the memory of such enormous 
 deeds as fetters like that record ! Out upon it ! 
 Was it for this that man learnt to dig the ore 
 from the mine, and forge the hard metal in 
 the fire? — But come, come I lam forgetting 
 myself," and he led the way forth along the 
 same path by which Bernard de Rohan had 
 been brought from the chapel. The ponderous 
 doors in the solid rock were all open ; but the 
 young cavalier remarked that Corse de Leon 
 closed them one by one behind 'him, till at 
 length they stood in the open air at the foot of 
 the hill. 
 
 It were difficult, nay, impossible, to describe 
 the sensations which the first breath of that 
 free air produced in Bernard de Rohan. It 
 would require to have been a captive, and yet
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 255 
 
 full of the spirit of freedom, to have contem- 
 plated long imprisonment, and to be suddenly 
 set free, even to comprehend what he then felt. 
 His sensations, however, found vent but in one 
 exclamation — " Thank God ! " he said, and 
 followed his companion, who now, with rapid 
 strides, climbed the opposite side of the hill, till 
 he reached the spot where he had waited for 
 Bernard de Rohan on the night when first they 
 met. No horses were there, however, and 
 Corse de Leon seated himself on a point of the 
 crag, and seemed about to fall into one of his 
 fits of reverie : but his young companion was 
 not disposed to rest satisfied without some fur- 
 ther information. 
 
 " Now," he said — " now ! You promised to 
 tell me more — you promised to tell me more 
 concerning Isabel. With whom is she ? In 
 whose hands is she, if not in those of the Lord 
 of Masseran ?'* 
 
 " She was," replied Corse de Leon — " she 
 was in the hands of your bright friend, the 
 Count de Meyrand." 
 
 Bernard de Rohan's hand grasped for the
 
 256 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 liilt of his sword; but it was gone, and he only 
 muttered the words " Villain, villain ! I thought 
 I heard that treacherous voice. Who shall one 
 depend upon in this world?'* 
 
 " Upon none of those," replied Corse de 
 Leon, " whom men are accustomed to depend 
 upon. Not upon the gay companion of the 
 wine-cup, who aids us pleasantly to spend our 
 wealth, or to squander our more precious time 
 — not upon him — not upon him, young gentle- 
 man ! Not upon the smooth spoken and the 
 plausible adviser, who counsels with us on 
 things where our own interest and his are com- 
 bined, and who uses our exertions and our 
 means to share in our fortune and our success — • 
 not upon him, I say, not upon him ! Not upon 
 the sweet flatterer, who either dexterously 
 insinuates how virtuous, and great, and good, 
 and wise we are, or who boldly overloads us 
 with praise, in the hope of some, at least, being 
 received — not upon him, I say. Not upon the 
 pander to our vices or our follies, even though 
 he sell his soul to pamper us with gratification
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 257 
 
 — not upon him. Not upon tlie light wanton, 
 who yields us what she should refuse, vowing 
 that it is love for us which conquers, when love 
 for many another has gone before — not upon 
 her. Neither on the priest that preaches virtue 
 without practising it; neither upon the soft 
 hypocrite, nor upon the rude hypocrite ; nei- 
 ther upon the one who assumes sleek sanctity, 
 nor upon tlie other who builds the reputation 
 of honesty upon a rough outside. There are 
 some that will weep with you, and some that 
 will laugh with you — some that will discourse, 
 and some that will sport with you; but trust 
 in none but him that you have tried, but him 
 whom you know to be honest to himself, and 
 who has proved himself honest to you. — We 
 were spiking of the Count de Meyrand. That 
 he has beti'ayed you and deceived you, most 
 shamefully, is his fault, not yours, for though you 
 believed him honest, you did not weakly trust 
 him. It were well when you find him, to nail 
 his ears to tlie door-post, but still you have no- 
 thing to reproach yourself with. — I trust, how- 
 ever, that sweet and good lady is, by this time, 
 VOL. T. s
 
 258 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 freed from his hands, for one who loves her very 
 well has undertaken that part of the task." 
 
 " But how ?" exclaimed Bernard de Rohan, 
 *' how came she in his power at all ?" 
 
 Corse de Leon replied briefly, but with suffi- 
 cient detail to show his hearer at one glance all 
 that had taken place in regard to Isabel de 
 Brienne since he had seen her. The deep and 
 bitter indignation that gathered at the young 
 cavalier's heart, as his companion went on, was 
 not of a nature that wasted itself in many words. 
 " This must be looked to," he said — " this must 
 be looked to ! and now, my friend, to think of 
 this dear girl's escape. Can we trust to good 
 Father Willand ? — Not his faith, I mean, but 
 his power. He is there, it would seem, alone, 
 unaided, unsupported, to cope with a man artful, 
 rich, powerful, and numerously followed." 
 
 " We may trust him, 1 am sure," replied the 
 other. " This count's art, like all pitiful art, 
 will help to deceive himself; and in quiet wis- 
 dom he cannot compete with the good priest. 
 Besides, Father Willand is not so unsupported 
 as you think. It may seem strange to you to
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 259 
 
 hear, but many of your own men, nay. I believe, 
 all, are with him, or round about him." 
 
 " No," replied Bernard de Rohan, " that 
 surprises me not. ]Most of them are born 
 within sight of the lands of Brienne — most of 
 them have often seen and know her well, and 
 there is none who has seen her that would not 
 willingly sacrifice life to serve her." 
 
 Corse de Leon smiled with somewhat of a 
 melancholy expression. In life, when we have 
 lost any of those sweet delusions which — like 
 the radiant colours of the morning sky — clothe, 
 at the dawning of our youth, thin air itself and 
 unsubstantial vapours, nay, perhaps, even the 
 cloudy home of the future storm, with loveliness 
 and radiance, and the most glowing hues of 
 heaven's own golden treasury — when we have 
 lost those sweet delusions, I say, and any one 
 with whom they still remain speaks of the reality 
 of things w^hose emptiness we have proved ; 
 how sad, how profoundly sad, is the contrast 
 suddenly presented to us, of what we were and 
 what we are ! — how melancholy is the convic- 
 tion of the emptiness of our dream-like life ! 
 s 2
 
 260 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 And yet tliere is something sweet which mingles 
 even with our sadness, to see otliers enjoying 
 and believing what we can no longer enjoy or 
 believe, something ennobling and elevating 
 that shares in our melancholy, if the feeling of 
 how unreal are life's best joys lead us to sigh 
 for those that are more true and lasting. 
 
 Bernard de Rohan saw not the expression 
 upon the countenance of his companion, al- 
 though the night was clear and bright, and 
 sufficient light remained in the heavens to make 
 even small objects visible ; but his eyes were at 
 that moment fixed upon the castle of Masseran, 
 and more especially upon one of the outstanding- 
 towers to the north-east, separated from the 
 rest of the building by a space of two or three 
 hundred yards, and only attached to it by walls 
 and some minor fortifications. In that tower 
 there appeared a great light, at first streaming 
 through some of the upper loop-holes only. 
 After a moment or two, however, it became 
 brighter and brighter, and poured through all 
 the windows of the story below. Bernard de 
 Rohan could almost have imagined that as he
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 261 
 
 gazed he saw flames come forth and lick the 
 dark stone- work of the lower ; and he v,as soon 
 confirmed in the belief that it was so, by the 
 wreaths of pale white smoke which began to 
 ascend into the dark air and in a minute or two 
 formed a cloud above the tower, acquiring a red 
 and ominous hue as the fire below^ increased. 
 
 " Look there, look there ! " he exclaimed, 
 catching Corse de Leon's arm ; but even as he 
 spoke, the roof of the tower fell in, and a 
 pyramid of flame shot upward into the sky. 
 
 "Yes, I see," replied Corse de Leon; '-but 
 liere come the horses ! and we must go quick to 
 the spot where 1 trust we shall find her whom 
 you seek for. Then, get you across the frontier 
 into France as soon as may be. Your own 
 men will be sufficient to pi'otect you, and wi'l 
 be glad to see you, for notwithstanding that 
 ihey vnsiy, as you think, love your fair Isabel 
 well, they would not have gone unless we had 
 put a light deceit upon them, and had left them 
 to think, more than told them it was so, that 
 you and the lady were together. Those 1 have 
 with me here dare not set foot within that land, 
 s 3
 
 262 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 and the other friends I have are far distant. 
 That was the reason I did not make her free 
 myself, and punish that slight traitor as he de- 
 serves. 
 
 While he spoke, three or four horsemen ap- 
 peared, leading two other horses, and without 
 taking any farther notice of the conflagration, 
 Corse de Leon put his foot in the stirrup, and 
 springing into the saddle, rode on towards the 
 little inn which we have often before had occa- 
 sion to mention. 
 
 The young cavalier followed his example ; 
 but before they had gone a hundred yards, a 
 loud explosion took place, which shook the rocks 
 around, and echoed afar through the valley. 
 Their horses started at the sound, and Bernard 
 and his companion instantly turned their eyes 
 towards the castle of Masseran. The burning 
 tower had now lost all shape and form, though 
 part of the walls still remained, with the fire 
 clinging to them in various places. 
 
 "Do you know what that is?" demanded 
 Corse de Leon ; and ere Bernard de Bohan 
 could reply, he went on. " It is an act of folly
 
 CORSE DE LEON. -263 
 
 worthy of a king or a prime minister. Tiiere 
 are people in that castle," he said, " who, know- 
 ing of my coming and of your escape, have 
 done the act, the effects of which you see flaming 
 yonder, in order that the tower may fall in and 
 crush the dungeon into which they had thrust 
 you, solely to prevent the Lord of Masseran 
 from discovering how you have escaped. Thus 
 it is with the world ; every one act of weakness, 
 of folly, or of crime, we judge must be followed 
 by another, to conceal or to justify it. Let 
 men or ministers place themselves in a dan- 
 gerous situation by some capital fault, and then 
 they think expediency requires them to commit 
 another to obviate the effects of the first, for- 
 getting that each fault is written down in the 
 two eternal books — the Book of Fate, God's 
 servant, and the Book of God himself; and 
 that there must be a reckoning, a terrible 
 reckoning, for the whole amount, in this world 
 and in the next. Let us ride on." 
 
 s 4
 
 264 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 We must now entirely change the scene. The 
 spot is no longer the same — the actors dif- 
 ferent. From the mountains of Savoy, the 
 feudal castle, the lonely chapel, and the humble 
 inn, let us turn to the capital of France, her 
 stately palaces and the gay and glittering hall 
 where laughed and revelled the bright, the 
 brave, the fair, and the witty of that splendid 
 epoch which began with Francis the First, and 
 ended with his immediate successor. The per- 
 sonages, too, have changed with the scene. The 
 young warrior and his fair bride — the wily 
 Italian and the supercilious and unprincipled 
 Count de Meyrand, are no longer before us. 
 Even good Father Willand himself is left be- 
 hind, and one for whom we owe no slight affec- 
 tion. Corse de Leon, is for the time off the stage. 
 At the door — or rather we may say beyond
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 265 
 
 the dooi', for they were not actually in the 
 chamber — stood two of the king's (ruard, with 
 their halberts resting on their shoulders, em- 
 broidered on which appeared the well-known 
 cognisance of the salamander. They were there 
 merely to perform the place of a living gate, 
 barring the way against any who would enter, till 
 such time as the orders of the king threw open 
 the halls of the Louvre. 
 
 Henry himself, in the prime of his years, 
 graceful, handsome, vigorous, with a counte- 
 nance full of fire, but still kindly and good 
 humoured, stood at the farther end of the large 
 and nearly vacant reception room, close to 
 one of the windows, which looked out upon the 
 river Seine, speaking with a lady, on whose ap- 
 pearance we may well be expected to pause for 
 a moment. That lady was the celebrated Diana 
 of Poitiers ; and though the period had by this 
 time passed by when her dazzling beauty cap- 
 tivated all eyes as well as tliose of her royal 
 lover, she was certainly still very handsome. 
 But she had also in her countenance an expres- 
 sion of power and resolution, of quickness of
 
 266 CORSE DE LEON, 
 
 understanding and of sparkling vivacity, which 
 at once displayed many of the chief points of 
 her character. As one stood and looked at her, 
 and saw the play of her fine features, the rapid 
 changes, the sudden lighting up of the eyes, the 
 occasional look of intense eagerness, the shade 
 of momentary meditation, succeeded by the 
 bright smile, the gay laugh, the eyes cast up 
 to heaven, it was easy to understand what mani- 
 fold powers of charming and persuading lay 
 beneath, and to perceive that, whatever might 
 have been at any time the mere beauty of fea- 
 ture and expression, the chief loveliness of that 
 lovely countenance must ever have been in its 
 wonderful variety. 
 
 What was it that moved her now, what was 
 the eager scheme that she was urging upon the 
 king with such a host of wiles, and charms, and 
 graces, that it was hardly possible to expect that 
 he should resist ? Lo ! how she hangs upon his 
 arm with those two fair hands, and gazes up 
 into his face witli those speaking eyes ! Now 
 comes a shade of vexation over her brow. One 
 hand drops from his arm. Her head is partly
 
 CORSE DE LEON. "267 
 
 turned away : a tear dims the eye for an instant, 
 then leaves it brighter than before. Now, again, 
 how merrily she laughs, with the clear joyous 
 ringing laugh that we so seldom hear but from 
 the lips of infancy ; and then again that look of 
 bright and eloquent though tfulness, while with 
 her extended hand she arorues with the monarch 
 on some mighty theme, and carries high convic- 
 tion on her lofty brow ! What a wonderful pic- 
 ture does she form there, even at this very mo- 
 ment, changing by her words the destinies of 
 Europe, and with smiles, and tears, and laughter, 
 and high thoughts, all mingled in a wondrous 
 antidote, curing one of those spoilt children of 
 fortune, that we call kings, of that venomous and 
 pestilential sickness, the love of war ! 
 
 '* Well," said the king, " well, you have tri- 
 umphed. He shall have the powers, although 
 it goes against my soul to yield any thing to 
 that cold and haughty Spaniard. What though 
 fortune have, with all her fickleness, left at the 
 last a momentary balance in the scale against 
 France, have we not already retrieved much, 
 and are we not daily retrieving ? "
 
 268 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " True, sire, true," replied Diana of Poi- 
 tiers — " your armies are retrieving all that 
 was once lost. But your country, sire, alas ! 
 your country is not. France suffers, France 
 groans even, while Spain is wounded, and each 
 blow that you strike at the enemy but injures 
 yourself far more." 
 
 The king was about to reply, but she stopped 
 him eagerly: — "I am foolish to argue with 
 you," she continued. " You have said I have 
 triumphed, you have said I shall have the 
 powers ; and though he may conquer me in 
 argument, my Henry's word is never broken. 
 Besides," she added, " have I not a private suit 
 to be heard and granted also?" 
 
 " Ha !" said the king, after pausing, thought- 
 fully for a moment or two, as if he were still un- 
 convinced, and unwilling to leave the subject on 
 which they had just been conversing — "Ha! 
 I had forgot ! You did mention some private 
 suit — what, I remember not now, sweet 
 Diana. But yet it is hard even to hear of 
 peace after defeat. Were we just hot from 
 victory — were we flushed with triumph, and
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 269 
 
 our enemy reduced to lowly supplication — 
 then, indeed, then, we might hear of terms of 
 peace, and grant them liberally and willingly. 
 But after this accursed battle of St. Laurence 
 — after so total, signal, and terrible a defeat — 
 the constable himself taken — one half of the 
 nobility of the land wounded or slain — our 
 soldiers scattered, and our provinces invad- 
 ed — it is bitter indeed to hear the name of 
 peace." 
 
 " As bitter to Henry's heart," replied the 
 lady, " as the sound of war to many another 
 man. But you have promised, sire. You have 
 promised Montmorency the full powers, and — 
 you have forgotten my petition." 
 
 " Well, well," said the king, with a sigh — - 
 " what is your petition ? 1 know that you 
 have no private interest in this matter, Diana. 
 You never were a friend of Montmorency." 
 
 The lady coloured slightly, but replied at 
 once. " I never was his friend, sire, while 
 haughty fortune smiled upon him, and when 
 he urged measures harsh and injurious to the 
 country upon your majesty ; but I will own that
 
 270 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 I am his friend now, when, bearing his adver- 
 sity with calmness and with dignity, he would 
 fain persuade your majesty to that which is 
 most necessary for the safety of your realm. 
 So much, indeed, am I his friend, your majesty, 
 now, that I have promised to mingle our fami- 
 lies together by the marriage of our sweet 
 Henrietta with his son Damville. — Nay, start 
 not, sire, I told you of this before/' 
 
 " Did you ?" exclaimed the king, " did you? 
 I recollect it not. Yet now, methinks, I do 
 remember something thereof; but I must have 
 been thinking of other things. How can I 
 consent to such a contract?" continued the 
 king. " Recollect, dear lady ! Is there not a 
 story current of Damville, like his brother, 
 having bound himself by a secret marriage to 
 an Italian woman ?" 
 
 " There is some tale of the kind, sire," re- 
 plied the Duchess of Valentinois, " but I be- 
 lieve without foundation. Even were it so, 
 however, sire," she continued, eagerly, " what 
 matters it, in truth ? The connection has long- 
 ceased : the pope will annul the marriage in-
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 271 
 
 stantly; and not many months ago your majesty 
 vowed that you would give an edict rendering 
 clandestine marriages of no effect, and declar- 
 ing all illegal, but such as have the full con- 
 sent of the nearest surviving relative of both 
 parties, always under your majesty's good plea- 
 sure." 
 
 " I recollect," replied the king. " The 
 edict was drawn up, but never signed, because, 
 as it deeply affected ecclesiastical matters, it was 
 thought best to have the sanction of our holy 
 father in Rome, and he made manifold objec- 
 tions. But that edict, even had it issued, could 
 not affect the past." 
 
 *' Your majesty will pardon me," replied the 
 lady. " It had a clause which rendered it re- 
 trospective — at least I am so informed, in a 
 letter which I received not many hours ago, 
 from your faithful subject the good Count of 
 Meyrand, whom you intrusted to carry the 
 edict to Rome. — Had it not that retrospective 
 sense," she added eagerly, " the hopes and ex- 
 pectations of Montmorency and myself would 
 both be very bitterly disappointed."
 
 272 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 Tlie king's brow grew somewliat cloudy, and 
 she added suddenly, " Not for myself, sire ! — 
 I speak not for myself, and with no reference 
 to this proposed marriage between Henriettede 
 la Mark and the yonng Damville. But there 
 is one thing for which I know the good con- 
 stable has long sighed. The duke, his eldest 
 son, is more ambitious than your majesty 
 dreams of. 
 
 " Indeed !" said the king, with a slight smile. 
 " What do you mean, fair lady ? Is his ambi- 
 tion dangerous to the state?" 
 
 " Nay, nay, sire, not so," replied the duchess, 
 with a smile, seeing that the king, while affect- 
 ing ignorance, in reality understood what she 
 meant. " There is a certain lovely lady bear- 
 ing the same name as my more humble self^ 
 and somewhat near to the aflPections of your 
 royal person — near, even as a daughter, some 
 men say. She has now wept for some time in 
 widowhood ; and the young Duke of Mont- 
 morency, daringly priding himself upon the 
 royal blood that flows also in his veins, has 
 ventured to sigh for this fair lady's hand. But
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 273 
 
 the great impediment is that fatal contract 
 which he signed with Mademoiselle de Pienne, 
 without his father's knowledge and consent." 
 
 " I have heard something of tliis before," 
 said the king, to whom the idea of uniting his 
 natural daughter to the high race of Mont- 
 morency was not a little grateful. " But does 
 the constable desire this marriage for his son ? 
 If so, why did he not speak long since ?" 
 
 *' Most humbly, sire, does he desire it," re- 
 plied the lady ; " and has commissioned me to 
 sue, by every means of persuasion and entreaty, 
 that your majesty would condescend to grant 
 your consent to the union of his son with Ma- 
 dame de Farnese. He over-rates my means, I 
 know ; but he does calculate that your majesty 
 has some affection still for me, as well as some 
 regard and esteem for him." 
 
 " Much, much for both, dear lady," replied 
 the king; and then, falling into a fit of thought, 
 he added, as if speaking to himself, " This 
 marriage is most unfortunate. — But that a 
 rash boy should pay, by a whole life of celibacy 
 and regret, for the idle folly of signing his name 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 to a promise extracted from him by an artful 
 woman, is indeed too much. I^would fain see 
 the draft of the edict which was proposed." 
 
 " Here is the chancellor, sire, hard b\'," re- 
 plied the lady, pointing to a group of three or 
 four persons who had followed her into the hall 
 at her first entrance, but who had remained 
 gathered together in a group at the other end 
 of the chamber, conversing in a low voice. 
 " Here is the chancellor, sire ; perhaps he may 
 have a copy of the edict with him now." 
 
 " Perchance he may, fair dame," replied the 
 king, laying his hand fondly upon her shoulder, 
 and smiling, at the same time, at the evident 
 preparation of the whole affair — " Perchance 
 he may. Ho ! my good chancellor. We would 
 fain speak with you here a while." 
 
 At the very first word the king addressed 
 to him, a tall and somewhat meagre man, 
 in the rich and gorgeous habit of one of the 
 princes of the Roman church, took a step for- 
 ward from the rest of the group, and, bowing 
 low, advanced towards the king. He was dark 
 and pale in countenance, and his features were
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 275 
 
 of an Italian cast, while a look of shrewd, calm 
 cunning, which that cast is so well calculated to 
 assume, was the predominant expression. 
 
 " His majesty, my lord cardinal," said the 
 duchess, addressing the famous John Bertrandi, 
 and having marked well the shrewd smile upon 
 the king's countenance — " his majesty, my 
 lord cardinal, would fain see a copy of that 
 edict referring to clandestine marriages, which 
 was drawn up some months ago, but never 
 signed; I besought you this morning to seek 
 for it. Has it been found ?" 
 
 " I have it here, madam," replied the chan- 
 cellor at once, opening a portfolio which he 
 carried under his arm — " may I present it to 
 your majesty ? " and selecting from amongst a 
 number of papers which the portfolio contained 
 the one that was required at the moment, he 
 put it into the hands of Henry the Second. 
 
 The king took and read it attentively. " And 
 is this, my lord," he demanded, " in all due 
 form, and ready for promulgation ? " 
 
 " It is, sire," replied the chancellor : " want- 
 T 2
 
 276 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 ing nothing but your nicojesty's signature and 
 the seal." 
 
 Henry paused thoughtfully. " And is it,'* 
 he asked — *^ and is it altogether, and in all 
 parts, in strict accordance with the laws of 
 France ? " 
 
 " Que veut le ?'oi, vent la loi^'' replied the 
 chancellor. " What the king wills, the law 
 wills ; " and, with that tyrannical axiom, the 
 attempted enforcement of which, in France, has 
 caused more bloodshed than perhaps any other 
 line that ever was written, John Bertrandi satis- 
 fied his conscience in sanctioning that which was 
 contrary to the true spirit of all law. 
 
 Henry himself, however, was not satisfied ! 
 Although it is so easy for base counsellors — on 
 whom be eternal shame — to find specious argu- 
 ments in favour of those things which monarchs 
 wish, however evil; and although it certainly 
 was the case, that the king of France himself, 
 eagerly desiring the marriage of his natural 
 daughter with the heir of Montmorency, had 
 potent tempters in his own bosom to second the
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 277 
 
 words of Bertrandi, still he was not satisfied 
 that the retrospective act proposed to him was 
 risht. He looked first at the cardinal ; next 
 turned his eyes for a moment to the counte- 
 nance of Diana of Poitiers ; smiled doubtfully, 
 and then said, '• Put it up, my lord cardinal, 
 put it up I I will take one day more to con- 
 sider of it. Nay, look not grieved, fair dame, 
 it shall have favourable consideration. Forget 
 not that both our wishes run in the same way. 
 Now let us speak of other things, Diana. — Do 
 you come to our gay hall to-night? — Nay, you 
 must not be absent," he added, seeing that the 
 duchess looked down somewhat mournfully ; 
 " Henriette de la Mark must dance a gaillarde 
 with her lover Damville." 
 
 " But can her lover ever be her husband?" 
 demanded Diana, gazing reproachfully in the 
 king's face, and then adding, with consummate 
 skill in the management of that monarch — 
 " It matters not ! Since I have accomplished 
 what I sought for the good of the country, 
 even if I have failed in what I sought for my 
 own pleasure, it matters not ! My good lord 
 T 3
 
 278 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 chancellor, the king has been pleased to pro- 
 mise that powers shall be immediately granted 
 to the noble constable of Montmorency to treat 
 with Spain and with the empire for a good 
 and perfect peace. Let it be said, that this has 
 been obtained by the solicitations of one who 
 could obtain nothing for herself! but still, not 
 to her honour let it be, but to the king's, in- 
 asmuch as he overcame in his own heart the 
 love of glory and the thirst of victory for the 
 sake of his good land of France. Will you 
 not, sire," she continued — "will you not order 
 the chancellor at once to expedite the powers 
 for the good constable? It cannot be done too 
 rapidly." 
 
 " Why so ? " demanded Henry. " There is, 
 surely, no such haste." 
 
 " Because, sire," replied the lady, " there 
 are two great and fortunate men, whose first 
 wish must be to change your majesty's counsels 
 in this regard. The conqueror of Calais may 
 well have a say in matters of peace and war. 
 The Cardinal of Lorraine is still at your ma- 
 jesty's ear. The purpose may evaporate and
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 279 
 
 pass away, war be continued gloriously and 
 long, and France be ruined." 
 
 " Nay, na}'," replied the king, looking at the 
 duchess reproachfully — " I am not so vacillat- 
 ing in my purposes. The Guises have not the 
 influence you think." 
 
 " They have had the influence, sire," replied 
 Diana boldly ; *' they have had the influence to 
 delay, for many months, that very edict, drawn 
 up by the orders of the king himself, for the 
 surety and protection of the French people, 
 and to j]:uard against the evils under which 
 half the noble families of France now smart, 
 from alliances contracted in wild youth with 
 races of inferior blood." 
 
 " The Guises had nothing to do with that — 
 have nothing to do with it," replied the king, 
 impatiently. " What interest have they in this 
 matter ? I remember, it is true, the Cardinal of 
 Lorraine did oppose the edict, but upon motives 
 of general justice. What interest had he, or his 
 brother either, for or against the edict ?" 
 
 " To keep down the house of Montmorency," 
 replied Diana of Poitiers. '•' To blast the ex- 
 T 4
 
 280 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 pectations of the young duke, in the hopes 
 which he, perhaps presumptuously, had enter- 
 tained." 
 
 " I believe that it is so, indeed, sire," said 
 the chancellor. " There is much reason to 
 think that the opposition of our holy father the 
 pope was raised up by the instigations of the 
 Cardinal of Lorraine. You are well aware, 
 sire, that a messenger from the cardinal out- 
 stripped even the Count de Meyrand, and that 
 the latter gentleman found the holy father 
 already prepared to oppose the edict." 
 
 " I will think of the matter," said the king 
 again. " If the opposition be but factious, we 
 w ill give it no head ; but I would fain, before I 
 promulgate the edict, have some cause before 
 me to justify it, in which my own personal 
 wishes, and yours, fair lady, are not interested 
 — I must have time for thought upon it. Now 
 let the doors be opened, for we have kept our 
 court too long without." 
 
 The doors of the ante-room were accordingly 
 thrown open. The guards, with their halberts, 
 drew back, and in a few minutes the great hall
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 281 
 
 of reception was crowded with the nobles of 
 France. While the king, with affable conde- 
 scension, received his subjects, spoke with many 
 of them, and smiled upon all, and the buzz of 
 voices, steps, and rustling garments raised a 
 sort of whispering murmur through the halls, 
 the chancellor was seen speaking, in a low voice, 
 to the Duchess of Valentinois ; and some one 
 who was passing heard the latter say, *' Not 
 only that, my lord, but the abbey of St Martin, 
 also, if we succeed. The revenues are twelve 
 thousand crowns a-year." 
 
 The chancellor bowed low, with a humble 
 and obsequious smile, and the duchess turned 
 to speak to some one else.
 
 282 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 Before a mirror of the most beautiful polish 
 that it was possible to conceive, and a toilet table 
 covered with all the most costly essences and 
 perfumes which could be procured from the 
 four quarters of the globe, appeared the Duchess 
 of Valentinois, seated in a large arm-chair of 
 rich velvet, towards nine o'clock in the evening 
 of the day whereof we have just been speaking. 
 She was clothed in a dressinff-gown of silver 
 tissue, and all the stately and somewhat cum- 
 brous apparel of the day had been put off, 
 while, with three maids all busy about her 
 person, she was dressing for the assembly of the 
 court, which was to be held that evening. Nor 
 did she appear in the least the less lovely that 
 she was without any of the additions that dress 
 and ornament sometimes make to beauty ; nor, 
 strange to say, did she appear less young when
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 283 
 
 thus unassisted by art, than even when dressed 
 in the most sumptuous mode of the court. 
 The eye of the woman who was combing her 
 long, rich, luxuriant brown hair, detected not 
 one silver thread marking the passing of years 
 amongst the rest. The teeth were as white 
 and pearly as those of youth. The brow and 
 neck without a furrow ploughed by the hand 
 of time. 
 
 On a footstool at the lady's feet sat a very 
 lovely girl, bearing, in her countenance, a 
 slight resemblance to herself. She was already 
 dressed with great splendour, and sat looking 
 up in the face of the duchess, as if admiring 
 and wondering at the beauty which seemed to 
 set even the great destroyer of all things at 
 defiance. 
 
 The duchess, upon her part, looked down at 
 her with pleasure and affection, calling her, 
 " Ma belle Henriette," and, parting the hair 
 further away from her brows with her own 
 hands, she said, " You must look your loveliest 
 to-night, Henrietta; for you must do much in 
 the way of captivation."
 
 284 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 The girl smiled playfully, and replied, " No, 
 no ! that were bad policy ; I would rather not 
 look so lovely now as afterwards. His love, at 
 present, I can count upon. But I must try 
 and be more captivating hereafter to keep it 
 when he is my husband." 
 
 The duchess smiled in turn : " Ah, my Hen- 
 rietta," she said, " the love of man is not so 
 difficult to keep, if woman do but use the 
 same efforts to retain it that she does to win 
 it. We often make men fickle who would be 
 faithful, thinking that to captivate them once is 
 all-sufficient. How many do I daily see, Hen- 
 rietta, who take all imaginable pains to win 
 affisction, who are gay and cheerful, courteous 
 and kind, willing to please and ready to be 
 pleased, robing themselves, as it were, in small 
 graces and sweet allurements ; and who, when 
 the object is attained, cast away, at once, every 
 effort ; are dull and cheerless, exacting, sullen, 
 harsh, and then wonder that the won heart is 
 lost more quickly than it was gained ! When 
 children catch flies, my Henrietta, they put not 
 down a drop of honey which the insects can eat
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 285 
 
 and fly away. There must be enough honey 
 to keep them, my child." 
 
 " It is a lesson that I will remember," re- 
 plied Henriette de la Mark. " But, as I have 
 always thought, dear lady, that it is happiness 
 we seek, and not admiration, I trust I should 
 never have forgotten that the same means must 
 be taken to keep affection that are used to win 
 it. But hark ! there are manifold sounds below. 
 Surely the guests are not arriving already." 
 
 The question was soon answered; for a mo- 
 ment after one of the female attendants was 
 called to the door, and returned to tell the 
 duchess that two gentlemen had arrived in 
 haste, and anxiously desired to speak with her. 
 She turned towards the woman with somewhat 
 of angry scorn in her countenance, asking if 
 they had been told that she was at her toilet. 
 The woman replied in the affirmative ; but that 
 they had nevertheless urged the important 
 nature of their business. 
 
 " Bid them send me their names," replied 
 the duchess, after thinking for a moment.
 
 286 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " Meyrand's letter declared that he would soon 
 be here. Perhaps he has come himself." 
 
 It was as she thought. But the other name 
 which the servant brought back was that of the 
 Lord of Masseran. 
 
 " Bid them wait but a moment," replied the 
 duchess. " I will not be long. Tie up my hair, 
 Laurette, in a large knot. — Any how, any 
 how ; but be quick." 
 
 Then, drawing the dressing-gown more closely 
 round her, and preceded by one of her women 
 bearing a light, she descended to a saloon below, 
 making' a sign to Henriette de la Mark to re- 
 main till she returned. 
 
 Standing near a table in the room which 
 Diana of Poitiers now entered, appeared the 
 tall and graceful Count de Meyrand, and the 
 dark-looking and subtle Marquis of Masseran. 
 Each, to a certain degree, retained his usual 
 aspect, though neither could entirely banish 
 from his countenance the varied emotions which 
 were busy at his heart. Graceful and dignified 
 in demeanour Meyrand still was. Indeed it
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 287 
 
 was so much a matter of habit with him to act 
 with ease and calm self-possession, that they 
 could never be entirely lost; but still his usual 
 air of indifference was gone, and there was an 
 eager impatience in his eye which marked that 
 strong and busy passions were agitating him 
 within. On the.other hand, the look of calm 
 subtilty, which was the reigning expression of 
 the countenance of the Lord of Masseran, but 
 which we have already seen, on more than one 
 occasion, give way to fiercer passions, had now 
 yielded to an expression of restless disquietude, 
 while his eye turned sharp and flashing at every 
 sound. 
 
 On the appearance of Madame de Valen- 
 tmois, the count advanced with signs of low and 
 humble homage, and raised the hand which 
 she proffered him respectfully to his lips. The 
 Lord of ISIasseran came a step behind, and 
 then a momentary pause took place. It was 
 broken, however, by the duchess herself, who 
 was much too impatient to learn the cause of 
 their sudden arrival to wait till it was ex- 
 plained in the course of conversation.
 
 288 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 " Welcome to Paris, Monsieur de Meyrand !" 
 she said. " But say, what is it that brings you 
 here at this hour? It must be business of im- 
 portance, I am sure." 
 
 " Nothing but business of immediate mo- 
 ment, madam, would have induced me thus to 
 trespass upon you," replied tlie count; "but I 
 have myself arrived withhi this half hour in the 
 capital. I came, I confess, with some wrong- 
 ful suspicions of my good friend the Mar- 
 quis of Masseran here, in regard to the lady of 
 whom I wrote to you. I fancied that he had 
 been instrumental in preventing me from exe- 
 cuting my purpose of bringing her with all 
 speed to the presence of the king. His manner, 
 and his solemn assurances, however, madani, 
 both show me that I was mistaken ; and it would 
 appear " 
 
 " But stay, stay, INIonsieur de Meyrand," 
 said the duchess ; " first tell me exactly what is 
 the case, and how you and Monsieur de Mas- 
 seran are interested in the business. I re- 
 member well Mademoiselle de Brienne, of whom 
 you speak, and a sweet girl she was, well fitted
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 289 
 
 to set any cavalier's heart on fire, so that I can 
 easily conceive that yours was touched, Mon- 
 sieur de Meyrand, with that same flame of 
 love. But if all friends agree, the lady surely 
 can never have such great objections to your- 
 self as not to be easily won by less forcible 
 means than those you seem to have been using^ 
 I will speak with her — I will see what can be 
 done. — Let me thank you, however, my good 
 lord, for the tidings you sent me concern- 
 ing the edict : I have turned them this day to 
 good advantage. But still the king is not 
 easily won in this matter." 
 
 " By Heaven ! madam," replied Meyrand, 
 vehemently, " he must be won, and that right 
 soon, or all will go wrong with us. But hear 
 me,' dearest lady ! hear me out. You have a 
 faint and very wrong idea of all this affair. 
 We are all deeply concerned — and, pardon me 
 for saying it — but your own wishes and excel- 
 lent views are closely and intimately connected 
 with our objects and purposes. You ask for a 
 frank and candid explanation — You shall have 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 it in a very few words. The Lord of Mas- 
 seran and I are equally, but somewhat differ- 
 ently, interested in this matter. I am moved, 
 in some degree, as you are pleased to say, by 
 love. Yes ! " he added, "it is so ! — by love 
 the most strong and passionate ; and yet, I 
 know not why, or how, but something very 
 like hatred mingles with it — deep and bitter 
 indignation at having been made the sport of a 
 mere girl, and determination to force her to be 
 mine or die " 
 
 He paused, and bit his lip, and a shade of 
 dissatisfaction came over the brow of Diana of 
 Poitiers as she listened ; but the next moment 
 the count went on, with a slight sneer. 
 
 " The Lord of Masseran is affected otherwise. 
 He, madam, as you know, married the mother 
 of this fair dame; and to this bright Isabel, 
 descend, at that mother's death, certain fair 
 estates close to the frontier line of France and 
 Savoy." 
 
 " I understand, I understand," replied Diana 
 of Poitiers, interrupting him. " The Count of
 
 CORSE DE LEOy. 291 
 
 Meyrand may be easy in his dealings about 
 those estates, if he but obtain the hand of the 
 fair lady. Is it not so, my good lords?" 
 
 " Something of the kind, madam," replied 
 the count. 
 
 " A treaty of partition ! ha?" continued the 
 lady. " Now for the obstacle, and for the 
 manner in which this affects me ? " 
 
 " The obstacles are somewhat diflBcult to be 
 encountered, madam," joined in the Lord of 
 Masseran; "especially as this noble count is 
 somewhat of a suspicious nature. But, to make 
 a long tale short, madam, there was, it seems, 
 in years long past, a promise made by the old 
 Count of Brienne that his daughter should 
 marry a certain young nobleman, named Ber- 
 nard de Rohan. That promise was foolishly 
 committed to writing ; but I hold that it was of 
 course conditional, and requires to be confirmed 
 by the consent of the mother. The young 
 gentleman we speak of has been long warring 
 with the armies in Italy : but, called thence, as 
 I believe, by the young lady herself, who has a 
 marvellous love for her own way, he ap- 
 u 2
 
 292 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 peared in Savoy some short time ago. I ab- 
 sented myself for a few days from my own 
 home, making a pretence of coming to Paris, 
 in order to see what would take place. But 
 although I had good information of all that 
 passed, what between the young lady's wit and 
 the youth's impudence, they had very nearly 
 won the race. Myself and Monsieur de Mey- 
 rand, here, surprised them in the very celebra- 
 tion of a clandestine marriage." 
 
 " Were they married ? Were they married?" 
 demanded the duchess, eagerly; for, whatever 
 be her own views, woman's heart is rarely 
 without interest in a tale of love. 
 
 " There was a ring upon the young lady's 
 finger," replied the Marquis of Masseran, while 
 the Count de Meyrand stood silent, and bit his 
 lip ; " farther we know not." 
 
 " What did you do next?" exclaimed the 
 lady, with an impatient look, which neither of 
 her two companions thought very favourable 
 to their cause. 
 
 " Why," replied the Lord of Masseran, " we 
 separated them, of course ; and I carried the
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 293 
 
 young lady some way through the mountain?, 
 arranging, in fact, a little sort of drama or 
 mystery with my good friend the count, wherein 
 he played the part of deliverer, rescued the 
 young lady from my hands, and according to 
 our agreement was bringing her here to Paris, 
 in the trust that you, from wise motives, which 
 the count knew you to possess, would support 
 the right of the mother to dispose of her 
 daughter's hand to whom she pleased." 
 
 The marquis, in delivering this account, had 
 paused and hesitated several times, and Diana 
 of Poitiers had remarked that he avoided care- 
 fully all mention of the after-fate of Bernard de 
 Rohan. 
 
 " What has become," she asked at length, 
 interrupting him, and fixing her eye full upon 
 his face, " what has become of the young Baron 
 de Rohan, sir?" 
 
 The Lord of Masseran turned his look to 
 the Count de Meyrand, without answering; but 
 the duchess went on sternly and impetuously, 
 " I insist upon knowing, sir, what was done in 
 regard to Monsieur de Rohan ? You sur- 
 u 3
 
 294 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 prised him at the very altar, you say ! — You 
 have gone too far not to say more ! " 
 
 " Why, of course, madam, it was necessary 
 to separate them," repHed the Count de Mey- 
 rand. " Monsieur de Rohan was carried into 
 the chateau of my friend, Monsieur de Masse- 
 ran, who kindly and liberally undertakes to 
 provide the young gentleman with board and 
 lodging for a certain time. No evil was done 
 him, though the very act that he was perform- 
 ing might well have justified more violence 
 than was used." 
 
 " In short, sir," said the duchess, addressing 
 the Lord of Masseran sternly, " in short, sir, 
 you have imprisoned one of the king's very 
 best officers and most faithful subjects — the 
 right hand of the Marechal de Brissac — and 
 one who has rendered himself famous in the 
 wars of Italy, and without whose assistance 
 the difficulties which surround the marshal in 
 Piedmont would be terribly augmented." 
 
 " Madam," replied the Cownt de Meyrand, 
 with a slight sneer, which no prudence could 
 repress, at the reputed tenderness of the
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 295 
 
 duchess towards Brissac, " had we known that 
 Monsieur de Rohan was so absolutely necessary 
 to your graceful friend, we would have sent 
 him under a strong escort across the mountains, 
 for time was all that we wanted." 
 
 " He mu€t be speedily set at liberty," an- 
 swered the duchess ; " for I cannot have it said 
 that any thing in which I take a share is con- 
 nected with a transaction so detrimental to the 
 service of the king; and now, Monsieur de 
 Meyrand, show me in what way you think I am 
 interested in this affair." 
 
 " Why, madam, you must clearly see " 
 
 said the count. 
 
 " It matters not what I clearly see, my lord," 
 exclaimed the duchess, interrupting him. " Give 
 me your own showing of the matter." 
 
 " Why thus it is," replied the count. " Since 
 I had the honour of bearing to Rome the copy 
 of an edict proposed by the king, you have 
 three or four times done me the great favour of 
 writing to me, and consulting with me in regard 
 to the opposition made to that edict, and to the 
 best means of inducing the king to promulgate 
 
 IT 4
 
 296 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 it. Now, madam, one clause in that edict 
 annuls all existing marriages which have been 
 contracted without the consent of parents or 
 guardians ; and you did me the honour to 
 reveal to me that such a clause was absolutely 
 necessary to the proposed marriage between 
 the Duke of Montmorency and the king's 
 -daughter, Madame de Farnese, and to that 
 between the constable's second son, the Due 
 Damville, and your fair relation. Mademoiselle 
 de la Mark. That clause is equally necessary 
 to me and to Monsieur de Masseran, in order 
 that, the clandestine marriage of Mademoiselle 
 de Brienne with the Baron de Rohan being 
 annulled, she may, with her mother's consent, 
 ■give her hand to me. Thus, madam, what I 
 pray and beseech you to do is, as the views 
 of both tend absolutely to the same point, to 
 give us your most zealous aid and co-oper- 
 ation in persuading the king to promulgate this 
 edict at once." 
 
 Diana of Poitiers paused for a moment in 
 intense thought ere she answered, while the 
 two noblemen stood gazing upon her in silence.
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 297 
 
 " I will do soj" she replied at length ; " but 
 in the first place, Monsieur de Rohan must 
 be set at liberty." 
 
 " Madam, that is impossible," exclaimed the 
 Lord of Masseran. " Were he set at liberty, 
 all our plans and prospects are at an end toge- 
 ther. His very first act would be to seek this 
 rash, imprudent girl, who thinks herself fully 
 justified by her father's written consent ; and 
 depend upon it he would soon find means of 
 discovering her, though we cannot." 
 
 " Why, in the name of Heaven, where is 
 she ?" demanded the duchess. " Wliy, you said 
 but now. Monsieur de Masseran, that you left 
 her in the count's hands that he might bring 
 her to Paris." 
 
 " Ay, but she escaped from his hands, 
 madam," replied the Lord of Masseran. " Whe- 
 ther the count is quite innocent of all know- 
 ledge of female wiles, or whether he had been 
 somewhat harsh and importunate with her, I 
 cannot tell ; but at the end of the very first 
 day's journey she contrived to escape from him, 
 how, or when, no one can discover. I had
 
 298 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 come on to Paris in order to justify the deten- 
 tion of Bernard de Rohan, and in fact to give 
 an account of my whole conduct to the king ; 
 but the good count, thinking that I must have 
 some hand in the lady's flight, followed me 
 hither, as rapidly as possible, without taking 
 sufficient time to inquire after her on the spot." 
 The duchess heard him to an end, but her 
 mind had run on far before her ; and she was 
 gazing thoughtfully upon the ground, with 
 various feelings contending more strongly in her 
 bosom than her two companions imagined. 
 Bernard de Rohan, she well knew, was the 
 dearest friend of one who certainly possessed 
 her highest esteem — perhaps her highest affec- 
 tion — the Marechal de Brissac, and she loved 
 not to take any share in injuring or grieving 
 him. We must say even more. Not being 
 naturally of a harsh or unkindly disposition, 
 she was any thing but disposed to abet such 
 machinations against two people who loved each 
 other ; and she could not but feel at her heart 
 that there existed between the Lord of Masse- 
 ran and the Count de Meyrand a dark and
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 299 
 
 shameless conspiracy for frustrating the inten- 
 tions of the Count de Brienne, and thwarting 
 the affections of his daughter. All these con- 
 siderations opposed themselves to the very 
 thought of aiding them in their purposes ; but 
 yet her own views, her own dearest objects, 
 were to be obtained by the same means which 
 tended to promote theirs ; and she clearly saw, 
 that if, without exposing, as she might do, 
 the real views and purposes of the parties 
 concerned, she were to bring this case before 
 the king, as a new instance of a marriage 
 in opposition to the parent's consent, she would 
 instantly obtain the promulgation of the edict 
 which was so necessary to her own designs. 
 She paused, then, and thought, considering, in 
 the first place, the opposing motives which 
 led her this way and that, and afterwards 
 asking herself whether she could not combine 
 the two — whether it was not possible to use 
 the fact of this clandestine marriage in order 
 to obtain the king's signature to the edict, 
 without ultimately separating the hands of Ber- 
 nard de Rohan and Isabel de Brienne. A few
 
 300 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 moments convinced her that she could do 
 so. The edict would, of course, annul their 
 marriage; but then she thought, " the great 
 services of this young cavalier, the friendship 
 of Brissac, the support of Montmorency, the 
 father's written consent, will surely be enough 
 to obtain for him afterwards the hand of this 
 fair girl from the king himself; at least, my 
 management shall render these things suf- 
 ficient;" and, trusting that it would be so, she 
 resolved upon that evil policy of employing 
 bad means, in the hopes of directing them to 
 good results, a policy which has seldom, if ever, 
 yet failed to end in misery and ruin. 
 
 "What says the mother?'* demanded the 
 duchess, after this long pause. 
 
 " Oh, she says the same as myself, of course," 
 replied the Lord of Masseran." 
 
 " Of course ! " replied the lady, her lip curl- 
 ing slightly as she spoke. " I had forgotten ! — 
 Is she in Paris?" 
 
 " She is here," replied the Lord of Masseran ; 
 " and not only ready, but eager to declare tliat 
 this marriage has been against her will."
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 301 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the duchess : " and the 
 brother? There is a youth I have seen about 
 the court — a gay, thoughtless, high-spirited lad, 
 who gained some renown under this very Baron 
 de Rohan. What says he to the marriage ? " 
 
 " Oh ! he is too young and thoughtless," re- 
 plied the Count de Meyrand. " He has been 
 asked nothing on the subject, though there is 
 reason to fear, we must not deny, that he would 
 give his voice in favour of his old companion." 
 
 " But one thing is clear and certain," added 
 the Lord of Masseran. " His consent was not 
 asked to the marriage ; therefore it was without 
 his approbation and against the mother's." 
 
 " So far so good," replied Diana of Poitiers. 
 " Now mark me, gentlemen, you must leave the 
 whole conduct of this business to me ; and if 
 you pledge yourselves to act exactly as I am 
 about to dictate, I, on my part, will pledge my- 
 self to obtain the promulgation of an edict an- 
 nulling this marriage within twelve hours from 
 this time." 
 
 A glad smile lighted up the face of the Count 
 de Meyrand. But the Lord of Masseran asked
 
 302 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 in a low sweet tone, " Pray what are the con- 
 ditions, madam?" 
 
 " These," replied the duchess at once. " And, 
 remember, gentlemen, that I am one who will 
 not be trifled with ; so that if you fail to per- 
 form exactly your part, you shall find your 
 whole schemes fall about your heads, and, per- 
 haps, crush you in the ruins thereof. The 
 very moment that I have obtained that 
 edict, Monsieur de Masseran, without the 
 loss of a single hour, you shall depart from 
 Paris, and set this young cavalier, Bernard de 
 Rohan, at liberty. — Do not interrupt me ! — 
 This is indispensable. You can leave the mar- 
 chioness behind. In the next place, to guard 
 against the evil consequences which 1 see you 
 anticipate, you shall engage the young Count of 
 Brienne to set off instantly in search of his sister, 
 in order to bring her at once to Paris to the 
 presence of the king. You, Monsieur de Mey- 
 rand, shall not make the slightest attempt to 
 seek for her yourself, nor shall you at present 
 quit Paris. But this young gentleman, instructed 
 that this edict annuls the clandestine marriage,
 
 CORSE DE LEOX. 303 
 
 and is upon the very point of being signed, 
 shall go as the guardian of his sister's honour, 
 and at the same time as the friend of Monsieur 
 de Rohan, to bring her safely back to the pro- 
 tection of her mother and of his majesty. His 
 own sense of what is right, under such circum- 
 stances, will be a sufficient guarantee that he do 
 not suffer his sister to remain an hour with a 
 man who is not her husband ; and now — " 
 
 " But, madam," said the Count de Meyrand, 
 " if you will pardon me for thus rudely inter- 
 rupting you, I would point out one slight 
 obstacle to the arrangement you propose, which 
 renders it absolutely impossible, and may make 
 it expedient that I should go myself. Henry of 
 Brienne is at Grenoble, I understand.'* ^ 
 
 " Well then, sir," said the duchess im- 
 periously, *' some one else must go. You 
 must not ! Were the other the lowest valet in 
 my household, he is more fit than you are to 
 bring this lady to Paris." 
 
 The Lord of Masseran had remained silent 
 till the duchess's answer was made, but he then 
 joined in the conversation again, in one of his
 
 304 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 sweetest tones, saying, " The count is mistaken, 
 dear madam, Henry of Brienne is in Paris. 
 He thought of going to Grenoble, but did not 
 go. He was with his sweet mother not an 
 hour ago." 
 
 " Well, then, hear me ! " said the duchess. 
 " Do you undertake. Monsieur de Meyrand, not 
 to set out upon this search at all ?" The count 
 laid his hand upon his heart, bowed with mock 
 humility, and replied, " Who ever yet resisted 
 your commands ? Nay, I am^not jesting ! I give 
 you my promise, madam." 
 
 " Then, my Lord of Masseran," continued 
 the duchess, all I have to say is this : — " Wait 
 here for five minutes, till I write a note above. 
 Give it to Henry of Brienne; afford him every 
 direction and hint for finding his sister, and 
 brinfjini]' her at once to Paris. As soon as he 
 has set out, come with your fair lady to the 
 palace to offer your complaint regarding this 
 clandestine marriage to his majesty. I will 
 take care that you shall have an immediate 
 hearing, and I pledge myself that the edict shall 
 be signed this night. To-morrow morning, at
 
 CORSE DE LEON. 305 
 
 daybreak, you depart alone, post-haste, to libe- 
 rate Bernard de Rohan. Is it not so?" and 
 she fixed her keen eye firm upon him. 
 
 " It is, madam," replied the Lord of Mas- 
 seran, better pleased at the arrangement than 
 she knew. 
 
 " As for you, Meyrand," she added, with a 
 smile, " take my advice : come also to the 
 court, appear totally unconcerned in this whole 
 business, and press your suit upon the king, if 
 you so please, when the edict is signed." 
 
 " A woman's policy is always the best, ma- 
 dam," replied the count. " And in this in- 
 stance I shall follow it to the letter." 
 
 " I must now leave you," said the lady, '^ for 
 I am already late. Wait here for the note, and 
 then let us to our several parts with all speed." 
 
 In less than the time that she had specified, 
 a servant brought in an open note, which con- 
 tained these words : — 
 
 " Diana, Duchess of Valentinois, to Henry 
 Count of Brienne, greeting : 
 
 "These are to inform you that your sister 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 CORSE DE LEON. 
 
 Isabel de Bricnne has contracted a clandestine 
 marriage with Bernard Baron de Rohan; and 
 that, inasmuch as this night an edict will be 
 signed annulling all marriages of the sort, it is 
 absolutely necessary to your own honour and to 
 that of your sister that you should immediately 
 proceed to find and bring her to Paris till the 
 farther pleasure of the king be known. The 
 Baron de Rohan having been arrested the 
 moment that the marriage was celebrated will 
 be set at liberty immediately; but it is requi- 
 site that you should prevent all communication 
 between him and your sister until it be autho- 
 rised by his majesty." 
 
 The Lord of Masseran made no scruple of 
 reading the contents, and showing them to the 
 Count de Meyrand, who marked them with a 
 smile, and adding, " We must make quite sure 
 of the youth, however," led the way from the 
 apartments of the duchess. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUxME. 
 
 London : 
 
 Printed by A. Spottiswoode, 
 
 New-Street-Square,
 
 r
 
 4^