L I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N 1VER.SITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/steustaceorhundr01stjo
 
 ST. EUSTACE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HUNDEED-AND-ONE 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 BY 
 
 VANE lEETON ST. JOHN. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Eontion : 
 T. CAUTLEY NEV^BY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 so, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1857. 
 
 [^Tke right of Translation is reserved.']
 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO BESSIE ST. JOHN. 
 
 My Dear Wife— 
 
 There is no one to whom I should 
 rather dedicate this work than to yourself. 
 I wish it were better worth inscribing to 
 you; but you, at least, will be ready to 
 appreciate any merits which it may possess, 
 and to pardon its defects. 
 
 I am. 
 
 My dear Wife, 
 Your affectionate Husband, 
 VANE IRETOX ST. JOHN. 
 
 15, Church Terrace, 
 
 Kentish Town.
 
 ST. EUSTACE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HUNDEED AND ONE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In one of the streets of Paris close to the 
 Church of Notre Dame, lived in the year 
 1619, an old man of the name of Simon 
 Lefevre. The house in which he resided 
 was partially ruined, sparrows rested un- 
 disturbed upon its time-worn walls, while 
 every year the standing portion became less 
 and less. But Simon paid httle attention to 
 the state of his domicile. He and his daugh- 
 ter Pauline were its sole occupants, with 
 the exception of an old servant, and the 
 small part of it, that time had left untouched 
 was quite sufficient for their use. 
 
 TOL. I. Q
 
 2 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Lefe\Te's wife had been dead some years, 
 and Pauline had the entire control of the 
 household. She was scarcely more than 
 eighteen, but she had the sense and steadi- 
 .ness of an older woman. Her father was 
 the object of her most intense respect. His 
 genius was indeed of a superior order, but 
 the end to which it was apphed was unfor- 
 tunately an unworthy one. Simon was en- 
 gaged in the pursuit after the philosopher's 
 stone — ^that fruitless search which has ruined 
 so many men, who, if they had directed the 
 resources of their intellects to higher ends, 
 might have been of real service to mankind. 
 
 The old man prudently kept his studies 
 with one exception, entirely to himself, as 
 he did not wish the world to become ac- 
 quainted with what he was doing. He well 
 knew that at that time of ignorance and super- 
 stition he would have been arrested as a sor- 
 cerer, and he felt that though his daughter 
 would carefully guard his secret, she might, 
 in a thoughtless mood, unintentionally betray 
 him.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 3 
 
 The only apartments whicli were habitable, 
 consisted of two bed-rooms, a parlour, 
 an immense vault, and a small servants' 
 chamber, formerly used for lumber. M. 
 Lefe\Te had fitted up the vault as a labora- 
 tory, and here spent the greater part of the 
 day, seeing no one but a cathoHc priest, or 
 an occasional visitor. The latter was never 
 admitted except into the parlour — the former 
 was the Alchy mist's sole confident. 
 
 His income was derived from two houses 
 in the new part of Paris, but as this was 
 barely sufficient to enable the family to Hve 
 in comfort, Pauline worked at her needle, 
 and by her extreme industr}^ was the author 
 of many a pleasant hour to ker father. 
 Simon, however, had plans which she knew 
 not of. The priest — M. de St. Denis, or 
 Father Pierre, as he was generally called, 
 was a constant frequenter of the Alchymist's 
 private room, and Pauline was never allowed 
 to come near them when they were conver- 
 sing. She had, however, not the slightest
 
 4: ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 wish to overhear them, never for one moment 
 imagining that she could be the object of 
 their attention. She thought that it related 
 to the accompHshment of the mysterious 
 " great work," which, as her father assured 
 her, was one day to bring them wealth and 
 happiness. 
 
 Pauline had ven* little society. A person 
 now and then dropped in, but the number 
 of her friends was small. Dame GaUiard, 
 a neighbour, was the most frequent visitor. 
 She came in the evenings to help the young 
 girl in her work, and would sit for hours 
 teUing her strange stories of romance, and 
 krre, and war. 
 
 On the 17th. of August. 1619, M. Simon 
 Lefevre was standing in his laborator}' 
 watching the contents of a crucible, as it 
 quivered with the intense heat. His eyes 
 ghstened ^-ith anxiet} , and his fingers trem- 
 bled as they held the long handle of the 
 vessel. He was attii'ed in a long red dress 
 ing-gown, bound about the waist by a cord
 
 iT. EUSTACE. 
 
 of silk, while a skiill cap of the same colour 
 was on his head. Thus dressed, and with 
 long and snow^- hair floating from beneath 
 the cap over his shoulders, he looked most 
 strange, especially when the glare of the 
 fire and the numerous torches stuck roimd 
 the walls, fell upon his aged form. His face 
 was handsome — his figm*e tall and command- 
 ing, so that though eccentric in his habits, his 
 air always procm'ed him respect. 
 
 It was not long before he was siunmoned 
 to the parlour, for Father Pien-e had called 
 and wished particularly to see him. He 
 greeted the priest cordially, and begging him 
 to be seated, commenced speaking. St. 
 Denis was a contrast to his host. His figiu*e 
 was tall but his face was mean — his eyes 
 were cunning — his hps thin and expressive 
 of savaofe detemii nation, while his red hair 
 increased the unpleasantness of the pictiu'e. 
 
 '' I am extremely glad to see you." said 
 Lefevre, " extremely glad, fori fear Pauline 
 begins to suspect.''
 
 6 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 "What about the Great Work?" enquired 
 the priest, " I understood she knew all about 
 it." 
 
 " Oh ! no. I feared she might thought- 
 lessly betray me." 
 
 " She knows it not. Better still," mut- 
 tered the priest to himself. Then he added 
 aloud — '^ You have thought over my proposal 
 I presume." 
 
 " I have, and accept it. Pauline is too 
 young and too good to stop here in Paris. 
 St. Eustace is her proper home." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so," cried 
 Father Pierre, " but have you spoken to her 
 yet on the subject?" 
 
 " No, not as yet. But I suppose you 
 understand in what way she is to be educated, 
 and in what character she is to reside at the 
 convent ?" 
 
 " I trust she wdll be induced to take the 
 veil?" answered St. Denis, half inquiringly. 
 
 " On the contrary, I wish her not to do 
 so. She is merely to remain at St. Eustace —
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 7 
 
 (that I believe is the name,) as a boarder, 
 until the ' great work' is accomphshed, and 
 she is then to return home." 
 
 " Thank Heaven the ' great work' will be 
 a long time perfecting," thought Father 
 Pierre, but he contiuued — '• I have evi- 
 dently mistaken yom* meaning. I imagined 
 she was to enter her noviciate at once, and 
 if, after a year s probation, she felt an incli- 
 nation to enter the sisterhood, she was to 
 do so." 
 
 " Ah ! my friend you have indeed mis- 
 taken me — I never will consent to her taking 
 the veil." 
 
 '' Of com'se it is in your hands," rephed 
 the priest. " Then it is settled. She starts 
 in two days." 
 
 " She does ; and her nurse, Marie, will 
 accompany her." 
 
 " Adieu then, M. Lefevre, in two days I 
 shaU have made aU the necessary prepara- 
 tions." 
 
 So saying he went out, and closing the
 
 8 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 door behind him, proceeded dowTi to the 
 street, cursing the good old man's folly, and 
 inwardly forming plans to frustrate his 
 wishes. 
 
 Pauline loved no one except her father. 
 She had never seen any man but him and 
 Father Pierre, at least to talk to, and there- 
 fore what her father wished her to do she 
 did. He was perfectly right in thinking 
 she would make no objection, for, on ascend- 
 ing the stairs to where she sat engaged in 
 sewing, and explaining his desire she imme- 
 diately acquiesced. She laughed on hearing 
 Father Pierre's wish to make her take the 
 veil, but declared there was not the shghtest 
 fear of her doing so, as she would never even 
 enter the noviciate. 
 
 It was accordingly decided that Pauline 
 should depart in two days, although the 
 nm'se declared with much vehemence, that 
 it was as bad as murder, and he would never 
 see his daughter again.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 It would hardly be true if we said that 
 Pauline felt no regret at the thought of 
 leaving Paris. The busy city — the presence 
 of her father — the romance of her residence 
 in the old half-ruined house, where she had 
 been ever since her childhood, and where her 
 mother had last blessed her, rendered home 
 a centre of affection. But as she had no 
 definite purpose in staying, and as she felt 
 her father wished it, she resolved to go with- 
 out even expressing her thoughts to him. 
 
 There was one, however, whose love was 
 only less to that of her father, and who 
 
 B 2
 
 10 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 urged her strongly against going. This was 
 the old nurse, Marie. 
 
 "Don't you go, my dear Mademoiselle, don't 
 you go. Tell M. Lefevre that you are afraid 
 to go." 
 
 " But I am not afraid, my dear Marie. 
 What is there to fear ?" 
 
 " When once you are there, the priest 
 and the abbess will never let you come back. 
 They will force you to become a nun." 
 
 " Oh ! no nurse," rephed Pauline, " they 
 never can compel ine to do anything, and as 
 I never shall consent, I shall not become a 
 nun." 
 
 " Ah ! well, good will never come of it. 
 Remember my words, and see whether they 
 do not come true." 
 
 " Well Marie," continued Mdlle Lefevre, 
 " if my father told me I might stay, I would 
 wiUingly, but as no harm can possibly come 
 of it, I had just as soon go. Besides I shall 
 learn so much that I do not now know."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 11 
 
 " Well — ^well, you will think of my words 
 when it is too late." 
 
 The two days preceding Pauline's depar- 
 ture, were long ones. Packing went on at 
 a great rate, and even the old man moved 
 restlessly about the house. He was a hard 
 sort of a man, that is, no outward display of 
 feehng ever showed his love for PauHne, hut 
 he did love her, and to part with her even 
 for a short time, caused liim many a pang. 
 
 " But," said he to himself, " when I have 
 found what I seek, she will return to me, 
 and we shall all be happy." 
 
 If any one had seen him on the second 
 day, working in his laboratory, he would 
 have noticed that his face perspired in an ex- 
 traordinary manner, but then August is a hot 
 month. 
 
 Pauhne also had a great deal to do, and 
 she helped in everything, in order to keep 
 up her spirits and drive away the thoughts 
 of parting. On the 20th. of the month she 
 was to start, and on the 19th. she entered
 
 12 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 the house of one of her neighbours, and 
 asked for Dame Galhard. At the summons, 
 an old lady at least sixty entered the shop. 
 
 " Come in my poor httle thing," cried she 
 in a voice of commiseration, as she led 
 Pauline into an inner room, " and so they 
 are going to send you away to a nunnery. 
 Of course I do not mean to say an}i:hing 
 against the priests — I know M. de St. Denis 
 is a very good man, but then I have heard 
 stories of young girls' being forced to take 
 the veil. Indeed if there vrere time I could 
 tell you a dreadful story, but I do not wish 
 to frighten you." 
 
 Pauline allowed the good lady to go on 
 until she was tired in the same strain, when 
 she interposed. 
 
 " But, my dear Madam, I have given my 
 consent." 
 
 " Have you indeed," said the Dame, 
 opening her eyes vn.de T\dth astonishment. 
 " given your consent to leave dear Paris, 
 and your poor father and me and everybody"
 
 ST. EUSTACE. IS 
 
 Here the good woman put her apron to 
 her face and cried. 
 
 " Do not cry dear Dame Galliard," ex- 
 claimed Pauline, kissing her on the forehead, 
 '^ it is my o^vn fault. If I get into trouble 
 I shall have no one to blame but myself." 
 
 " Well my dear, if you must go you must," 
 returned the old lady, " but you must wTite 
 to me often, and I will write to you, and 
 give you all the news about Paris and your 
 father and ever)i:hing that happens here." 
 
 After some more conversation in which 
 the Dame bewailed her foohshness and 
 made sundry predictions, Pauline took an 
 affectionate leave of her. She made the 
 round of her acquaintances, who all tried 
 to persuade her to re-consider her determi- 
 nation. 
 
 "' Your father," iu*ged they, " cannot love 
 you, or he would never have allowed a 
 thought of such a thing to be put in your 
 head. VThy do you not say that you prefer 
 staying in Paris T^ith your friends ?"
 
 14 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Pauline was unmoved by their protesta- 
 tions. She had so much faith in her father, 
 that what he said was right, she thought 
 right also ; and in this case why should she 
 stay, when to go appeared pleasing to her- 
 self? 
 
 On returning home she found a small 
 parcel addressed to her. She opened it, 
 and found it was from Dame GaUiard. It 
 contained all kinds of nick-nacks, bon-bons, 
 &c., &c. There was also a short note, beg- 
 ging her once more to give up the idea of 
 going ; but, if she could not, to wi'ite as 
 soon as she arrived safe. Several other pre- 
 sents arrived during the evening, and even 
 old Marie, who was to accompany her, added 
 her mite. 
 
 On the following morning a post-chaise 
 drove up to the door of the dilapidated 
 house, and the priest stepped out and en- 
 tered. Presently he returned T\ith Pauline 
 and the nurse. Simon did not accompany 
 them to the carriage, because he would not
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 15 
 
 make a display of his grief. The parting 
 which had taken place was a dreadful one, 
 and PauUne was glad not to renew it, 
 though she trembled with sorrow. At the 
 last moment a presentiment of evil came 
 over her, and she gazed back at the place 
 where she had just beheld her father with a 
 feeUng of terror. Was she ever to see him 
 more? 
 
 Though, however, Lefevi'e did not come 
 out from the house, if any one had glanced 
 upwards, he would have seen the old man, 
 leaning out of a window over which strag- 
 gled the ivy, and gazing with streaming eyes 
 at the carriage which was bearing his only 
 child far away. When at length the post- 
 chaise could no longer be seen, he drew 
 himself in, and sitting down upon a bench 
 near the casement, wept long and bitterly. 
 
 The Convent of St. Eustace was situated 
 in Poitou, not far from the town of Loudon. 
 It stood on the brow of a lofty hill, whose
 
 16 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 sides were covered with rich verdure on the 
 one hand, while on the other was a dense wood 
 reaching up to the very walls. The Con- 
 vent looked more like a castle than a nun- 
 nery, with its tall turrets and battlemented 
 walls, its iron-bound door, and large court- 
 yard. It had, in fact, belonged some years 
 before to a noble family, who had been 
 compelled from poverty to sell their ances- 
 tral chateau and retire into a smaller dwel- 
 ling. 
 
 Behind was an orchard, and a flower gar- 
 den, and a portion of the wood enclosed by 
 high walls, where the sisters sometimes 
 walked. The greater part of the old place 
 was covered ^\itla. iyj, and in many spots the 
 battlements had crumbled away. The ram- 
 parts were converted into terraces, where 
 the nuns often sat in the evening and read, 
 or walked about to enjoy the cool air that 
 blew fresh from the surrounding country. 
 Up to the entrance of the Convent wound a
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 17 
 
 broad carriage-way, shaded by beautiful 
 acacia and other trees, with seats here and 
 there for the weary passer by. 
 
 When the post-chaise containing M. de 
 St. Denis, MdUe. Lefevre, and the sen^ant 
 Marie, roUed slowly up the road leading to 
 this gloomy, but romantic-looking spot, Pau- 
 hne's heart bounded with joy. She was 
 deUghted Tsdth the repose — the inexpressible 
 quiet of the place — ^its picturesque situa- 
 tion — and, at the first moment, the sad as- 
 pect which pervaded ever}i:hing around, was 
 lost upen her. But these were the senti- 
 ments of a girl of eighteen, not yet a wo- 
 man. Pauline had for a while relapsed into 
 her extreme youth, and saw only the out- 
 side. She then imagined that aU within 
 those grey and time-worn walls, must be 
 good, and pious, and loving. How soon 
 were her hopes to be damped. 
 
 It was very pleasing to M. de St. Denis 
 to behold his charge so early charmed vnth 
 the spot he wished to be her home for Ufe.
 
 18 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 But during the journey he had drawn out 
 her character to such an extent, that he 
 plainly discovered his only means to be ex- 
 cessive kindness and excessive art. 
 
 When the massive door opened, and they 
 rattled into the courtyard, many of the 
 nuns could be seen peeping over the bat- 
 tlements at the new comers, but seeing 
 Father Pierre, they hastily withdrew. The 
 Abbess was evidently a kind woman. She 
 was tall and commanding in her figure, but 
 her face beamed with goodness and con- 
 tentment. The beautiful Pauhne felt her 
 heart yearn at once towards her, for she re- 
 minded her of the mother she had so long 
 lost. The good Abbess received her with 
 an affectionate smile, and introduced her to 
 a young lady of about her own age, named 
 Sister Heloise, who seemed pleased at the 
 prospect of acquiring a new friend. 
 
 When Father Pierre had explained to the 
 Abbess the situation of Pauhne — her fa- 
 ther's wishes, and his own views with respect
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 19 
 
 to her, he took leave of his charge and de- 
 parted. PauHne was rejoiced heyond mea- 
 sure to find that he would not be always in 
 the neighbourhood, as she had even during 
 the journey seen enough to make her fear 
 and dislike him. 
 
 In Heloise she foimd a real friend, and 
 one who was so open-hearted, that she had 
 not been at St. Eustace two days before 
 she leamt her ideas with respect to the 
 Convent. She had not been long a nun, 
 and from what she had seen, and heard, and 
 experienced, she had become a Protestant. 
 The Abbess, of course, looked upon Sister 
 Heloise as a most devout CathoUc, or she 
 would never have introduced her to one 
 whom she desired to take the veil. Of 
 Pauline's character she saw sufficient to 
 know that no danger attended the revealing 
 of her secret; while on the other hand 
 Mdlle. Lefevre freely communicated to her 
 new and frank friend her suspicions with 
 regard to the priest. She leamt that he
 
 20 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 was in general no great favourite with the 
 sisterhood, whose members had been placed 
 there in most cases by his instrumentahty. 
 
 The nm-se, Marie, was installed among 
 the sen^ants of the Convent, so that Pau- 
 line was not quite mthout an old friend to 
 speak to. Many were the letters, also, which 
 she received from her acquaintances in 
 Paris, and many the kind missives from her 
 father. But in answerino^ them she felt 
 little pleasure, as all her letters were opened 
 and read over by the Abbess. Heloise 
 Dechapelle, Pauline saw at once, would be 
 the person to whom she should look for 
 support, for aid, for ad\dce. 
 
 " My dear sister," said Heloise, as they 
 were walking one evening alone on the ram- 
 parts, " I shall not long remain here. I 
 took the veil in a rash moment, and shall 
 resign it mthout regret." 
 
 "Is it not wicked, Heloise," answered 
 Pauhne, "to break the vow. Father Pierre 
 says it is."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 21 
 
 " Do not mention Father Pierre to me, 
 sister," returned the nun, " he is himself a 
 sinful man, or he would never be instru- 
 mental in forcing young and beautiful girls 
 to enter the Convent." 
 
 " Force them !" exclaimed Mdlle. Lefe\Te, 
 starting, " I thought all that was over, 
 and that no one ever took the vows except 
 by their own free and unguided Tvdll." 
 
 " Poor girl ! So think many. But you 
 have been grievously deceived. If Father 
 Pierre wills it, you can never leave these 
 doors except by fl}ing, and even that is 
 difficult." 
 
 The words and warnings of her friends 
 now flashed across her mind, and she an- 
 swered quickly — 
 
 " But my father would never allow it. 
 He thinks it wrong." 
 
 '' Your father T\ill not hve for ever. Be- 
 sides, no priest now-a-days would allow his 
 scruples to stand in the way of his interest." 
 
 '' What interest can Father Pierre have
 
 ±^ ST. FUST ACE. 
 
 in forcing an almost friendless girl such as 
 I am to take the veil ? I have no large 
 fortune to leave to the church." 
 
 "No; but it would procure him favour 
 in the eyes of the Pope. Every nun made 
 by him strengthens his hold on Mother 
 Church. But hark ! the bell is ringing for 
 prayers. We must away. Good night."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 '' My brother is coming to see me to-day," 
 said Heloise on the the morrow to Pauhne, 
 "' he is so good and kind. He visits me 
 often, and laments my sad situation." 
 
 '' Does he?" answered Pauline. '' I wish 
 /had a brother." 
 
 " Have you no relative at home but your 
 father, then?" enquii'ed Heloise. 
 
 " None — ^not even a sister." 
 
 " Poor girl! But do not think yourself 
 lonely or deserted here. All last night I 
 thought upon your position, and I have de-
 
 24 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 termined to stay here until you go away, and 
 then we can depart together." 
 
 Pauline kissed her, but said — 
 
 " Do not stay for me, Heloise. If you 
 can leave these walls you dishke so much, 
 leave them. I am strong enough to contend 
 for myself." 
 
 "No, no — I am decided; and more, if 
 they strive to prevent our departure, we will 
 escape together." 
 
 A nun entered the room where they were 
 talking, and said that Monsieur Armand 
 Dechapelle was waiting to see his sister. 
 Heloise immediately went out to the grill 
 behind which the nuns always received vi- 
 sitors. 
 
 Armand was a handsome man. He was 
 about five feet ten inches in height, with a 
 figure answering to his size. His features 
 were regular, his expression intellectual, yet 
 mild, denoting genius Tvithout that fierceness 
 which too often accompanies it. His eyes
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 25 
 
 were large, and of a hazel colour, and his 
 hair black as night. 
 
 He was a Protestant, and had been striv 
 ing ever since his sister entered St. Eustace, 
 to induce her to be a convert. But up to 
 this moment she had appeared a " good 
 CathoHc," and it was with sm*prise and 
 pleasure that he learnt her change of prin- 
 ciple. She described Mdlle. Lefevre in the 
 most glowing terms, her beauty and accom- 
 plishments of mind, and declared her in- 
 tention of awaiting her departure. 
 
 '^ You are quite right, Heloise," said 
 Armand. " But could you not let me see 
 this paragon," he added, laughing, " if she 
 beats my beautiful sister, she must be a 
 lovely creature indeed." 
 
 " Hush, Armand," returned Heloise, "if 
 we are overheard, the Abbess will be angry, 
 and prevent perhaps our further meeting. 
 But if they attempt to hinder our return to 
 the world, you will of course endeavour to 
 facihtate our escape." 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " Of course, but there is time enough for 
 that; but," he continued, in a whisper, 
 " you must let me see Pauhne — I mean 
 Mdlle. Lefewe." 
 
 " I will try to do so now." 
 
 So saying she rang a bell. A nun en- 
 tered, but seeing a man, she drew down her 
 hood so as completely to hide her face. 
 
 " My brother is much fatigued, Sister 
 Frances. Will you be kind enough to send 
 in some wine." 
 
 Then going up to her she whispered — 
 
 '' Send Mdlle. Lefewe with it, dear, but 
 do not mention it to any one." 
 
 The nun departed, and presently Pauline 
 came in with some T\dne and biscuits. She 
 started and blushed on seeing Armand, but 
 Heloise drew her up to the grill, behind 
 which Armand had to stand, and introduced 
 her to him. This was was of course against 
 the rules of the Convent, but Mdlle. De- 
 chapelle had now an utter contempt for 
 them. They were having a very pleasant
 
 ST, EUSTACE. 27 
 
 conversation, when a nun came hastily into 
 the room saying — 
 
 ^' The Abbess is coming. Mdlle Pauline 
 had better go away quickly." 
 
 But it was too late. On going into the 
 passage she was met by the Abbess, who 
 questioned her in a stem voice as to where 
 she had been. Having never in her hfe 
 told aught but the truth, Pauline had no 
 idea of concealing her stolen interview, and 
 confessed. The Abbess looked very much 
 annoyed, but simply said — 
 
 " As it is more the fault of Sister He- 
 loise than of you, I shall only require that 
 you stay in your room all day. TVTien, 
 however, you have become more used to om* 
 rules, I shall be exceedingly angrj^ if I find 
 this repeated." 
 
 " Do not punish dear Heloise," entreated 
 Pauhne. " I was as much in faidt as she." 
 
 ^' For your sake, Mademoiselle, I will not 
 punish her ; but I must speak to her of it. 
 It is very wrong."
 
 28 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 So saying, slie entered the reception- 
 room with a countenance unruffled by the 
 slightest show of annoyance. But she was 
 annoyed. Heloise had never been so strict 
 a nun as the others. She had always ap- 
 peared restless under the rigid and hard 
 control of the convent ; but yet the Abbess 
 never suspected that she was in heart a Pro- 
 testant. 
 
 When, therefore, Armand had gone, she 
 called her into her private room, and said — 
 
 " Sister Heloise, I am exceedingly sorry 
 to have to be angry with you, but I cannot 
 in this case refrain from being so." 
 
 "Why? dear mother," enquired Mdlle 
 Dechapelle, who now^ suspected that Pauhne 
 had been discovered. 
 
 " You did very wTong in introducing 
 Mdlle. Lefevre to your brother. She is a 
 nun while she is here, and we hope to con- 
 vert her so far as to induce her to take the 
 Ycil." 
 
 " But her father expressly says that she
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 29 
 
 IS not to enter," said Heloise, with much 
 warmth. 
 
 " Her father has no right to interfere in a 
 matter of this kind," returned the Ahbess, 
 ^' and certainly you have none. If her own 
 inchnations lead her to take the veil then, 
 she shall take it. I ^ill never suffer force 
 to be used, but merely persuasion." 
 
 ^' I sincerely hope that all ^iU be of no 
 avail," murmured Heloise to himself. 
 
 ^' Sister Heloise !" cried the Abbess, 
 overhearing her, '' how can you utter such 
 dreadful language. I fear you are growing 
 rebellious. Go — my child — to thy chamber 
 and read thy prayers, and do not let me see 
 thee until to-morrow." 
 
 Heloise seeing she had gone too far at- 
 tempted to speak ; but the lady interrupted 
 her, saving, — 
 
 '^ Go — my child, go, and pray for a more 
 submissive spirit." 
 
 However anxious the Abbess might out- 
 wardly have appeared to induce Pauline to
 
 30 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 enter the sisterhood of St. Eustace, she did 
 not in her heart desire it. She was natu- 
 rally kind, and had seen enough of the 
 terrors attending forced orders to make her 
 abhor them. To one who did not know her 
 real motive, her conduct, would have appeared 
 strange indeed ; but the story of her hfe 
 wdll entirely clear up the mystery. 
 
 Catherine Musset, now the respected 
 Abbess of St. Eustace, was the only daugh- 
 ter of a rich Parisian merchant, who was 
 so bigoted and fiery in his ideas about reh- 
 gion, that he would never suffer himself to 
 be contradicted. CathoHc priests and other 
 reUgious persons were constant visitors at 
 his house, among the rest Father Pierre, 
 then a young man. Although he was 
 scarcely older than Catherine, he was con- 
 stituted her tutor, as he being a privileged 
 person, the father never once thought that 
 any harm could arise from their intimacy. 
 
 It is a truism to say that strange are the 
 notions which sometimes pervade the minds
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 31 
 
 of men. One of these absurd ideas is con- 
 nected with rehgion. To be pious in the 
 estimation of some persons, is to mope 
 about with a sad and drear)^ countenance 
 never smiling; or if ever committing this 
 sin, doing so with a ghasthness, worse than 
 the worst of sombre looks. To dance at 
 all is wicked ; to go to a theatre, worse ; to 
 sing, is not " so well ;" and as for dancing 
 a polka, it is perfectly irredeemable. 
 
 Some such notions as these are now 
 afloat. In the seventeenth century, it was 
 as at present ; but M. Musset, bigot as he 
 was, was an exception to the rule. He very 
 properly considered that soirees and balls 
 could have no possible relation to his ideas 
 with respect to rehgion, provided he also 
 did his duty by the Church. Constant, 
 therefore, were the entertainments which 
 were given at the merchant's house, and 
 many were Catherine's suitors. But none 
 of them pleased her, although nobles of all 
 ranks pressed for her hand.
 
 32 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Catherine had no liking for one of them ; 
 and to marry wdthout love was in her esti- 
 mation as it is in om*s, almost a crime. 
 Matters went on thus for some time, and M. 
 Musset could not but be astonished at the 
 seeming indifference of his daughter. But 
 there was a reason. Catherine went on one 
 occasion to spend a week or so with her 
 aunt in the coimtry. Being a person of the 
 same way of thinking as M. Musset, Ma- 
 dame de la Rue, had much company at her 
 house, and there Catherine found the heart 
 she could not find at home. But she at 
 once knew that her father would not consent. 
 Antoine Lavallette was only an officer in 
 the anny, and possessed neither title nor 
 fortune. When, therefore, he demanded 
 her in mamage of her father, he was met 
 by a courteous though firm refusal. 
 
 " My daughter," said M. Musset, " shall 
 never marry one who is not noble." 
 
 Antoine did not like to make an insult- 
 ing reply to the father of her he loved, or he
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 33 
 
 might have asked him—" Where is your 
 nobihty?" 
 
 Catherine, however, was as firm as her 
 father. For two years matters went on 
 thus — she rejecting every offer made to her 
 by the young noblemen without money, but 
 with high sounding names who thronged 
 the salons of the merchant, and Antoine 
 frequently repeating his request. M. 
 Musset at last was roused into a passion by 
 the importunities of the lover ; and at 
 length he declared that if he again came, 
 he should be driven from the house mth 
 insult. 
 
 In this dilemma, Catherine unfortunately 
 appHed to Father Pierre, who at last was in- 
 duced by the entreaties of the lady and the 
 bribes of the officer to marry them secretly. 
 As she now of course rejected every offer 
 indiscriminately, her father grew suspicious, 
 and questioned the priest frequently as 
 to his daughter's reasons for such ex- 
 traordinary conduct. But the priest knew 
 
 c 2
 
 34 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 where he should gain most, and guarded 
 the secret well. 
 
 About a year after their marriage, An- 
 toine died, and so also did Musset's sus- 
 picions. Catherine went down into the 
 country to see Madame De la Rue, and 
 while staging there, a child was bom. Of 
 course, this was known both to the priest 
 and the aunt ; but one possessing about as 
 much principle as the other, they persuaded 
 and terrified her into consenting to its de- 
 struction. The father never knew of his 
 daughter's crime, and at length consented 
 to her entering the convent of St. Eustace, 
 of which, in course of time, she became 
 the beloved and respected Abbess. The 
 influence which Father Pierre had over her 
 actions, needs no further explanation.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 On every fine evening, on which they were 
 able, Pauline and Heloise walked together 
 on the battlemented ramparts of the old 
 convent talking of their respective condi- 
 tions, and their future plans. Armand also 
 often saw his sister, and spoke to her of 
 Pauline. He had been much struck by her 
 appearance, and made many enquiries about 
 her station, and her own wishes in respect to 
 the convent. He appeared extremely de- 
 lighted when he heard of her determination 
 not to take the veil, and declared that in 
 case of their attempting to force her to re-
 
 S6 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 main, he would be ready to assist her es- 
 cape. 
 
 Pauline, however, had no opportunity of 
 seeing him herself, because of the strictness 
 of the Abbess ; but Heloise told her all he 
 said and all he thought of her. Mdlle 
 Dechapelle, in fact, was in no wise a person 
 to be contented with the Hfe of a nun, how- 
 ever happy it might be rendered by the 
 kindness and goodness of those around her. 
 She was fitted for a gay happy life, and how 
 she could ever have been induced to enter 
 the convent at all was a mystery. Perhaps 
 it was from the same reason as that which 
 induced Pauhne — mere compUance with the 
 wishes of her parents. But, at any rate, 
 she was now determined to re-enter the 
 world, and was only waiting for PauHne's 
 time to be over to effect her dehverance se- 
 cretly or otherwise. 
 
 One evening as they were walking as 
 usual, and talking of their plans, Pauline 
 fancied she saw a figure retreat behind a
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 37 
 
 buttress. She intimated her suspicions to 
 Heloise, and as if they had noticed nothing, 
 they proceeded towards the spot, talking of 
 things veiy different from those about which 
 they had just been conversing. When, 
 however, they came to the place where the 
 person had vanished no one was to be seen — 
 
 " My dear Pauhne," said Heloise, ^' we 
 must discontinue our walks for a while, or 
 we shall be suspected. I will introduce you 
 to Sister Emihe, and you can be her com- 
 panion for a short while. She is a deter- 
 mined nun, but will I beheve be very kind 
 to you ?" 
 
 " I was just thinking the same thing, 
 Heloise," returned Pauline. " The Abbess 
 has often remarked how wonderfully fond 
 we seem of evening walks. However, it 
 need only be for a time." 
 
 On the following day, Heloise introduced 
 Mdlle Lefe^TC to Sister Emihe. She had a 
 tall shght figure, with very hght hair, al-
 
 Si ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 most white, with scarcely any eyebrows. Her 
 features wore generally a calm and placid 
 expression. AYhen mider the influence of 
 passion her whole face flushed up for a mo- 
 ment, and then subsided again into its pas- 
 sionless, unmeaning look. She was an es- 
 pecial friend of Father Pierre, and entirely 
 acquiesced in all his views wdth respect to 
 the nunner\\ But, though she was so 
 rigorous in her notions, and so savage when 
 thwarted, she had contrived to become a 
 favourite mth the Sisters. 
 
 '' Sister Sophia," said Emihe, to Pauline, 
 for Mdlle Lefe\Te was thus named by the 
 nuns. " Sister Sophia, I am much gratified 
 at being introduced to so earnest a mm 
 as yoin'self." 
 
 As she uttered these words, a shadow of 
 a sneer passed over her features which, in 
 an instant, however, re-assumed their benign 
 and placid expression. Pauhne returned 
 an answer, which she endeavoured to render
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 39 
 
 gracious, but which was received by Sister 
 EmiHe with a look of astonishment ; and 
 she then hastened to rejoin Heloise. 
 
 " My dear Sister," said she, " how could 
 you think of introducing me to Sister 
 Emihe ? It was she whom I saw behind 
 the buttress on the battlements." 
 
 Mdlle Dechapelle gazed at her for a mo- 
 ment in wonder. 
 
 " My dear Pauhne, you must be mis- 
 taken. Sister Emilie could never turn spy 
 — she is so good — so kind." 
 
 ^' Heloise," replied MdUe Lefevre, firmly, 
 " remember what I say. You will find 
 together with the other nuns that you have 
 mis-placed your afi*ections. When she was 
 speaking to me not a moment ago, she 
 sneered at me in a manner that induced me 
 to answer her, I am afraid quite rudely." 
 
 ^' I never can beUeve it, Pauhne, but I 
 will be on my guard nevertheless." 
 
 That same evening the figure was again 
 seen on the battlements. Pauline ran up
 
 40 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 to it before it could escape, and influenced 
 as much by dread of discovery, as by cu- 
 riosity seized it by the mantle. Seeing re- 
 treat impossible, it turned round and 
 disclosed the face of Sister EmiUe, white 
 with passion. For some moments neither 
 spoke, one being under a presentiment of 
 evil, the other transfixed with rage. It was 
 a curious scene. The sun was just setting, 
 and was gilding the convent walls wdth its 
 bright crimson beams — the leaves were just 
 fluttering in the hght breeze, while a few 
 clouds of a roseate hue seemed to hang sus- 
 pended in the air without the least percep- 
 tible motion. The birds carolled sweetly 
 in the branches of the grove near the con- 
 vent, while the tinkhng of the sheep' s-bells 
 told that they were being driven home to 
 their nightly resting places. Nature was 
 smiling ; but the figures on the ramparts 
 partook not of this repose. 
 
 They were a striking contrast to each 
 other. Heloise, who had just come up, was
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 41 
 
 looking with astonishment and pity on the 
 face of Sister Emilie, which was now gra- 
 dually assuming its usual expression. Pau- 
 hne, on the other hand, who had not learnt 
 to mask her feehngs so completely, had a 
 sHght look of triumph upon her counte- 
 nance, which increased the passion of the 
 other, who said at last in a low trembhng 
 tone — 
 
 " Why do you detain me, Sister 
 Sophia ?" 
 
 " Sister Emihe, it is not for you to ask me 
 questions," rephed Pauhne. " Say, why 
 do you come to watch us here ?" 
 
 The nun returaed no answer, but casting 
 at both a meaning glance, descended a pair 
 of steps and disappeared. Heloise burst 
 into tears ; but Pauhne, who was of a fir- 
 mer character, endeavoured to soothe her, 
 saying that Emilie's friendship was not wor« 
 thy of her regret. 
 
 It was not long before the reyenge of
 
 42 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Sister Emilie began to be worked out. The 
 Abbess, without seeing them, forbade He- 
 loise and Pauline to walk together any 
 more, and for a time they were closely con- 
 fined to their cells. During this period the 
 mahcious disposition of Sister Emilie pre- 
 vented her from entirely masking her feel- 
 ings. She came to see them often, under 
 the pretence of condohng mth them on 
 their separation, and restriction from the 
 pleasure of walking together. But there 
 was always a smile of triumph upon her 
 face, which both could not fail to perceive, 
 and at length they requested her to discon- 
 tinue her visits. 
 
 One day, however, she entered Pauhne's 
 room, and pretended to be much affected by 
 their position. 
 
 " I overheard your plans of escape, my 
 dearest sister," said she, " when you were 
 walking on the ramparts with Heloise, and 
 having an interest in you, I shall be very
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 43 
 
 happy to assist you, if ever you meet any 
 opposition — I mean, to your recovering 
 your freedom at the proper time." 
 
 " Thank you,'' replied Pauline, coldly. 
 
 " I know you do not think me sincere, 
 but if you make me your confidante, I will 
 not abuse your trust. BeUeve me, I wish you 
 well." 
 
 " Thank you," repeated Mdlle. Lefe\Te, 
 " have you spoken to Sister Heloise ?" 
 
 " Yes, and she has confided in me," re- 
 pUed Sister Emihe, with a smile. 
 
 " Indeed," cried PauHne, '' in that case — 
 and yet " 
 
 She suspected it was false, and resolved 
 to ward her ofi* quietly. 
 
 " In that case you do not require my con- 
 fidence, as, if Sister Heloise has told you 
 all, I cannot be more expHcit." 
 
 " No — she has not told me aU." 
 
 " Then I do not consider myself at Uberty 
 to say more." 
 
 Sister Emilie was baffled, and withdrew.
 
 44 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 When their imprisonment was over, it 
 was found to be as PauHne suspected. 
 Emihe had tried to induce Heloise to speak 
 by saying Mdlle. Lefevre had told her all. 
 Lucky it was she was seen through ; and 
 from that time till the period of action ar- 
 rived, they resolved to speak no more of 
 their plans, and be as httle alone together 
 as possible.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Monsieur Dechapelle v, as a gentleman of 
 independent fortune, who lived in a beauti- 
 ful mansion in Poitou, near Loudon. The 
 Chateau of the Three Fountains, as his 
 residence was called, was indeed a lovely 
 spot. It stood in the middle of a large 
 park, through which wound a carriage way 
 Hned by magnificent elms, from the entrance 
 to the road. Along this were bowers, and 
 open seats, and flower beds, and shady 
 groves, while here and there were marble 
 basins full of gold and silver fish, but not 
 by any means lucid and clear.
 
 4G ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Opposite the chateau were the three 
 fountains, which gave it its name. They 
 were of marble, and sent up sparkhng jets 
 of water to a considerable height into the 
 air, perfumed by the flowers and shrubs 
 that grew in wild profusion around. In 
 front of these was a lawn unbroken by 
 beds, but surrounded on all sides by every 
 kind of lovely plants. Behind was an or- 
 chard filled with all sorts of fruits, and kept 
 in the most perfect order — quite a contrast 
 to the garden. 
 
 There was also a lake, in which there had 
 reposed in perfect quiet for many a year fish 
 of all kinds, for the owner of the place 
 would not take the trouble to have an}i:hing 
 done with them. The boat, however, was 
 sometimes put in requisition, for Armand 
 Dechapelle occasionally rowed on its green 
 surface, with no companions, however, but 
 the frogs and toads who, who, disturbed by 
 the splash of the oars, sprang to the top, 
 croaked, and disappeared again.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 47 
 
 The inside of this romantic house was 
 also magnificent. Its spacious rooms were 
 furnished with an excess of costhness, and 
 kept in the most perfect order. But were 
 the inmates happy ? — No. Monsieur De- 
 chapelle was a household tyrant; and 
 Madame, on the other hand, was mild and 
 yielding. She had borne all her husband's 
 taunts quietly, until he proposed to take 
 Heloise away and send her to St. Eustace. 
 Then her spirit rose, and she asserted her 
 rights ; but in vain. Heloise, rather than 
 disturb the peace of her home, went an un- 
 willing sacrifice to the gloomy cells of the 
 convent, and left her mother, promising, 
 however to return some day. 
 
 Not satisfied with this, the father, incited 
 by his confessor, a savage and bigoted Ca- 
 tholic, wished Armand to follow his sister's 
 example, and enter a monastery. This, 
 however, the son rebelled against, plainly 
 teUing his father, though in a respectful and 
 submissive manner, that Heloise ought
 
 48 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 never to have gone to St. Eustace, and that 
 he would not follow her example. His 
 mother was heart-hroken at the thought of 
 losing her only remaining child, and many 
 were the tears that she shed in private. 
 But when she heard that Armand was de- 
 termined never to immure himself in a mo- 
 nastery, her grief turned to joy ; while on 
 the other hand. Monsieur Dechapelle vented 
 his anger on her and on the servants. 
 
 Nor did he approve of the constant visits 
 which Armand made to the Convent. Know- 
 ing that he considered Heloise's retirement 
 from the world a sacrifice, he was much 
 afraid lest he should inculcate the same no- 
 tions in his sister, and thus induce her to 
 forsake her vows. In this he was not mis- 
 taken. Amiand had long been a Protes- 
 tant at heart. Seeing the villany of the 
 priesthood, and having often heard of and 
 Ustened with horror to the tales of the 
 Massacre of St. Bartholomew, which took 
 place in his father's remembrance, he natu-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 49 
 
 rally concluded that a church which could 
 be guilty of such crimes, was certainly not 
 a good one. 
 
 Many had been the discussions between 
 him and his father on this subject, during- 
 which it was only by the most studied sub- 
 mission, and the most concihatoiy methods 
 that he prevented the breaking forth of a 
 storm. But still he endeavoured to shake 
 his father's convictions by calm persuasion, 
 and it was not long before he fancied he 
 saw a change for the better. His mother 
 had been a Protestant from her birth, and 
 therefore needed no persuasion from him to 
 leave the fallacies of the Romish Church. 
 
 One day as Armand was preparing to 
 have a row on the lake, he observed his 
 father advancing up the path with a most 
 unusual expression of kindness on his face. 
 
 " If you want to go in the boat, never 
 mind," said M. Dechapelle, " or, better stiU 
 take me with you." 
 
 Very much amazed at his father's man- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 ner, Armand helped him into the boat, and 
 when they were fairly afloat, M. DechapeUe 
 said — 
 
 " Well, Armand, as you have determined 
 not to enter a monastery, it is right you 
 should see something of the world. I am 
 going therefore to propose to you a trip to 
 Paris." 
 
 "Are we all going together?" asked 
 Armand. 
 
 " No — only yourself. I do not feel well 
 enough, and I know your mother has no 
 wish to go from home." 
 
 Armand Yerj much doubted the last ob- 
 observation, but merely said — 
 
 " I should enjoy a trip to Paris more than 
 anything, but" 
 
 "But what?" exclaimed M. Dechapelle, 
 in rather an angry tone. 
 
 " My sister." 
 
 If the father had spoken his mind he 
 might have said — 
 
 "Your sister indeed! It is on her ac-
 
 ST EUSTACE. 51 
 
 count I wish to get rid of you." But he 
 mastered his feelings, and giving his son an 
 affectionate glance, observed — 
 
 '' You can write to her often ; and there- 
 fore it would be scarcely wise to lose the 
 chance of seeing the great capital on her 
 account." 
 
 Armand was by such reasoning as this 
 induced to prepare for his journey. In fact 
 he enjoyed the idea of seeing Paris exces- 
 sively, especially as he was of a gay, hvely 
 disposition, and had heard so much of the 
 pleasures of that city. His mother did not 
 oppose his going, and, as he had surmised, 
 if her wishes had been consulted, she would 
 have gone with him. 
 
 Now it must not be supposed that ]\Ion- 
 sieur Dechapelle had no affection for his 
 children. On the contraiy, he acted in all 
 he did, with the firm conviction that he was 
 conducing to their happiness in this world, 
 and their salvation in the next. Such was 
 what his confessor told him ; and therefore 

 
 52 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 to relieve Heloise from the influence of 
 a heretic, was an act of piety to his 
 mind. 
 
 On the appointed day, therefore, Armand 
 took leave of his parents. The stem old 
 man was much affected by the manifest 
 affection of his son, and shed tears — a 
 weakness that he had not been guilty of for 
 many years. His mother, on the other 
 hand, gave vent to a most unrestrained sor- 
 row, and was only torn from his arms by 
 force. She then fainted, and taking ad- 
 vantage of this, Armand, giving his father 
 one more kiss on the forehead, jumped into 
 the post-chaise, and was soon dashing 
 quickly along the road to Paris. 
 
 It would be useless to describe the whole 
 of this journey, as it would be a mere cata- 
 logue of days spent in travelling quickly, and 
 nights spent in sleeping soundly. But one 
 incident we must mention, as it helped to 
 secure to him one of the best friends he ever 
 afterwards possessed. He put up one evening
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 53 
 
 at a large inn at a to^n not far from the 
 capital, and having engaged a room for 
 himself, he thought he should be able to 
 spend the time until he felt sleepy, alone 
 and in quiet. But somehow or other he 
 became restless there by himself, and accord- 
 ingly went down into the large apartment, 
 where persons of all descriptions were as- 
 sembled. 
 
 One individual he particularly noticed — a 
 fine looking man, of about twenty -five, and 
 evidently a gentleman, who was engaged in 
 a discussion with a trooper. 
 
 ^' Monsieur," said the soldier, in a firm, 
 but respectful tone. " M. Bayard is a gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 " He is an infamous scoundrel," cried 
 the young man with warmth, " or he would 
 not allow such things to happen where he 
 could prevent their occurrence." 
 
 " Who is that who says that M. Bayard 
 is a scoundrel ?" said a tall ruffian, also a
 
 54 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 soldier rising up, " an he repeat that, it shall 
 he the last time he shall tell such a lie." 
 
 " He is a scoundrel, or Annette Ron- 
 geaud would not now he fatherless," said the 
 gentleman again. 
 
 In an instant the trooper's sword flew 
 from his scahhard, and several of his com- 
 panions likewise drew. The young man de- 
 fended 'himself as well as he could, hut 
 would certainly have heen overpowered had 
 not Armand sprang forward crjdng, — 
 
 " Ho, there ! fair play. Turn on me ! ye 
 ruffians. Defend yourselves !" 
 
 So saying, he made a pass at one of the 
 soldiers and wounded him shghtly. He was 
 instantly attacked hy two of them, while 
 two others still kept assaulting the young 
 man. The landlord and the sen^ants and 
 Armand's man Paul, came rushing in on 
 hearing the noise of the brawl, and the 
 latter seeing his master so outnumbered, 
 drew and attacked one of them. The land-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 65 
 
 lord was about to send for the gensdarmes, 
 when Armand cried out, — 
 
 " Stay ! stay ! I will teach those rascally 
 knaves their places in a minute, if you will 
 be quiet." 
 
 In a few moments more the trooper who 
 was assaiUng him, was on the ground, and 
 Armand then turned to the gentleman, who, 
 hard pressed by his two enemies, had placed 
 his back against the wall, and was warding 
 them off feebly from loss of blood. 
 
 Siezing one by the collar, Armand swung 
 him round so as nearly to upset him, and 
 then before the fellow recovered himself, a 
 sword was at his throat. 
 
 " Yield now ! coward that you are ! Cease 
 this brawl, or I will send my sword through 
 you." 
 
 The man muttered something between his 
 teeth, and sheathing his sword retired sul- 
 lenly, as did the other two, and the fellow 
 who had fallen on the floor sat moodily in a 
 comer. Armand gave Paul a gold piece to
 
 56 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 spend as he liked best, and then in^dted the 
 gentleman up mto his room. 
 
 His name was Hercule Bassompierrey and 
 ha\dng come into the comitry upon business, 
 he was now returning to Paris, but was 
 unable to proceed from want of a convey- 
 ance. Dechapelle immediately offered him 
 a place in his carriage wliich was gratefully 
 accepted. The cause of the disturbance 
 was simply this : — One of the troopers had 
 brought up the name of ^I. Ba} ard the 
 poHce prefect of the town, and began to 
 laugh and joke with his companions about 
 Annette Rongeaud. Upon this out of mere 
 cmiosity, Hercule inquired who this young 
 lady was. She was the daughter of a me- 
 chanic living near, and had been courted by 
 a soldier. Xot approring of him, however, 
 M. Rongeaud sent him away from the house 
 quite with Annette's consent, although her 
 lover did not believe it to be so. A short 
 time after M. Rongeaud was called away to 
 the countr)^ on business, and during his ab-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 57 
 
 sence Annette learnt that a scheme had 
 been laid to way-lay him on his retmn home 
 and mm-der him. She went immediately to 
 the prefect of pohce, who laughed at the 
 idea, and asked her what proof she had of 
 her lover's guilt. Upon this she went to 
 the Colonel of the forces, but he referred her 
 to the Prefect. Bayard, however, would do 
 nothing, and the consequence was that 
 Rongeaud although forewarned was waydaid 
 and murdered. The man was arrested, but 
 no proof existing he was released. Ilercule 
 on being asked his opinion, declared that he 
 considered Bayard a scoundrel, and thus 
 arose the discussion. 
 
 2 D
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Once in Paris, Armand took up his quarters 
 in the Rue de Luxembourg in handsome 
 apartments. Being of an excellent dispo- 
 sition and possessing the friendship of Her- 
 cule Bassompierre, he soon widened his at 
 first small circle of acquaintances, and be- 
 came a general favourite. His ha\ing at 
 his command a large income was no draw- 
 back from his good qualities, and no carouse 
 — no party of pleasure was considered com- 
 plete without him. 
 
 He was, however, in many ways distin- 
 guishable from his companions ; he never
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 59 
 
 drank so deeply, nor gambled so much as 
 they did ; indeed, he rarely played at all, 
 except it was to make up a game. His chief 
 deho^ht consisted in wanderino- about the 
 Bois de Boulogne, or the gardens of the 
 palaces thinking of Pauhne and his sister, 
 and many other subjects. One thought 
 often suggested itself to him. ^Yhat glory 
 would it be to render his name for eyer 
 illustrious as the sariom- of his countr}' ! 
 "^Miat dehght to draw the sword to free 
 France from the influence of the tyrant that 
 then ruled the destinies of France ! He 
 was a Protestant and a Eepubhcan, and to 
 think, was to act. 
 
 " Are you in loye, Armand, or are you 
 ill?" said Hercule, on one occasion. '* If 
 it is the former, it can easily be an^anged — 
 if the latter, we must send for a doctor.*' 
 
 ^- The first is not altogether untrue, nor 
 is the second," rephed Armand, smiling ; 
 '• but it is not that which occasions my 
 sorrow."
 
 60 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " Then, perhaps, you are dissatisfied with 
 the hfe you lead. I have a friend who can 
 introduce you at court. You are rich, and 
 will get on famously.'* 
 
 Armand looked fixedly at him for a mo- 
 ment, and then repHed, — 
 
 '' Hercule, you have a clumsy way of 
 sounding people — you do not mean w^hat 
 you say, and do not wish to see me at court. 
 I am a Republican." 
 
 Hercule hesitated a moment. 
 
 " Be not afraid to speak to me," con- 
 tinued Dechapelle. " Are you the same as 
 myself?" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Then let us talk it over." 
 
 Pauhne had now been at the convent of 
 St. Eustace six months. Father Pierre 
 therefore thought it high time to do some- 
 thing, and something which w^ould decide 
 her destiny for ever. For this purpose, he 
 one day set oflP from Poitou, where he had 
 been residing and started for Paris.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 61 
 
 About tills time the nation was in any- 
 thing but a moral state. Indi^ddual in. 
 stances of great virtues were at all times to 
 be met with, here and there, but exhausted 
 by the ci^ol and reUgious dissensions of the 
 preceding age, France had sunk to a very 
 low level. The nobles were overbearing and 
 immoral : the people ignorant, supersti- 
 tious, wretched, and under the sway of the 
 priests, who nevertheless were so profligate, 
 that their very name had become a reproach. 
 Father Pierre however knew that though 
 thus despised the clergy stiU retained their 
 power, and were day by day gaining more 
 strength. Decisive and terrible as the blow^ 
 he intended might be, he felt he was safe, at 
 least, for the present. 
 
 With these feehngs he entered the capi- 
 tal, regarding himself as a model of genius ; 
 and, indeed, it must be confessed he was an 
 admirable dissembler. He possessed great 
 shrewdness and cunning, and could cloak 
 his h)-pocrisy admirably, but like Sister
 
 62 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Emilie, when he was very much insulted his 
 anger manifested itself in a rising of the 
 colour, and an agitated motion of the 
 frame. However, his general demeanour 
 was calm and grave, and among those with 
 whom he had but a shght acquaintance, he 
 passed for a man of beneficent aspect as 
 well as heart. 
 
 The first thing M. de St. Denis did on 
 arriving in the capital was to go to Lefe\Te's 
 house. He found him very moody and me- 
 lancholy, and e\idently impatient for the 
 return of his daughter. He was infinitely 
 dehghted therefore when he saw the priest 
 enter, and after welcoming him heartily, 
 asked eagerly after Pauline. 
 
 " Oh, she is exceedingly well. Monsieur," 
 said Father Pierre, " and seems dehghted 
 with St. Eustace." 
 
 " Does she?" returned the old man, in- 
 credulously ; '' but I daresay when she 
 returns to Paris and to her father, she will 
 be still more delighted."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 63 
 
 M. de St. Denis was now on the very 
 subject he wished to bring up, but he deter- 
 mined not to say too much at first. 
 
 " Would it not be a pity, think you?" 
 answered he, " to spoil her by too much 
 contact with the world? The soHtude of 
 St. Eustace — the good nuns — the Abbess 
 who is fond of her, and the disciphne of the 
 church cannot fail to have a beneficial efi'ect 
 upon her. Had she not better remain longer 
 than you at first intended?" 
 
 " No — no longer than a year. I cannot 
 bear to be separated from her." 
 
 " But remember, M. Lefevre," said 
 Father Pierre, " in our last conversation on 
 the subject, you said she was to remain 
 until your great work was accompHshed, 
 and—" 
 
 " Sir," returned Simon, who never re- 
 lished contradiction, '' I presume I have a 
 right over my own daughter, and, therefore, 
 knowing my own wishes, I say that she 
 shall remain no longer than a year. At
 
 64 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 first I admit — I said — as you have just re- 
 minded me — that she should stay ; but I 
 have altered my mind." 
 
 M. de St. Denis saw that he had gone 
 too far, and therefore answered in one of 
 his mildest tones, — 
 
 '' Oh, Monsieur, I was only advising", you 
 know. PauHne, of course, is under your 
 control entirely." 
 
 " I am glad we understand each other," 
 repHed Lefe\Te; who was not yet softened, 
 " as I should be loth to quarrel. I have 
 not had a quarrel in this house since the 
 time when Albert Favier — " 
 
 Father Pierre coughed violently, and ris- 
 ing, interrupted Simon, saying, — 
 
 " I think I have lost an appointment al- 
 ready. I must, therefore, hear what you 
 are kind enough to tell me another time. 
 Adieu." 
 
 Simon was not suspicious ; and therefore, 
 without noticing the pallor that overspread 
 the priest's face, he said, —
 
 ST. EUSTACE. (jO 
 
 " Come again soon, and we will have 
 another chat." 
 
 M. de St. Denis went into the street mut- 
 tering curses on his ill-luck. 
 
 " But Pauline shall be a nun, whether he 
 likes it or not ; aye, whether she like it her- 
 self or not. I am not to be outwitted by a 
 doting old man, and a silly girl." 
 
 Nevertheless, however confident Father 
 Pierre tried to be, he was by no means com- 
 fortable. He had not entered M. Lefevre's 
 house with the expectation of meeting with 
 such firmness as had been manifested by 
 Pauline's father. On the contrary, he had 
 felt convinced that he had only to be mild 
 and persuasive in order to gain his point. 
 To gain, however, he was resolved, whatever 
 means he might have to employ. 
 
 Lefevre, on the other hand, knew that as 
 a priest, M. de St. Denis would naturally seek 
 to make Pauline a nun ; but looking upon 
 him as a man of upright and good principles, 
 he contemplated it merely on the bright
 
 66 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 side. He saw, in fact, no reason why 
 Father Pierre should wish to induce his 
 daughter to leave him, except it was this, 
 and therefore felt quite secure for the 
 future.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Father Pierre was in no way daunted by 
 this first reverse. He now determined to 
 play boldly, and take the consequences — good 
 or evil. Accordingly, on the following day, 
 he presented himself at M. Lefevre's door, 
 and was soon in the room with the old man, 
 who welcomed him heartily. 
 
 " I am glad," he said, " that you have 
 come so soon again, for I wanted to tell you 
 the story about Albert Favier." 
 
 " I am ready to hear it now," returned 
 the priest, in a voice that made Simon start, 
 and with a firmness that was to him per- 
 fectly unaccountable.
 
 68 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " When I was about thirty years of age," 
 continued Lefevre — " here, pour yourself 
 out some wine, M. de St. Denis — when I 
 was about thirty years of age, I became ac- 
 quainted with a man of some wealth named 
 Montalambert, who had an only daughter 
 Pauhne. I was rich also, and therefore be- 
 came a constant visitor at his house, which 
 was situated some miles from Paris, and 
 which is now, I beheve in the hands of the 
 Romish Church. I was very often alone 
 with Pauhne, and strange to say, she Hked 
 me, although I was by no means one to fas- 
 cinate so beautiful a girl as she was. She 
 had only passed twenty years in this world, 
 and was fair, with dark eyes, and a magni- 
 ficent complexion, such as few of our coun- 
 trywomen can boast. I, on the contrary', 
 besides being ten years her senior, was 
 rough and harsh in my manner, though to 
 her I was always as kind and gentle as I 
 could be. 
 
 " At last I won her heart. But her fa-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 69 
 
 ther, on seeing oui' mutual attachment, was 
 greatly displeased, and at length forbade me 
 the house. He had in fact already accepted 
 a suitor for his daughter, one Albert Fa- 
 vier" — here the priest drank a glass of wine 
 off at a draught, wiped his forehead, and 
 re-filled his goblet — " who was by no means 
 the person to please a lovely creature such 
 as Pauline. 
 
 ^' I will describe him to you. He was 
 about your ovra height, M. de St. Denis — 
 are you hot, my friend, if so, I yviR open the 
 window ; there — there is a nice breeze, are 
 you better ?'' 
 
 " Oh, yes, thank you," returned the 
 priest, '' pray go on. I am interested." 
 
 " AYell, he was about your height, as I 
 have said, rather thin, with black hau*, mus- 
 tachios, and whiskers, and small sparkling 
 eyes. As to his other features, I never par- 
 ticularly noticed them, but one thing is in- 
 dehbly fixed on my memory. He had a 
 high forehead, on which very near the hair*
 
 70 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 was a deep scar. He was altogether then 
 no person for a beautiful girl to love " 
 
 '' And therefore you deemed yourself bet- 
 ter suited, I suppose," said the priest, with 
 a forced laugh. 
 
 " AVhy, yes, anybody would have been 
 better than he, and so Pauhne thought. We 
 often corresponded by letter, and though 
 some were intercepted, and she had constant 
 reprimands, she loved me too much not to 
 find means to have them conveyed to me. 
 
 '' Well, one day as I was sitting in this 
 room — you must know. Father Pierre, I 
 have always Hved in the house as it was an 
 inheritance from my father — I was sitting 
 in this room musing over my future. The 
 house then was not as it is now. The walls 
 were imruined, the halls well kept, the 
 rooms furnished in a costly manner, and 
 many servants waited upon me. I have 
 now left it to go to ruin as I wash to spend 
 all my money on the Great Work. Well, 
 to resiune — I was sitting here, when the
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 71 
 
 door opened abruptly and in walked Albert 
 Favier. 
 
 " ^ To what do I owe this visit, sir?' asked 
 I, angrily. 
 
 " ' You are a scoundrel,' repHed he, ' for 
 every man is a scoundrel who endeavours to 
 make a daughter disobey her father.' 
 
 " The remark was cunningly put, but it 
 would not do for me. I ordered him to 
 leave the house, but he refused, and seating 
 himself without any further anger, pro- 
 ceeded to enquire whether I was ready to 
 cease my correspondence with Pauline. I 
 replied very briefly that I had no such in- 
 tention — that as she loved me, nothing 
 should prevent our marrying, and that I 
 ad\dsed him to leave the house immediately. 
 
 " ' But you forget,' said he, triumphantly, 
 * that her father will never allow you even 
 to see her.' 
 
 '' ' I do not care for that,' returned I, 
 ^ and I therefore bid you begone.' 
 
 " ' Then, sii',' he rephed, ' there is only
 
 72 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 one way to settle this matter. Meet me to- 
 morrow morning at the Bois de Boulogne. 
 Au revoir P 
 
 " He then withdrew. Lucky for him was 
 it that he did so, or most assuredly I should 
 have helped him to descend without the 
 trouble of going do^vn stairs. I went on 
 the next morning to the place appointed for 
 the duel, and after waiting some time the 
 scoundrel came up. He offered me my 
 choice — pistols or swords. I chose the for- 
 mer, and he himself handed me a pair, 
 which from habit I tried, and found that 
 there was no ball in ! 
 
 " ' Ah !' I exclaimed, loud enough for all 
 to hear, ' I did not know that I had to deal 
 with a mm'derer. The baU has not been 
 put in !' 
 
 '' Albert coloured deeply, and was making 
 some excuse, when I in my anger seized a 
 riding whip from my servant and struck him 
 in the face. He drew his sword and tried 
 to run me through, but I was then a goo
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 73 
 
 swordsman, and he failed. We did not 
 fight long. In a desperate lunge he lost 
 his footing, and my sword entered his body 
 just below the left shoulder. He fell heavily, 
 and all thought he was dead. But no ! By 
 a desperate effort he raised himself and 
 cried — 
 
 •' ' M. Lefevre, behold your deadly enemy 
 for hfe, if I live, and receive my curse if I 
 die.' 
 
 '' He then fell back senseless. The 
 scoundrel, however, recovered, and w^as no 
 more seen at the house of M. Montalambeii:. 
 As soon, how^ever, as the story got mnd I 
 was on as good a footing there as ever. ' For,' 
 said the father, ' a man so brave as you is 
 worthy of my daughter. But,' he added, 
 ' I trust that my fortune is no consideration 
 in your eyes, for I have made a w ill in which 
 I have left it all to the church.' 
 
 " ' My dear Monsieur,' replied I, ' I love 
 Pauline for herself, and care not a straw for 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 money. I am rich and can support her in 
 affluence.' 
 
 " And so I did, until a short time after 
 PauUne's birth she died, I think by no na- 
 tural means. It was the work of Favier, 
 I am convinced, but it is his last, for " 
 
 "It is not his last," cried the priest, 
 fiercely, and rising and throwing off his wig 
 he added, " behold Albert Favier, your 
 sworn enemy !" 
 
 The Alchymist was at first unable to 
 speak, so great was his astonishment. After 
 a while, however, he said — 
 
 " And what right, sir, have you to force 
 me to make my only daughter a nun ?" 
 
 " Because," returned the other, '' because 
 she is your only daughter — your only hope 
 — your only support. I will drag your last 
 comfort from you. She shall never return 
 to this place." 
 
 " She shall., M. Favier," cried the father, 
 fiercely, -^ she shall never become a nun. I
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 75 
 
 will follow you — I ^\ill take her from the 
 convent. I will die to rescue her." 
 
 " But perhaps you may not be able," an- 
 swered Albert, sneeringly. " The church 
 has power. Remember, unless you at once 
 give up your daughter, it will be the worse 
 for you." 
 
 So saying he was about to leave the room, 
 when the Alchj-mist rushing up to him, 
 seized his hand, sapng — 
 
 '' Say you do not mean it — let us be 
 friends — give me my daughter, and receive 
 my forgiveness," 
 
 The father overcame the man, and he 
 stooped even to entreaty to rescue Pauline. 
 
 " Threats and entreaties are ahke useless," 
 replied Favier, " I am your sworn enemy, 
 and for the wrongs you once did me, I now 
 mean to have my revenge." 
 
 " Then," exclaimed the old man, drawing 
 his sword, " as I once chastised you for your 
 insolence, so I will again. Defend your- 
 self,"
 
 76 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 He forgot that the priest had no sword. 
 But Father Pierre was now the stronger, 
 and before the Alch}Tnist could use the wea- 
 pon he had twisted it from him and flung 
 him heavily on the ground. What pre- 
 vented his then wreaking his vengeance? 
 There was his mortal foe lying before him 
 on the floor — why not kill him ? No one 
 would know of it — why does he hesitate ? 
 There was something in that long grey hair, 
 amid which the blood began to trickle, that 
 stayed his arm, and casting a look of con- 
 tempt at his victim, he flung the sword into 
 a comer of the room, and departed.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 About a week after this Armand Decha- 
 pelle went out to take his regular evening 
 walk by the river. Just as he reached the 
 Pont de Notre Dame the sun was setting. 
 The houses were dyed a bright crimson, 
 while the trees along the Quais were just 
 tinged by the beams of the d}ing god. A 
 few fleecy clouds were hanging in the air 
 unmoved, and, catching the rays as they 
 became brighter and brighter, assumed a 
 deep red glow that was reflected strongly on 
 the waters of the Seine, as it rushed along 
 wildly towards the sea.
 
 78 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 The sky after a while changed from red 
 to yellow, and then at length the god sank 
 down majestically to his brief sleep, and 
 gave place to the grey soft hom*s of twihght 
 when everything seemed to be enveloped in 
 a kind of veil of mist, and the shadows of 
 the houses wavered, and then disappeared 
 altogether. Then uprose the moon, and 
 the stars burst forth, and seemed to gaze 
 into the river as into a mirror, studded with 
 briofht and luminous flowers. 
 
 Armand was so impressed by the beauty of 
 the scene, that he stayed during all those 
 transformations leaning against the parapet of 
 the bridge. When darkness had completely 
 covered all things, he rose to go home, and 
 chose the very street in which the Alchy- 
 mist lived. He moved along thoughtfully, 
 and was just considering the uselessness of 
 his remaining much longer in Paris, when 
 he heard a loud shriek and reiterated cries 
 for mercy. 
 
 Hastening to the door of the house from
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 79 
 
 which the sounds seemed to proceed, he 
 rushed up the stairs, and throwing open the 
 door of the drawing-room, which was the 
 only one that was quite untouched, a curious 
 spectacle met his gaze. Lying on the floor 
 bleeding profusely was M. Lefevre, while 
 standing over him was a tall, muscular man, 
 who was in the very act of giving him the 
 coup de grace when M. Dechapelle rushed 
 in. In a moment the rufiian found himself 
 engaged with a new and formidable adver- 
 sary, and the old man, having just strength 
 enough to rise, crawled up into a corner, 
 and lay there out of reach of the comba- 
 tants. The fight, however, did not last 
 long. The assassin, finding himself hard 
 pressed, and preferring death to capture, 
 leaped out of an open window, and fell 
 heavily on an out-house beneath. The last 
 time Armand saw him he was crawling 
 along the roof to drop into the next street 
 or court. 
 
 The young man then turned to render
 
 80 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 assistance to the old man, who, exhausted 
 by loss of blood, had fainted in the comer. 
 Lifting him in his arms he laid him on the 
 sofa, and called loudly to the servants for 
 some water. Marguerite soon came up with 
 what was wanted, and after the apphcation 
 of this and other remedies, he gradually 
 came to himself. 
 
 A^Tien he was able to speak, he thanked 
 Armand in the warmest terms for his kind- 
 ness, and enquired his name, and other 
 things respecting his situation. iVfter a 
 while a doctor, whom Marguerite had fetched, 
 came in, and, leaving the old man with him 
 after ascertaining that the wounds were not 
 likely to prove fatal, Armand was descend- 
 ing the stairs when he heard the serv^ants 
 voice crying — 
 
 " Monsieur — Monsieur, comeback — come 
 back." 
 
 He immediately hastened up, and M. 
 Lefe^TC extending his hand to him, said — 
 
 " Come to me to-morrow morning at
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 81 
 
 twelve o'clock, and we can then compare 
 notes. Adieu." 
 
 Armand promised to come, and was soon 
 on his way home. But his adventures were 
 not over yet. On turning the comer of 
 the street, and crossing the one behind, he 
 though he heard a moan. Hastening to the 
 spot from whence he fancied the noise pro- 
 ceeded, he found the assassin in his last 
 agonies. He had broken his leg in the fall, 
 and after contming to crawl along the out- 
 house, he had again fallen into the street, 
 where loss of blood, and fear of expected 
 arrest were now doing their work. 
 
 Armand was naturally humane, and could 
 not bear to look on a fellow creature in suf- 
 fering without pity. He therefore ran to a 
 shop and begged a glass of water. The 
 barber, for such was his trade, instantly ac- 
 quiesced on seeing the excited state of his 
 visitor, and coming over the way with a 
 light, they sprinkled a httle on his face, and 
 poured some brandy down his throat. They 
 
 E 2
 
 82 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 then carried him, with the assistance of 
 others, who had by this time assembled, 
 into the barber's shop, where he was laid on 
 a couch, while a surgeon was sent for. 
 While no one else was in the room but 
 Armand, the assassin whispered in his hear, 
 
 " I am dying. Monsieur, do not betray 
 me. It was all the fault M. de St. Denis. 
 If it had not been for those cursed priests, 
 I should never have been what I am." 
 
 '^ M. de St. Denis !" exclaimed Armand, 
 " what the M. de St. Denis who has so 
 much power at St. Eustace ?" 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " But what reason can he have?" 
 
 Here the barber entered, and the conver- 
 sation stopped. The surgeon soon after 
 arrived, and it was found necessary to am- 
 putate the leg. Armand then went away 
 after slipping a piece of gold into the bar- 
 ber's hand, and promising to return next 
 morning. Sickened by the scenes of the 
 evening, he walked a short time about the
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 83 
 
 open thoroughfares, to refresh his burning 
 temples with the cool night air, and it was 
 not until long past midnight that he 
 threw himself on his bed to snatch a feverish 
 sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 On the following morning Armand went to 
 the barber's shop to see after the wounded 
 man. To his horror, but yet not much to 
 his astonishment, he found that the unfor- 
 tunate man had torn off the bandaofes dur- 
 ing the night and bled to death, leaving no 
 name — ^no address — no clue behind him. 
 
 Dechapelle then proceeded to the house 
 of M. Lefevre where a pleasant surprise 
 awaited him. The old man was much better 
 than could have been expected, and he 
 found him half sitting up in his bed propped 
 up by pillows.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 85 
 
 " Ah, my young friend," said he, as he 
 saw Armand advancing quietly towards the 
 bedside. '^ Is that you ? Well — ^you see 
 I am much better." 
 
 '^ Yes, sir," answered Araiand. " I thank 
 Heaven for it— you seem much better." 
 
 " Have you heard anything respecting 
 the assassin ?" asked Lefevre. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur. "When he leapt out of 
 your window, he fell heavily on the out- 
 house and broke his leg ; and succeeding in 
 dragging himself along, again fell into the 
 street. I had him cared for, and it was 
 found necessary to amputate the Umb. I 
 went this morning to see him, but found he 
 had torn off his bandages in the night, and 
 bled to death." 
 
 '^Ah! he might have made important 
 disclosures." 
 
 " He mentioned one thing," observed 
 Dechapelle, " that may, perhaps, afford you 
 a clue : — namely, that M. de St. Denis was
 
 86 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 the originator of the crime. Do you know 
 M. de St. Denis ?" 
 
 " Yes; to my cost, I do," said Lefevre, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " He is an old friend of mine," returned 
 Armand, " or rather an old enemy. I have 
 a sister at the convent of St. Eustace." 
 
 " St. Eustace !" cried the old man, rising 
 with supematiu-al energy from the pillow^ 
 " have you ever heard of a girl named 
 Pauline?" 
 
 *' Oh, yes," repUed Armand, colouring 
 deeply, and slightly hesitating, " I have 
 seen her." 
 
 " Indeed, she is my daughter ; but I see 
 we have mutual disclosures to make. Let 
 us wait awhile." 
 
 He then sank back upon his pillow, and 
 seemed engrossed in thought. He would, 
 have recounted all his story, and his feelings 
 with respect to Pauline had not Armand 
 begged him to desist until he was stronger.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 8f 
 
 If he had followed his inclinations he would 
 have entreated him instantly to speak, but 
 he knew too well the influence of excite- 
 ment, not to curb his impatience. 
 
 Yet impatient he was ; the events of the 
 last few days seemed like a romance ; the 
 wonderful manner in which he had become 
 acquainted with the father of PauHne, in 
 whom, though he had seen her but once, he 
 felt so strong an interest — the strange 
 situation of his sister and his mistress — all 
 seemed like so many scenes in a drama. 
 However, after some time, Lefevre recovered 
 sufficiently to be able to narrate his story, 
 and it was with a burning brow that Armand 
 Hstened to the details of his feud with Albert 
 Favier — the intrigues of the false priest, 
 and the subsequent carrying off of his 
 daughter — for as such, Simon now seemed 
 to regard it — and the attempted retention 
 of her at St. Eustace. When he had con- 
 cluded, Armand told his story, being careful 
 to describe his position and his riches, as
 
 88 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 well as his deep interest in Pauline. When 
 he had concluded, the old man took his 
 hand, and said, — 
 
 '' It is not only because I owe you a deep 
 debt of gratitude, but because you are in 
 every way worthy of her, that I will give 
 my consent to your marrying my daughter. 
 She will, I know, love the man who has 
 saved her father's life. I do not take your 
 wealth into consideration, for even if you 
 were poor my fortune would be sufficient to 
 maintain her, for though I spend much in 
 my great work, I receive an annual sum of 
 money from my houses." 
 
 Armand could not speak, but kissing the 
 old man's hand, he remained in deep thought 
 overwhelmed with joy. Seeing that he did 
 not speak, M. Lefevre continued, — 
 
 " You will, therefore, for your own sake, 
 as well as mine, assist me in rescuing Pau- 
 Hne from the convent." 
 
 '' That I will, father," cried Armand, ve- 
 hemently, ^' for father I trust you soon will
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 89 
 
 be. I will force the hypocrite to abandon 
 his prize, if I have to use my sword." 
 
 '^ We must not be too \dolent, my son," 
 said Simon Lefevre, " we must work 
 silently. First of all, we must write to 
 PauHne, and tell her of what has happened. 
 But by whom can we send it ? If we send 
 it by the post, the Abbess will open it, or, 
 at least, she may do so. Let us rather find 
 a messenger." 
 
 " I will go myself," cried Armand, '• I 
 can give it to my Sister Heloise, and Made- 
 moiselle Lefevre will then be sure to receive 
 it." 
 
 "That is a capital project, Armand," 
 said M. Simon, " I will wTite it now, and 
 you can set off to-morrow — that is if you 
 can possibly do so." 
 
 " I will go this very evening," answered 
 Armand, " and depend upon it, it will not 
 be long before our wishes are accompUshed." 
 
 " Ah ! you are of a hopeful mind, Ar- 
 mand," said the Alchymist, " and, pray
 
 90 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Heaven, your surmises may prove correct, 
 but I have great fears for myself. I do not 
 think I shall ever see Pauline again." 
 
 " Do not give way to such thoughts, 
 Monsieur," said Armand, " you are now re- 
 covering fast from your wounds, and by the 
 time I come back from " 
 
 " By the time you come back my son," 
 interrupted Lefevre, in a solemn voice, 
 " where shall we aU be ?" 
 
 " Well, then," said Dechapelle, wishing 
 to turn the conversation, " it is decided I 
 start to-night. I shall come this evening to 
 fetch the letter, but now I must say adieu. 
 It is past two o'clock." 
 
 " Adieu, my son — God bless you." 
 
 And the old man drew him towards him, 
 and kissed him on the forehead. 
 
 Armand made a few hasty preparations, 
 and in the evening after taking leave of his 
 friends, he presented himself at M. Lefevre's, 
 whom he was rejoiced to find much better 
 than in the morning. He was asleep when
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 91 
 
 the young man entered, and, therefore, seat- 
 ing himself by the window, Armand gazed 
 out on the night. Piles of dark heavy 
 clouds were rushing impetuously onwards 
 before a brisk west wind, while the sun was 
 in vain struggUng to appear brightly through 
 the interstices. A storm was evidently 
 brewing. 
 
 " You are come then," said M. Simon, 
 rising from the sofa on which he had been 
 reclining. " I am glad you are punctual 
 for I have a word to say to you. I am now 
 so much better, that the doctors say there is 
 no possibility of my dying, at least, of these 
 wounds. Now, if you should hear that I 
 have in delirium committed suicide or have 
 had a relapse, do not believe it. I shall then 
 have been murdered." 
 
 '^ Will Father Pierre dare ?" — exclaimed 
 Armand. 
 
 " He will dare anything. Now is his best 
 time."
 
 92 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 *' But I will denounce him everywhere. I 
 will expose his treachery, and drag Pauline 
 from St. Eustace by force." 
 
 " No, no, my son, you would in that case 
 only create confusion, and perhaps render 
 all our plans futile. For myself, I do not 
 care. I only wish to rescue Pauhne from 
 the fangs of a church, that can harbour 
 such miscreants as Favier, and use them 
 as their chosen ministers. Here is a letter 
 I received from him, in which he acknow- 
 ledges that his name is Albert Favier, and 
 he exacts a promise that I wdll not keep it. 
 I will not — I give it to you. Here also 
 is a statement — signed by myself— my phy- 
 sician and Madame GaUiard — of all the 
 facts relating to our quarrel, and all his 
 treachery — and here, also, is a will made in 
 favour of yourself and Pauline in case 
 the latter allows your addresses. If not, I 
 do not bind her, but I give my full consent 
 to your marriage— nay express a hope that
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 93 
 
 you may be united. I would not ask you 
 to take them on your journey, but that 
 know I shall not see you again." 
 
 Armand could not express his gratitude ; 
 although this was merely natural. But there 
 was another thing that seemed strange to 
 him — be almost beUeved that was the last 
 time he should behold Lefevre. He took 
 leave of him, however, with all the cheerful- 
 ness he could summon, and with his servant 
 Paul, started immediately for St. Eustace. 
 
 The storm had now begun in all its fury. 
 Thick masses of clouds piled one on the 
 other were the only objects visible, except 
 when vivid flashes of forked lightning 
 glanced from east to west, and the thunder 
 began to roll, almost imperceptibly at first — 
 increasing by degrees, and then bursting in 
 fierce anger over the city. The rain poured 
 in one uninterrupted torrent, and before Ar- 
 mand had reached the Barriere, he and his 
 servant were wet through. 
 
 They went on, however, never heeding
 
 94 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " wind or weather." A great object was in 
 view^, and Armand cared not for the rough- 
 ness of the road to success. When mthin 
 twenty miles of Loudon they stopped to 
 breathe their horses, and take some brandy 
 at a little inn, composed of a straggling set 
 of buildings joined indiscriminately one to 
 the other. The host, a jolly, fat man, seemed 
 surprised that they did not dismount, and 
 enter the house for the night. 
 
 "It is a bad evening, sir," said he, 
 " hadn't you better stop till the morn- 
 mg? 
 
 " No, I thank you," replied Armand^ 
 " my business is peremptory, and I must 
 not allow a little rain to detain me. 
 
 " No, Monsieur, but then in the forest 
 yonder there are robbers, who are extremely 
 venturesome. I have two nice rooms for 
 you and your servant — good refreshment — 
 altogether capital accomodation." 
 
 " I don't doubt it," observed Armand.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 95 
 
 " but I'm in great haste. Good night to 
 you." 
 
 So saying, he bade Paul follow him, and 
 rattling out of the courtyard, was soon 
 riding fast down the road. The rain, as 
 the landlord had said, came down now fu- 
 riously, and it was not long before every- 
 thing was wet through, cloak, doublet, 
 shirt, and to increase their inconvenience, 
 a stream of black mud took the place of 
 the road, through which the horses 
 splashed, not without many sHps, covering 
 their riders with dirt. They were in the 
 forest in less than ten minutes from their 
 departure from the inn, and were here more 
 sheltered from the pelting rain. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Paul to his master, 
 '' what the landlord said of this place is 
 quite true. I would advise you to keep 
 your pistols ready." 
 
 " You say rightly," rephed Dechapelle, 
 and he examined his arms, Hardly how-
 
 96 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 ever had he looked at them, when he ex- 
 claimed in a voice of consternation — 
 
 " 31071 Dieu^ the charge is entirely wet, 
 and all the powder in my pouch is useless. 
 Are yours the same, Paul ?" 
 
 /'I am Sony- to say they are," returned 
 the man, gloomily, " but nevertheless we 
 have swords, and can fight our way well 
 with them." 
 
 On, therefore, they rode, but had not 
 proceeded more than a hundi^ed yards be- 
 fore a crack was heard, and Armand's horse 
 staggered, neighed loudly, and, reehng back- 
 wards fell ^^'ith its rider heavily to the 
 ground. 
 
 '' Diable, Monsieur Amiand," exclaimed 
 Paul, leaping to the ground, " are you 
 hurt ?" 
 
 He had no time, however, to examine his 
 fallen master. He was sun'ounded by men, 
 his arms pinioned behind him, and in ano- 
 ther minute Armand was standing over his
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 97 
 
 horse with drawn sword, keeping the ruf- 
 fians at bay. 
 
 " Down with that bit of iron," cried one, 
 who seemed to be their leader, " down with 
 that bit of iron, or it may be the worse for 
 you." 
 
 Amiand made no reply, but still con- 
 tinued dri\ing off the men who attempted 
 to seize him, and making his way towards 
 where Paul's horse stood. 
 
 '^ Come now, my men, ain't you a set of 
 cowards ? Can't you get him down ? If we 
 don't make haste off we shall have the 
 whole of the \illage upon us." 
 
 A simultaneous attack was now made 
 upon himx, and, seeing it was useless to 
 contend with them, Armand said that if 
 they would not detain him long, and allow 
 him his sword and his hands free, and the 
 same conditions for Paul, he would accom- 
 pany them quietly. This was accepted, and 
 the robbers set out with the prisoners and 
 the horse in the midst of them. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The rain had now ceased. The clouds were 
 gradually disappearing, and the silver moon 
 was to be seen as she peeped every now and 
 then from behind the thick masses of vapour. 
 The tall forest trees — the avenues formed by 
 nature — the fallen leaves that were whirled 
 in eddies along the ground, and the arms of 
 the body of men as they moved with a 
 steady tramp onwards were just tipped by 
 the pale hght of the planet as she appeared 
 and disappeared. Patches of hght were to 
 be seen here and there far away among the 
 trees, while the fohage around was shrouded
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 99 
 
 in thick darkness, and the flickering rays 
 glided along the wet grass as over a bed of 
 diamonds, each blade seeming coronetted 
 with jewels. 
 
 The robbers moved on quickly, and hav- 
 ing traversed the wood, came to an old di- 
 lapidated building on the other side where 
 a light was visible from the window of a 
 small room. Giving a peculiar knock, they 
 were admitted ; and after groping their 
 way along a dark and damp passage, they 
 found themselves in a large and brightly 
 Hghted room, where about a dozen men 
 were assembled drinking and singing 
 snatches of boisterous glees. 
 
 " Ah, Captain," cried a huge ruffian, in a 
 furred coat, " ah. Captain, you've been suc- 
 cessful to-night I see. What is it ? Why 
 he is as wet as a drowned rat. Come here 
 young 'un, let's have a look at ye." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Pierre," cried the 
 Captain, " I don't wish the young gentle- 
 man to be insulted. Will you take any-
 
 100 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 thing to drink ?" he added, to Armand. 
 '' You look tired and wet through." 
 
 " No, thank you," replied the latter, " all 
 I wish is, that you search me as soon as 
 possible, and let me go away, as my business 
 is of great importance." 
 
 " Let's have a look at your cloak then. 
 Ah ! a purse — well lined — and gold too, by 
 Jupiter — a diamond bracelet — ah — well, we 
 will keep this. And you said your business 
 is important." 
 
 " It is — very much so." 
 
 " In that case," added the Captain, after 
 a moment's pause, " in that case we must 
 request the favour of your company here 
 for a week or so, until you are ransomed." 
 
 " Let me go now — return me all the 
 things you ha^-e taken, and you shall be re- 
 warded." 
 
 At this, several of the thieves burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 '' No, no," said their leader, with a smile. 
 " I shan't stand the chance of that. We
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 101 
 
 shall make you comfortable enough, I 
 warrant." 
 
 All he could say was unavailmg ; and so 
 seating himself, Armand began to survey the 
 room, while the Captain quaffed large 
 quantities of wine, and talked about various 
 matters to his men. 
 
 The windows were shuttered with iron 
 shutters and barred strongly — the only fur- 
 niture consisted of two long oaken tables 
 and several benches, while the ceiling having 
 no plaster, the rafters admitted of his look- 
 ing up into the room above. As he was 
 glancing upwards, he fancied he saw a pair 
 of twinkling eyes peering down upon him. 
 They wore a friendly expression he thought, 
 but as a drowning man will catch at a straw 
 Armand, at least, imagined that they did so. 
 He was afraid to make signs for fear of at- 
 tracting the notice of the robbers ; but he, 
 nevertheless, gave an almost imperceptible 
 nod. 
 
 Hardly had he made this slight signal,
 
 102 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 when he heard the report of a pistol close 
 hy him, and at the same time a man 
 shouted, — 
 
 " An eaves-dropper by — but I have 
 winged him !" 
 
 " Oh ! God of Jacob, defend us !" cried 
 a voice from above, " he has killed me. I 
 am dead — the murderous villain !" 
 
 At these words, the whole band burst 
 into an uncontrolable fit of laughter. When 
 this had subsided, the Captain said, — 
 
 ^' Why, it's Isaac. I say you Jewish cat, 
 how came you there — ^why were you not 
 here with us?" 
 
 " Bemadotti made me come up here," 
 cried the Jew, " but it's no use my com- 
 ing now — I am dying." 
 
 '' Get up," cried the Captain, giving 
 Bemadotti a blow that sent him staggering 
 against the wall. " Fetch the Jew down, 
 and remember," he added, looking fiercely 
 around him, " if ever you do so again, you 
 shall die, and by my hand too."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 103 
 
 The thief sneaked out in fear, but too glad 
 to get off so easily, and presently returned 
 carrnng a miserable looking man of about 
 sixty. It was found that the Jew was not 
 in the slightest degree hurt, but merely 
 frightened, and the expression of his coun- 
 tenance was so intensely ludicrous, that the 
 Captain himself could not resist a laugh, in 
 which the others heartily joined — some mut- 
 tering jokes, and others sneering condolence. 
 The Israelite shook his clenched fist at then^ 
 and giving a sidelong glance at Armand, 
 rushed away. 
 
 The rest of the evening was spent by the 
 men in singing songs and drinking. Ar- 
 mand was invited to join, but his vexation 
 was so great that he refused, and sat by 
 himself thinking on plans of escape. Lat-e 
 in the night the Captain rose and said, — 
 
 " WiU you follow me, Monsieur, and I 
 will take you to your chamber." 
 
 So saying, the thief led the way to a sub- 
 terranean passage, at the end of which was
 
 104 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 a damp wretched room or rather ^ault, 
 scooped out of the earth, and walled mth 
 boards that reeked with the wet of years. 
 
 '' There," said he, pointing to some straw 
 in a comer, " that is the only accommoda- 
 tion I can offer you. We fare no better 
 sometimes." 
 
 He then went out with the hght, locked 
 the door, and left Armand in total darkness. 
 He had now time to reflect upon his posi- 
 tion, and the remembrance that while he 
 was here, something awful might happen to 
 poor Lefevre, almost drove him mad. He 
 groped about the cell, and at last found the 
 door at which he battered long and loudly, 
 calling out many times, but no answer came. 
 " And if it come," he considered — " if it 
 come, what more can I offer than what I 
 have offered?" Ljing down, therefore, on 
 the wretched couch prepared for him, he 
 endeavom'ed to snatch a few hours of re- 
 pose. 
 
 He had not been there more than half-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 105 
 
 an-hour and was just dozing off, when he 
 fancied he heard something move beside 
 him. He [put his hand out, and caught 
 hold of a man's arm. 
 
 " Who's there ?" he cried loudly, not 
 thinking in his sleepy state that it might be 
 a friend. The place was so convenient for 
 a secret murder, that he half questioned 
 the propriety of his having gone to sleep at all. 
 
 '' What the devil do you make such a 
 noise for ?" whispered the Jew, for it was 
 he, " I am come to save you, on condition 
 that you take me with you." 
 
 " All right," said Armand, in a low 
 voice ; " but make as much haste as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " There is no need of hurry," answered 
 Isaac, " we have five or six hours clear. 
 Follow me." 
 
 Leading the way, the Jew went through 
 a secret door which closed behind them ; 
 having first given Armand a brace of pis- 
 tols. Then proceeding up a narrow passago, 
 
 2 F
 
 106 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 they came out upon a broad ledge of stone. 
 The house was in an unfinished state, as has 
 been before mentioned, and this projection 
 was composed by a large slab placed 
 there to form the top of some steps yet 
 unmade. 
 
 " There are two ways of escape," said the 
 Jew. " One by a subterranean passage — 
 the other is to jump down from this ledge to 
 the ground. It is a long leap, but if the 
 other fail, it is the only chance." 
 
 *' But where is Paul, my servant?" 
 
 " He must be left. Stay here while I go 
 and examine the passage. It may be stopped 
 up, and if we enter it at this end, our re- 
 treat would be impossible. Wait till I 
 come." 
 
 So saying, the Jew, pushing aside a large 
 stone, descended some steps, and the secret 
 door rolled back to its place, leaving Ar- 
 mand alone. He now contemplated the 
 leap. He would, in order to save himself, 
 have to jump over a high wall — what was on
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 107 
 
 the other side, he knew not. To leap down 
 ^dthout clearing the wall would be useless, 
 as he could not then climb over. With the 
 Jew in his anns, he saw no chance of a suc- 
 cessful attempt, and once or twice the 
 thought suggested itself that now he might 
 escape and leave the old man, but he was 
 grateful to him and forebore. 
 
 He had not been there a quarter of an 
 hour before he heai'd the sound of voices, 
 and a rush of feet up the jsubteiTanean pas- 
 sage. The Jew the next moment leaped out 
 and pushing the stone back with all his 
 force, cried, — 
 
 '' Leave me and jump over, or you will be 
 murdered." 
 
 Not waiting for another word, Armand 
 seized the old Jew, and was about to jump 
 when Isaac disengaged himself, saying, — 
 
 " If you do not leave me, all will be lost. 
 They do not know I am here. I am safe. 
 Leap !" 
 
 Pressing the old man's hand, Armand
 
 108 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 leapt upwards and alighted safely, though 
 much shaken, deep on the other side. He 
 had done this but Justin time, for the next 
 moment the robbers rushed out on the projec- 
 tion, and fired at random ; for, notwithstand- 
 ing that they carried torches, they could not 
 see to take aim. 
 
 Dechapelle did not delay an instant, but 
 darted away through the trees. A thick fog 
 had set in, and he at first feared that he 
 would be unable to find his way. He, how- 
 ever, went on quickly, until at length he 
 arrived at the high road. Here he stood 
 for some moments undecided as to which 
 way he ought to take — the one to the left, 
 or the one to the right. A sHght noise, 
 however, attracted his attention, and he 
 listened. It was the cUnk of blacksmiths' 
 hammers. This decided him, and he 
 pushed forward in the direction of the 
 sound, and soon the grateful Hghts of the 
 hamlet came before his sight, dimly shining 
 in the misty atmosphere.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 109 
 
 On airiving at the outskirts, he found 
 himself opposite a rural inn, whose inmates 
 were bustling about, and preparing to retire 
 for the night. It was past one o'clock and 
 he expected to have found them in bed. 
 He knocked loudly, therefore, and in a few 
 minutes the door was opened by a man, who 
 seeing the muddy state of Armand's clothes, 
 and perceiving he was unmounted, thought 
 fit to be uncivil, and muttered something 
 about the lateness of the hour, and the 
 queer characters that infested the roads. 
 
 " Yes, my man," said Armand, " and it 
 is precisely to avoid meeting those unplea- 
 sant characters that I wish to sleep here. 
 I want a room directly, and some wine." 
 
 The fellow stared. 
 
 " Yes, sir — directly, sir," said he, and in 
 ten minutes Armand found himself seated 
 in a large bedded room before a blazing fire, 
 with a flagon of wine on the table. The 
 first thinof he did when left to himself was
 
 110 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 to search for the papers which he imagined 
 he had placed in his doublet. What was 
 his astonishment, and what his dismay when 
 he found that the will, the letter from 
 Father Pierre, acknowledging himself to be 
 Albert Fa\ier, the note from Lefevre to his 
 daughter containing his consent to her mar- 
 riage with him — all were gone, and his visit 
 to St. Eustace was all but useless. His pri- 
 vate purse, however, was safe, and with- 
 out indulging in vain regrets, he flung 
 himself on the bed to snatch a few hours 
 repose, as he had determined to be up early 
 on the following morning. 
 
 He knew that every moment was precious, 
 and that the delay occasioned by the robbers 
 might prove fatal to his hopes for ever, if 
 not made up for by present haste. In the 
 morning, therefore, after hastily swallowing 
 a scanty breakfast, he called the landlord 
 and asked if he could have a horse. 
 
 " A horse, your honour I" said mine host.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. Ill 
 
 *' I haven't got one suited for such as you. 
 There is an old nag in the stable, but he is 
 not good for much." 
 
 " And is that positively the only one you 
 have ?" enquired Armand, anxiously. 
 
 *' The only one, sir," returned the land- 
 lord. 
 
 '^ Saddle him, then — there — ^there, never 
 mind the payment. I will buy him." 
 
 The man opened his eyes, but went off 
 quickly, rubbing his hands and hoping to 
 make a good bargain. He returned almost 
 immediately, however, with the unpleasant 
 news that his son had taken him to market, 
 and would not be back for hours. 
 
 " Diable,'^ cried Armand, " I must walk 
 then." 
 
 And paying the landlord for his night's 
 lodging, he walked away at a rapid pace. 
 He tried several times to procure a horse 
 but in vain, and it was not until the evening 
 that he arrived at the little village that lay 
 close to St. Eustace.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 On the following morning, as early as the 
 rules of the convent would permit, he saw 
 Heloise. He was much sm-prised that she 
 did not seem astonished at JNI. Lefevre's 
 illness, ahout which he told her with great 
 eagerness. The suspicions of the old man 
 proved correct. 
 
 " News has anived," said Heloise, " that 
 he has had a brain fever and committed sui- 
 cide !" 
 
 It was some time before Armand could 
 persuade his sister that Father Pierre was ca- 
 pable of the atrocious crime which he laid to
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 113 
 
 his charge, but from the whole of the cu*cum- 
 stances, she at length felt fuUy convinced 
 that the old man was not guilty of self- 
 murder. In that case, who could be the 
 criminal ? By the evidence of the as- 
 sassin it was M. de St. Denis who had in- 
 cited him to it in the first case, and by cir- 
 cumstantial e^adence, therefore, ever\i;hing 
 was ao-ainst him. Althouoh Heloise, how- 
 ever, beheved her brother, she did not offer 
 any hopes that Pauhne would leave the con- 
 vent on his word. 
 
 " She has never seen you but for a mo- 
 ment," said Heloise, " and Father Pien-e 
 says that ]\I. Lefevre left a will bidding his 
 daughter enter a nunneiy, and gTOUg up 
 aU his property to the church. Having 
 never had reason to suspect him of false- 
 hood, why should she disbeheve him now ?" 
 
 " But why should she disbelieve me ?" en- 
 quired Armand. 
 
 " She wiU not, but as she cannot believe
 
 114 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 both, she will be in perplexity. If you 
 could only find the documents, then of 
 course she would know her father's hand and 
 consent to receive your addresses." 
 
 Armand mused a moment. 
 
 " I could not expect more, I know, my 
 dear sister. She knows nothing of me, and 
 therefore all my hopes rest in finding the 
 documents." 
 
 Pauline on her part said that she would 
 give Armand two years in order to enable 
 him to recover the lost will, and at the ex- 
 piration of that term, if it was nowhere to 
 be found, she would take the irrevocable 
 vow. The Abbess considered this an ex- 
 cellent plan, and accordingly Heloise declared 
 to Armand that it was the only way. Pau- 
 line had strong suspicions herself against 
 Father Pierre, but as he so positively de- 
 clared that he was horror-struck at the 
 deed, and expressed his sympathy with her 
 sorrow in such affectionate terms, she could
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 115 
 
 not condemn him without hearing both 
 sides of the question, and seeing proof of 
 his guilt. 
 
 The loss of her father was a sad blow^ to 
 her. She knew scarcely how to express her 
 grief, and w^ould have pined away had it not 
 been for Heloise's sympathy and comfort. 
 The Abbess would not allow her to be much 
 alone, as brooding in sohtude is the w^orst pos- 
 sible way of alleviating sorrow. Heloise was 
 allowed to be her companion, although in con- 
 sequence of their conversation on the ram- 
 parts they had before been separated. But as 
 Pauline would make a friend of none other, 
 the Abbess, who was naturally kind-hearted, 
 forgave that one fault, and allowed them to 
 be together whenever they could. 
 
 Armand felt that he could have hoped for 
 no more. PauHne he w^eU knew had very 
 little knowledge of him, and could not, 
 therefore, have been expected to give way 
 so easily, and become his wife on the evi- 
 dence of his own unaided word. He was
 
 116 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 entirely without proofs, and he felt gratified 
 that she had placed as much rehance upon 
 him as she had. His resolutions were soon 
 taken. He would surprise the robbers in 
 " The Cave," and thus strive to recover the 
 papers. 
 
 He lost no time, therefore, in laying his 
 case before the Prefect of pohce at Loudon. 
 The place where this functionary resided 
 was a large oblong building, of cold and 
 dreary aspect, with long, grim, and barred 
 windows, from which peeped many a woe- 
 begone gendarme. Armand, on ringing 
 the loud-sounding bell, was ushered into a 
 dark passage, from which he ascended by a 
 pair of old and creaking stairs to a landing- 
 place where the hght of day was a little less 
 excluded. From this he entered a large 
 room, where, at a square table, surrounded by 
 heaps of papers, sat an elderly man with a 
 round and jocose countenance. 
 
 " Well, M. Dechapelle, and what shall I 
 have the honour of doing for you?"
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 117 
 
 Armand quietly took a chair and stated 
 his case, disregarding the continual jokes 
 which the old gentleman was cracking at his 
 expense during the narrative. 
 
 " Very well," said M. Fouraeville, when 
 M. Dechapelle had finished, " very well — if 
 you will call on me this day week, I will do 
 what I can for you." 
 
 '' I really must beg of you to send a file 
 of soldiers or gensdarmes immediately," cried 
 Armand with impetuosity, " for the case is 
 of the utmost importance." 
 
 '^ But really, M. Dechapelle, it is impos- 
 sible," said the Prefect, rubbing his hands 
 together. 
 
 " Then I must write off to the Prefect of 
 the next town," exclaimxcd Armand, rising, 
 '' and say that you refuse to assist me." 
 
 " Ah," yawned M. Fourne^olle, " that 
 would be the best method. I think he 
 could let you have two or three men." 
 
 M. Dechapelle sat down again. He saw 
 the only thing was a bribe. PulHng out a
 
 118 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 hea^7 purse, therefore, he laid it down upon 
 the table, saying — 
 
 " It may be necessary to incite the men 
 to action, and perhaps this may assist you. 
 But I shall require them to-morrow." 
 
 M. Foumeville's eyes glistened, and tak- 
 ing up the purse he thrust it into his pocket, 
 observing — 
 
 " It shall be done. To-morrow morning 
 at five o'clock, eighty men shall await your 
 orders." 
 
 After obtaining this promise, Armand 
 departed, bowed out by the now over-offi- 
 cious Prefect. He stayed the night at the 
 chateau of his father, and on the following 
 morning proceeded to the spot appointed 
 outside the town, and found eighty men 
 awaiting his orders, under the command of 
 an emissary' of Foumeville, but subservient 
 to himself. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, and the coun- 
 try was exceedingly picturesque under the 
 influence of the sun, which was rising with
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 119 
 
 unusual splendour. Here was to be seen a 
 little white cottage with its garden and or- 
 chard — there a noble chateau with its towers 
 and battlements, and stately park — here 
 fields glomng in the ripening rays. The 
 gensdarmes and Armand also were on horse- 
 back, and among the few peasants who were 
 so early astir, the calvacade excited no little 
 astonishment. The men, who had been 
 used to a lazy Hfe, were not displeased at 
 the shght variety, and chatted gaily enough 
 as they went on rapidly towards the forest, 
 although few cared for a real encounter. It 
 was not long, perhaps three hours, before 
 they entered the wood. It was in profound 
 silence as they rode in amongst the trees. 
 Not a living thing was to be seen, and as 
 they approached the place of Armand's cap- 
 tivity, they had strong suspicions about the 
 success of their mission. 
 
 When they came still nearer, they beheld a 
 sight which caused them to halt a moment 
 in astonishment. They did not remember
 
 120 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 that thieves have their spies, and can tell 
 the movements of their enemies ^ith accu- 
 racy. '^ The Cave" was nothing but a heap of 
 smouldering ruins. The fire had evidently 
 been long put out, but the smoke still issued 
 faintly from the shapeless mass. 
 
 " Our task is over," said the officer, '' let 
 us return." 
 
 "Not so," returned Armand, "we must 
 endeavour to find the robbers by scouring 
 the forest. They must be somewhere in the 
 neighbourhood, I should imagine. Fran- 
 cois," he added, turning to a short busy- 
 looking man who stood near, " take twenty 
 men and search the forest well to the right. 
 You," he continued to the officer, " do the 
 same to the left. The other twenty I 'v^^Il 
 post in different parts, and with the remain- 
 der I will go to a place where I hope to 
 meet those we seek. The first shot fired is 
 to be the signal of meeting." 
 
 The men immediately obeyed, and when 
 they had gone, Armand sent detachments of
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 121 
 
 two in different directions as scouts. With 
 the remaining twenty he entered a thick 
 copse, which, from its darkness and seeming 
 impracticahihty, afforded good hopes of an 
 encomiter. They had not advanced four 
 yards before they perceived the fifty robbers 
 standing on the alert wdth arms presented. 
 Knowing that quickness was their only hope, 
 they fired among the gendannes, whose 
 horses, entangled in the brushwood, could 
 not be brought to the charge. The sol- 
 diers, however, leaped off, many of them 
 wounded, and though inferior in numbers, 
 managed to keep up till the arrival of the 
 remainmg sixty put the odds on their side. 
 
 Still the banditti would not yield. They 
 seemed to prefer a death met in the open 
 field to the gallows, their inevitable fate if 
 taken prisoners ; and it was not until they 
 had all fallen dead or wounded severely that 
 the fii'ing ceased. The men were searched, 
 but the papers were found on none of them. 
 Just, however, as the gendarmes were in the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 act of searching the last man, a figure 
 darted from behind a tree close by, and 
 rushed away with the speed of an antelope. 
 All pursioit was useless. 
 
 It was the Jew ! 
 
 Disappointed and dejected, Armand re- 
 turned to St. Eustace. He did not regret 
 his attack on the robbers, for they were 
 mostly murderers and the worst of thieves, 
 and besides not many had been killed. Only 
 five were found dead, fiye others died of 
 their wounds, and the rest recovered, only, 
 however, to be sent, some to the galleys — 
 some to the scaffold. Of the gendarmes, 
 one was killed, and twenty badly wounded. 
 He himself was unhurt, saving a shot 
 through the left arm. He cared not for this 
 in the shghtest. His thoughts were centred 
 on one thing, and it seemed indeed as if his 
 hopes rested on a tottering foundation. He 
 did not, however, despair — no, he hoped on. 
 Hope will live when everything else dies ; 
 and well it is for man that nature has so
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 123 
 
 ordered it. How wretched would life be 
 without it. It is hope that renders us happy 
 almost exclusiyely. Love, ambition, and 
 every feeling that concerns the future is 
 made up of hope. And Armand was of a 
 hopeful nature, and looked forward to the 
 future with a dim presentiment of good. 
 
 But everthing at present seemed to be 
 concerting to thwart his wishes. The 
 poor Abbess was dangerously ill. The onlv 
 one who stood between his Pauhne and 
 Father Pierre's mahce, was passing away. 
 
 " Is there a chance that she may reco- 
 ver, dear Heloise ? — is there no hope?" en- 
 quired Armand gloomily of his sister, who 
 brought him the sad tidings. 
 
 '' Yes, brother," replied Heloise, " she 
 may hve — there is the shadow of a hope 
 she may— but" 
 
 •' But what ?" enquired Armand, eagerly. 
 
 " Even if she does recover, she may pos- 
 sibly be in so weak a state that she will be 
 unable to resume her duties. AVho knows
 
 124 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 then what may be the character of her suc- 
 cessor. She may be a good person, but she is 
 most Hkely to be one of Father Pierre's 
 choosing." 
 
 '' And why then do you stop here, my 
 dear Heloise ?" asked Annand, who had 
 not the least idea that she was kept from 
 entering the world by love for Pauline. 
 " Why have you not long ago thrown off the 
 trammels of Catholicism, and become 
 openly what you now are in secret." 
 
 " And would you lore me the more, Ar- 
 mand," said Heloise, smihngly, " if I were 
 to go and leave poor Pauhne here alone, 
 in the power of M. de St. Denis ?" 
 
 " And does that alone keep you here? Is 
 it affection for her that binds you to these 
 dreary walls ? Then you are indeed mine 
 own dear sister. Good generous gkh But 
 it is selfish to wish you to remain." 
 
 "" No, it would be selfish in me," answered 
 Heloise, " if I were not to do so. I have 
 become accustomed to this life, and it does
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 125 
 
 not require much sacrifice to endure it a 
 short time longer." 
 
 " Pray heaven it may be short," thought 
 Armand. 
 
 *' I am only twenty now, you know, 
 Armand," continued his sister, " and have 
 all my hfe before me. When I entered this 
 nunnery I was a foolish girl, and knew not 
 w^hat I was doinof — I thouo^ht not that I had 
 sacrificed a long hfe. How bitterly do I 
 now repent ever having taken the vow ! But 
 I have lono^ ceased to think it bindinsr, and 
 therefore, as I have thrown off Catholicism 
 altogether, I consider it perfectly right to 
 throw off the veil with it." 
 
 This was the first time that his sister had 
 spoken so openly with respect to her reh- 
 gious feehngs, and in the great delight which 
 Armand experienced at the moment, he 
 almost forgot Pauline. ; 
 
 " How overjoyed will my mother be when 
 she hears this ! She also is a Protestant,
 
 126 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 and it only remains now to convert my 
 father." 
 
 Such were his thoughts at the moment, 
 and he would have expressed them and many 
 others, had not the convent bell rang for 
 prayers. Taking, therefore, a hasty fare- 
 well of Heloise, he quitted the convent, and 
 went towards the Chateau of the Three 
 Fountains. 
 
 It may seem strange that Arm and and 
 his sister were enabled thus openly to speak 
 of their intentions, and to express their 
 feeUngs without fear. There was a third 
 person always in the stone hall on the other 
 side of the grill, who could overhear all they 
 said, and if they had understood only their 
 native tongue, they would not have been 
 able to speak except upon commonplace 
 subjects. But they both knew Itahan, and 
 as none of the nuns were acquainted with 
 this language, they were always safe from 
 detection, even when Sister EmiHe was in 
 the room.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 127 
 
 The Abbess grew by degrees slightly 
 better. Every one of the sisters attended 
 upon her in turns, and in the course of a 
 few weeks she became comparatively strong. 
 But her strength was not so great as to en- 
 able her to resume her duties, and she ac- 
 cordingly intimated her desire to resign her 
 post. This was exactly what Father Pierre 
 desired, and it was through his influence 
 that she named as her successor Sister 
 Emihe. 
 
 Upon learning this news Armand saw 
 that it was useless remaining in Poitou 
 longer, and determined therefore to go back 
 to Paris and see what he could do there 
 with regard to the documents. Having 
 taken leave of his family, therefore, he once 
 more turned his back on the dreary con- 
 vent, and set out for the capital.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 In the year 1620, there was in the Rue St. 
 Jacques a large house which had long been 
 deserted by all human inhabitants. Its long 
 black paneless sashes looked drearily across 
 the narrow street, and the doors which had 
 not been opened for many years were covered 
 with dust and dirt and cobwebs. The large 
 and spacious apartments, from which the fur- 
 niture had not been entirely removed, were 
 the residence of bats and owls, and sparrows. 
 The chimney pots had nearly all been 
 blown down by the force of the wind, and 
 the walls in many places exhibited such wide
 
 ST EUSTACE. 129 
 
 rents, tnat many feared they would some 
 day fall out into the street, and cost the 
 passengers their hves. The Prefect of police 
 often thought of having the old rickety 
 house pulled down, but while he thought and 
 thought, time was busily doing the work for 
 him. 
 
 It was early in the Spring of the above- 
 mentioned year, and the snow came down 
 uninterruptedly. Paris had not for some 
 time been visited by such a storm, and the 
 inhabitants had on the evening in question 
 all retired to their warm beds, saving a few 
 stragglers who were now hurrying eagerly 
 homewards. The Pue St. Jacques was in 
 general a much frequented thoroughfare, 
 but now on this gloomy, cold winter's night, 
 even this appeared a desert, and the few 
 loiterers shuddered as they passed the unin- 
 habited house, and hurried on more quicklv. 
 The very watchman was more than usually 
 lonely, and though he had often passed the 
 place unnoticed he now went quickly by, 
 
 G 2
 
 130 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 taking care when he got to the end of the 
 street to close his coat up more tightly, and 
 whisthng a tune to the no great pleasure of 
 the inhabitants, made off for a more Uvely 
 part of the capital. 
 
 Every one had apparently retired to rest, 
 and the watchman had, as we have said, 
 ceased his walks there for awhile, when a 
 man in a long cloak emerged from the obscu- 
 rity of a corner, and looking round to see 
 if any one was near, pushed aside the door 
 of the old house and entered. In less than 
 t^n minutes came another — and another — 
 and another, until at least a hundred had 
 arrived, and then the door was locked, and 
 all again was as still as the grave. 
 
 Underneath the old house were vast and 
 spacious vaults. When they had been used 
 was a matter of doubt ; but used they evi- 
 dently had been once, for in several of them 
 were articles of furniture, and the walls were 
 not so damp as they would have been if left 
 to themselves entirely. On the winter's
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 131 
 
 night of which we have been speaking, the 
 largest of these was dimly Hghted by a 
 lamp swinging from a beam in the roof, 
 under which was placed a long table, where, 
 on benches, were seated the hundred men 
 who had entered so mysteriously. They 
 still wore their lonof cloaks, for, althouofh a 
 
 O 7 7 O 
 
 fire had been kindled in a temporar)^ fire- 
 place, the cold was excessive. 
 
 At one end of the table sat Hercule Bas- 
 sompierre — the friend of Armand. ^yhen 
 they were settled he rose, and in a short 
 speech, asked leave to introduce to the society 
 M. Armand Dechapelle. Some objections were 
 raised by members alleging that their num- 
 ber was complete, but these were overruled. 
 Hercule was asked many questions with re- 
 gard to the principles, position, and whole 
 character of the candidate, and at length 
 received the required permission. It was 
 decided he should be admitted on the fol- 
 lowing evening.
 
 132 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Next morning Hercule Bassompierre went 
 to Armand's lodgings. Dechapelle had 
 now been in Paris three months, and the 
 spring of 1620 had dawned unpropituously. 
 Although he had been constant in his endea- 
 vours to find the documents, and although he 
 had offered rewards of every kind, he had 
 not even obtained a clue to the missing- 
 papers or the Jew, whom he supposed to 
 possess them. His father was surprised to 
 hear his desire to remain in Paris awhile 
 longer, but was in no means displeased ; and 
 his mother, whose only wish was to see her 
 children happy, made no remonstrances. 
 
 " Is that you, Hercule ?" cried Armand, 
 as his friend entered the room, " I am glad 
 to see you. I am dreadfully dull here." 
 
 " Dull ! then, my friend, I have some- 
 thing for you that will help to dispel your 
 melancholy," said Hercule, enthusiastically. 
 " I am glad to hear it," remarked De- 
 chapelle, without the slightest appearance
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 166 
 
 of curiosity, and bringing some \\ine from 
 the cupboard, '^ a glass or so of this ^^-ill 
 make you tell your story better." 
 
 " Well, then, continued Bassompierre, 
 throwing off a bumper, " there is now a 
 society forming to overthrow the power of 
 the Chm*ch of Rome, and substitute Protes- 
 tantism here in France. I am instructed 
 by the members to initiate you, and I doubt 
 not you will be an earnest associate." 
 
 " That I will," cned Armand, rising up 
 in his excitement, ^' and the wTongs the 
 priesthood have done me, will incite me to 
 the struo'o:le. How do we act?" 
 
 *' That must be made knoTMi to you at 
 our meetinof to-nio-ht. You will have to 
 swear that you will never reveal a word of 
 what you now have heard or what you 
 will in future hear with respect to the con- 
 spiracy, and that you will uphold the Pro- 
 testant religion through every peril." 
 
 " I shall take the oaths," returned Ar- 
 mand ; '' but it will be almost unnecessary in
 
 134 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 my case. My hatred of priestcraft will be 
 the safeguard of the society." 
 
 " So far so good," said Hercule ; '^ but 
 now, Armand, I have a secret to reveal to 
 you in a private capacity. If we are suc- 
 cessful, I have another ultimate object in 
 view. Do you remember what I said to you 
 when you explained to me the cause of your 
 melancholy some time ago." 
 
 " I do," answered Dechapelle, " you refer 
 to your wish to substitute a Kepubhc for a 
 monarchy here at home." 
 
 " Yes ; that is what I mean. The best 
 means in my opinion, and certainly the first 
 means of making a country free, is to 
 circulate the Bible and give it the true 
 rehgion." 
 
 " You say rightly," repHed Dechapelle, 
 " but it will be a great attempt. I hope 
 all our members are in earnest, and that 
 our numbers are large." 
 
 " As to their being in earnest, there can 
 be no doubt. I mean as regards Protes-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 135 
 
 tantism But the number of Republicans 
 k small. The society amounts in members 
 to one hundred and one, and in all six 
 thousand." 
 
 " What an overwhelming force !' ex- 
 claimed Armand, " we ought to have ten 
 times as many before we begin to stir." 
 
 " Ah ! but we shall be more numerous in 
 a few years, and besides, there is an EngHsh 
 society which will fm'nish two thousand 
 men." 
 
 " Well, and when the CathoUcs have 
 been upset — then " 
 
 •' We are to have a Protestant Republic. 
 It is a bold scheme, but one which I think 
 will succeed under o^ood manao^ement." 
 
 " And whom have we at the head of 
 affairs at present ?" enquired Armand. 
 
 " We have got two heavy-headed men as 
 chefs now ; but in two or three weeks or a 
 month, we shall have a new election. We 
 gave them the leadership, but they offered to
 
 136 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 have a fresh ballot when the society was 
 more formed." 
 
 " Very well," exclaimed Armand, with 
 more animation than ever, " you may ex- 
 pect in me a zealous member. But are the 
 others for a Republic think you?" 
 
 " Why, as I said before, not many, that 
 is to say, scarcely a majority, but those who 
 are for it are in earnest. But we must not 
 broach the question in general yet. I am 
 one of the sub-chiefs now, and perhaps you 
 may get the same distinction." 
 
 " Perhaps, I may," observed Armand, 
 with an emphasis that made Bassompierre 
 start — " perhaps I may ; but I must now go 
 out. I am in search of Isaac still." 
 
 " What, have you not found him yet ? I 
 am afraid it is a bad job." 
 
 " Oh, no, Hercule, I have only been three 
 months in Paris, and I have two years al- 
 lowed me for the search. So there is plenty 
 of time.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 137 
 
 " It is always best to be sanguine/' cried 
 Bassompierre ; " but adieu^ as you are in a 
 hurry. Be sure and be there to-night; 
 adieu."
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 In the evening, as appointed, Armand pro- 
 ceeded to the Rue St. Jacques. He entered 
 by means of a key given him by Hercule, 
 and found himself in a large hall. The door 
 closed of itself behind him, and he was 
 left in total darkness. He immediately 
 struck a light, and by means of the lantern 
 he brought with him, was enabled to 
 discover the door of the passage, which 
 Hercule had told him led to the vault, in 
 which they assembled. He immediately 
 went down the passage, and entering a 
 small door at one side, descended a few steps
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 139 
 
 which brouo:ht him to another corridor reek- 
 ing Tvith damp. This, by an easy descent, 
 wound down to the vaults, and it was not 
 Ions: before Arm and found himself in the 
 room, which was evidently that used by the 
 Huguenots. 
 
 No one was there ; and by the old clock 
 over the fire-place he saw that he had come 
 long before his time. He sat down for a 
 few minutes, but thinking it of no use stop- 
 ping there, he determined to explore the 
 house. He therefore rose up after leaving 
 a few words on a scrap of paper to say he 
 was in the house, and taking his lantern, 
 once more ascended the corridor until he 
 came to the steps. Instead of going up 
 these, however, he turned to a passage at 
 the side where the cobwebs hung thick, and 
 where piles of rubbish almost blocked up the 
 entrance. Entering here he found a small 
 square room, which was only divided from 
 that used by the conspirators by a thin wall 
 perforated by several holes evidently artifi-
 
 140 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 cial. This did not rouse any curiosity ; and 
 seeing no other means of exit, he returned 
 the way he came and ascended the steps. 
 
 One of the rooms Armand went into on 
 going to the upper part of the house was 
 very spacious. It had evidently been once 
 magnificently furnished, and the articles 
 had not been removed. The tables and 
 chairs were very old and rickety — the ta- 
 pestry was torn — dirty and faded— the 
 carpet was in rags, and the pictures almost 
 obliterated by neglect and dust. The win- 
 dows looked out upon the Kue St. Jacques 
 on one side, but the old curtains that still 
 hung before them shut out the view. The 
 one on the other side over-looked the court 
 filled now vdth. rubbish — planks — and weeds, 
 where the pavement was broken in many 
 places, and the high walls were crumbhng 
 and green with age. The panes of glass 
 were in most cases broken ; and as Armand 
 entered with his lantern, sparrows and bats 
 sprang from their rest behind the draperies,
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 141 
 
 and issued forth into the night air, 
 frightened by so unwonted a visitant. 
 
 On going up to the table, Armand per- 
 ceived that a chair was drawn close to 
 it, and that scraps of paper quite new were 
 lying upon it. But thinking that they had 
 been placed there by the conspirators, he 
 did not think anything of them, and was 
 about to return when he saw something 
 white dart from behind the tapestry, and 
 rush through the open door. Instantly 
 drawing his sword, Armand pursued the 
 flying figure, and arrived on the landing- 
 place just in time to see it disappear. De- 
 chapelle, guided by the sound of the foot- 
 steps, continued the pursuit, and was just 
 coming upon it when it rushed through 
 the wall, as it seemed, and vanished entirely. 
 
 iVraiand felt the wall all along, but could 
 find no outlet. What could it have been ? 
 He was not superstitious, and did not attri- 
 bute the appearance, as Cathohcs would have 
 done to ghosts; but was convinced it was
 
 142 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 some one who was there to watch the conspi- 
 racy. The disappearance however was as sin- 
 irular as it was sudden. Whither could it 
 have gone ? The wall appeared firm every 
 where, and when sounded gave out a dead 
 sound that seemed to prove its soHdity. He 
 was fairly puzzled, and going back he was 
 just about to descend the stairs, when he 
 heard a voice behind him laughing in a 
 hollow tone. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" drearily went the laugh 
 along the dark corridors of the old house ; 
 but Armand was not frightened, and turn- 
 ing quickly round, saw the figure standing 
 close behind him. He made a clutch at it, 
 but missing his footing and striking his head 
 against the bannisters he dropped the lan- 
 tern from his hand, and fell hea\T[ly down 
 the old creaking stairs. 
 
 Upon recovering from the shock, Armand 
 found he had severely hurt his ancle, and 
 having also broken his sword, he gave up 
 the pursuit, and descending as well as he
 
 ST. EI STAGE. 143 
 
 could with his maimed Hmb, awaited the com- 
 ing of the conspirators in the large vault. 
 
 On the arrival of the Huguenots, Ar- 
 mand disclosed to them his adventure, and 
 suggested that the person, whoever it was^ 
 might be a spy. He also in a whisper told 
 the leader of the secret chamber next to 
 theirs, and hinted the propriety of breaking 
 down the partition wall, which was evidently 
 of recent make and ver}' slight. This work 
 was accomplished in a very short time, and 
 while clearing away the rubbish, Armand's 
 hand touched a spring in the wall, and a 
 door flew open. 
 
 In the darkness thev could descrv 
 figure dressed in white rapidly escaping. 
 Dechapelle, sword in hand, followed eagerly 
 with a lantern in spite of his bad ancle. 
 But all his efforts were useless. After pro- 
 ceeding a little distance, a blank wall with- 
 out visible outlet barred his progress, and 
 although the mysterious figure passed 
 through, he was unable to advance further.
 
 14-i ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Arm and was now regularly enrolled as a 
 member of the society which, at his sugges- 
 tion, was called " The Hundi'ed and One." 
 They also determined to abandon their pre- 
 sent place of meeting, and go to some place 
 outside the city. Charenton was thought 
 the best place, and as it consisted only of a 
 few cottages, it w as not hkely they would 
 suffer much interruption there. 
 
 The personages w^ho formed " The Hun- 
 dred and One" were of most opposite cha- 
 racters. The chief was a man of about 
 fifty, hale, strong, and good looking ; but yet 
 he had not sufficient energy for so great an 
 undertaking as the subversion of Catholicism. 
 In fact, M. Cassaigner was a heavy man, 
 full of day-dreams and impossible schemes. 
 Under his government the conspiracy ad- 
 vanced but slowly, and the members, almost 
 without an exception, looked forward wdth 
 eargerness to a new election. Many of 
 them cared only for a new and active man 
 — some desired it as a means of advancing
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 145 
 
 themselves. M. Cassaigner had the right 
 to name those who were to be the candi- 
 dates, and whom the society might reject at 
 pleasure. The general number was five. 
 
 The sub-chief and general was Hercide 
 Bassompierre. He possessed sound com- 
 mon sense with its rare companion enthu-* 
 siasm. The military genius he displayed in 
 his drawing up of the plan of operations 
 was the reason of his appointment to the 
 office, and on one occasion he offered to 
 give Armand a situation as heutenant-ge- 
 neral. But no. For reasons unaccountable 
 to his friend, Dechapelle refused the eleva- 
 tion. 
 
 " Ah, Armand," cried Hercule, " you do 
 not like to serve under me." 
 
 " Xo, that is not the reason. But I wish 
 to see what I can do myself first." 
 
 ^' You are an ambitious rogue, Armand. 
 But we shall see " 
 
 " What we shaU see," rejoined Decha- 
 peUe, gaily > " M. Cassaigner is no great 
 VOL I. n
 
 146 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 favourite. A blind man could find out 
 that." 
 
 " No, he is no favourite as a leader," 
 answered Bassompierre, " but we all like 
 him as a man." 
 
 " Yes, so do I," returned Armand, " but 
 as our chef he will never do much." 
 
 " You are right there ; but do you think 
 you could do better, Armand," said Hercule, 
 laughing, ^' you are not thirty, and he is 
 fifty. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well — joking apart — I 
 think anybody would do as well as he, and 
 therefore why not you ?" 
 
 "Thank you for the comphment," rephed 
 Ai^mand, smiHng, " but strange things hap- 
 pen. "Wait till the election." 
 
 At the next meeting M. Cassaigner declared 
 that the time had at length arrived when 
 he should resign his post and declare the 
 candidates between whom he wished them to 
 choose. He had, he said, done Httle to- 
 wards the great undertaking they all so 
 much desired to be accomphshed. The
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 147 
 
 work called for younger men, and in pursu- 
 ance of his right he named the following 
 persons — 
 
 Hercule Bassompierre. 
 
 Christophe Trouville. 
 
 Armand Dechapelle. 
 
 Paul Labou chore. 
 
 Antoine de St. Claire. 
 
 Christophe Trouville, at whose name the 
 whole society was silent, was a young lawyer 
 who had gained some reputation at the bar, 
 but who, though an earnest Huguenot, had 
 never been very active. ]\I. Cassaigner, 
 however, had peculiar notions, and fancied 
 he perceived the sparks of genius lurking in 
 him. Determined, therefore, to give him 
 an opportunity of distinguishing himself, he 
 had named him as a candidate. He was, 
 however, without any friends in the society, 
 and as he never spoke at any length, they 
 were not sufficiently acquainted with his 
 character or his abilities. 
 
 Paul Labouchere was a great friend of
 
 148 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 M. Cassaigner, and was said to be a spy. This 
 was untrue ; but such a suspicion once hav- 
 ing taken root in the minds of the con- 
 spirators could never entirely be done 
 away with. At his mention, therefore, a 
 murmur of derision was raised, which gave 
 place, however, to loud applause at the name 
 of the next candidate. 
 
 Antoine de St. Claire was a rich nobleman 
 who had joined the conspiracy from \dews of 
 ambition. Thinking to push his way every- 
 where by money, he had hitherto been very 
 successful, and hoped now to rise to the 
 highest pitch of his expectations. This 
 was the most foi-midable rival which Armand 
 and Hercule had to encounter, and indeed 
 the former had little hopes of success. 
 
 However, when M. Cassaigner had pro- 
 posed them, they rose in the order named 
 and made addresses. Hercule Bassom- 
 pierre's speech was full of enthusiasm and 
 fire. Christophe Trouville made a very 
 laTvyer-like address. Armand surprised the
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 149 
 
 conspirators by his store of knowledge, his en- 
 thusiastic yet prudent views, and his safe 
 ideas respecting the direction. Paul La- 
 bouchere said very few w^ords, and Antoine 
 de St. Claire did the same, relpng on his 
 great influence. 
 
 The critical moment now arrived, the 
 ballot-box was placed at the end of the room> 
 and one by one the conspirators advanced 
 and placed in their cards. It was a moment 
 of breathless anxiety, and although Armand 
 had so little hope, he could not help feeling 
 a flutterino^ of the heart. At leno^th the 
 last vote was placed in, and amid intense 
 silence M. Cassaigner advanced and took 
 out the papers one by one, reading them as 
 he did so, while a man at the table added 
 up the numbers. 
 
 The result was that Armand was elected 
 by eighty votes out of the hundred and one. 
 The announcement of his success was re- 
 ceived with whispered applause, and he was 
 duly congratulated by his friends. The
 
 150 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 appointment was a permanent one — to last, 
 in fact, until the revolution had attained its 
 end. Bassompierre was nominated to the 
 post of sub-chief, and the rest of the even- 
 ing was spent in looking over the affairs of 
 the conspiracy, which were found in sad dis- 
 order, and it was not until very late that they 
 broke up, and returned each to his home.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 When Armand Dechapelle left the Convent 
 of St. Eustace behind him, and proceeded 
 to Paris, his sister Heloise felt alone in 
 the world. She heard so httle of her 
 parents, that they were to her almost as 
 dead, and Pauhne being unhappy, and an 
 orphan, was not a companion likely to cheer 
 her drooping spirits within the sombre walls 
 of the nunneiy. 
 
 As a Protestant, she naturally felt dis- 
 gust at the mummery she saw enacted every 
 day. She experienced remorse at remain- 
 ing under the garb of a rehgion she despised,
 
 152 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 for it appeared to be acting a lie, but her 
 affection for Pauline induced her to stay 
 until she also was released. All she could do 
 she did to persuade her friend — and sister, 
 as she called her — to leave St. Eustace and 
 remain at the Chateau of the Three Foun- 
 tains for the two years which she had given 
 Armand, It was useless, Heloise said, to 
 remain there, as she did not intend taking 
 the veil until the time had expired. 
 
 Pauhne was not slow to accept this pro- 
 posal. The quiet repose of the place, which 
 had at first so greatly delighted her, began 
 now to assume the appearance of sadness 
 and gloom. The persecutions, though petty 
 they might be, to which she w^as subject 
 from the Abbess, and the importunities of 
 Father Pierre, made her strongly desire to 
 depart, and she inwardly resolved that if 
 she ever returned to a convent, it should 
 not be to St. Eustace. 
 
 The work of dehverance, however, would 
 be long. M. Dechapelle would not at once
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 153 
 
 consent to Heloise's gi^^ng up her vows, and 
 after her return Pauhne must remain a 
 short while alone in the convent. The 
 prospect was unpleasant, but there seemed 
 to be no alternative. 
 
 Heloise accordingly wrote to her mother 
 a letter, in which she stated that as she had 
 renounced the Cathohc religion, she desired 
 to return to the world. She also spoke of 
 " poor Pauhne," and begged her to inter- 
 cede with M. Dechapelle to allow her to re- 
 turn. The reply they expected was a hope- 
 less one, but they did not consider what 
 rehgion could effect. Dming the short 
 time that passed between the departure of 
 Armand for the capital for the first time, 
 and the sending of the letter, a great change 
 had been wrought in the father's mind. His 
 son had entreated him to read the Bible ; 
 he had sent him one, and in spite of the 
 opposition of his confessor, he had gone 
 through every page. In time he became as 
 ijood a Protestant as Heloise, and had writ- 
 
 2 H
 
 154 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 ten many a letter to his daughter, which, 
 however, she did not receive. 
 
 The answer, therefore, which was sent 
 through a secret channel was a full consent, 
 and a request that PauHne might come too. 
 
 Mdlle. Lefevre was not by any means a 
 Protestant, but she renounced many of the 
 absurdities of the CathoUc religion. She 
 approved of the conventual system, and 
 thought a nunnery a good refuge for the 
 afflicted ; and though her stay at St. Eustace 
 had done much to sicken her of a nun's Hfe, 
 she hoped that there were other places to 
 be found where she could have the rest she 
 sought. 
 
 When the subject was broached to the 
 Abbess she w^as greatly incensed, and de- 
 clared she conld never consent to their de- 
 parture. Seeing that this produced no 
 effect, she resolved to dissimulate, and pre- 
 tended to w^eep for " the poor erring crea- 
 tures." They, however, persisted in their 
 determination, even should they have to
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 155 
 
 escape privately. They were strictly 
 watched, however, and the Abbess sent for 
 Father Pierre to consult with him on the 
 best mode of proceeding. 
 
 " I would rather kill her," cried he in a 
 towering passion, forgetting the presence of 
 Sister EmiHe, " than allow her to return 
 again to the world." 
 
 " Father," exclaimed the Abbess in sur- 
 prise, for even she was not so bad as that, 
 " you seem to forget yourself." 
 
 "Oh," he answered carelessly, "of course 
 I spoke figuratively ; besides, why should 
 she forsake the convent ?" 
 
 " Ah !" cried the Abbess, " why indeed, 
 and why abandon your tender and benignant 
 care." 
 
 " Sister Emihe !" exclaimed M. de St. 
 Denis, astonished at her sarcastic tone. 
 
 " Well," returned she quietly. 
 
 " You seem to forget, madam," said the 
 priest, " who it was who placed you in your 
 present position, and that he who gave it 
 can take it away again."
 
 156 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " I forget nothing, but I do not ac- 
 knowledge your power to degrade me." 
 
 " What is it you mean ?" asked the puz- 
 zled villain, ^' why did you promise when 
 you were only a nun that you would do all 
 I wished?" 
 
 " Because I was only a nun.'' 
 
 '' And why not now." 
 
 " Because I am Abbess, and your supe- 
 rior." 
 
 " Heavens ! madame," cried Father 
 Pierre, ''you shall repent this. Not an- 
 other week shall pass before I have you 
 turned from the position you unworthily 
 occupy." 
 
 " And how ?" 
 
 " I will bring charges against you which 
 will effect your certain ruin." 
 
 '^ And who will be your supporters ?" 
 
 " The nuns." 
 
 " Cest bien,'' returned the Abbess, 
 " c'est hien. Is that all you can do ? The
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 157 
 
 sisterhood are all my friends, with the ex- 
 ception of Heloise DechapeUe and Pauline 
 Lefevre, whose father you murdered." 
 
 " If you were not a woman " 
 
 '' You would not dare to insult me to my 
 face. Au revoir. Adieu.'' 
 
 So sa}ing, the Abbess swept away, leav- 
 ing the priest pale with passion, the ironical 
 " adieu" still ringing in his ears. 
 
 As Armand was sitting in his room, wri- 
 ting and sending orders to the agents of 
 the conspiracy, he received the following 
 letter — 
 
 " My Dear Child. — You have heard by 
 this time of your father's conversion to the 
 Protestant faith, and are, I doubt not, re- 
 joiced at it. Your sister Heloise, and 
 Mdlle. Lefevre are desu'ous of returning to 
 the world — the latter for a short time only. 
 But although Monsieur voire pere wishes h 
 as much as myself, our letters to the Car- 
 dinal have been unanswered, and we find it
 
 158 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 utterly impossible to take them away. Dp, 
 therefore, return home. We have been 
 much surprised at your long stay, particu- 
 larly as we have not heard from you lately. 
 My dear child, come and ease the mind of 
 your lo\4ng mother, — Eugenie Dechapelle." 
 
 This letter reached him at a very inoppor- 
 tune moment. He was that afternoon com- 
 pelled to receive a visit from some people con- 
 nected with the conspiracy, who had arrived 
 from England, and therefore to start imme- 
 diately was impossible. However, in order to 
 render things the easier, he sent for Bassom- 
 pierre. When Armand had stated his case — 
 
 " Well, my dear friend," said Hercule, 
 " leave the Directorship in my hands in 
 your absence, and you may depend upon my 
 attention." 
 
 " But I must meet the society to-night, 
 for it would be scarcely right to depart with- 
 out explanation. Besides, I am only just 
 elected."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 159 
 
 " True, true ; and moreover, you will want 
 some one to help you at St. Eustace. Sup- 
 posing we ask Antoine de St. Claire to take 
 it up for awhile, and then I can come with 
 you." 
 
 " I like the scheme. We will think of it. 
 Come and help me to get ready these papers. 
 Pesle ! — they seem intenninable, and I shall 
 have to receive the deputies to-day." 
 
 " WeU— what shaU I do ?" 
 
 After giving him the necessary instruc- 
 tions, Armand again set to work, and 
 finished in time to receive his visitors. At 
 the meeting in the evening, everything was 
 satisfactorily ari'anged. The selection of 
 Antoine de St. Claire was a happy one, for 
 it secured to them a hearty friend. 
 
 About midnight Armand and Hercule set 
 off from Paris, and travelled many miles 
 before they put up at an inn. Journeying 
 thus, and only stopping just enough time to 
 refresh themselves and their horses, and 
 sleep awhile, it was not ver^^ long before
 
 160 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 they arrived at the Chateau of the Three 
 Fountains. 
 
 Armand found that the task he was now 
 called upon to perform was no easy one. 
 The Ahbess had by this time been recon- 
 ciled to Father Pierre, the curious scene we 
 have before described being only intended to 
 prove to him that she did not choose any 
 longer to be his passive tool, but to think 
 and act herself, though under his advice. 
 She perfectly agreed with him in thinking 
 that Heloise and Pauline should be made to 
 stay at St. Eustace ; but she was not so vio- 
 lent against them as he. The priest had 
 old injuries to revenge, and though poor 
 Mdlle. Lefe\Te was innocent of all hai-m to 
 him, yet, as she was her father's daughter, 
 he determined to wreak his pitiful vengeance 
 on the guiltless girl. 
 
 It was agreed that with the assistance of 
 Hercule, Armand should rescue the girls 
 from the Convent, and bring them to 
 the chateau. M. Dechapelle was afraid to
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 161 
 
 make too open a demand for his daughter, 
 for fear of being persecuted as a Huguenot, 
 which would have been premature. He 
 therefore saw only one way — to carry them 
 off by night.
 
 CHAPTEK XYIII. 
 
 There is nothing so beautiful as a spring 
 night. There is a cahn inexpressible 
 in that hour when the moon is high in the 
 Heavens, and the stars are out shining like 
 gUttering primroses in a bed of deep blue. 
 The wind which rustles shghtly through the 
 trees, just tempers the warm air, and causes 
 deUcious sounds to proceed from the waving 
 leaves. 
 
 It was a lovely night when Armand and 
 Hercule approached the Convent of St. 
 Eustace. The sky was unsullied by clouds 
 save sHght fleecy vapours, from behind which
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 163 
 
 the stars peeped timidly, as from underneath 
 a veil. The wood at the end of the build- 
 ing was flooded by the rays of the moon, and 
 the new foHage looked bright and ghstening 
 in the silver light. Dark forms seemed 
 flitting about the pathways as the branches 
 waved to and fro to the breeze, while the 
 owl from the ivied turrets of the convent 
 startled the two adventurers with its un- 
 earthly scream. 
 
 Having scaled the outer wall, which led 
 to the wood and was very low, they found 
 themselves in a long avenue of high trees, 
 dowTi which the moon shone brilHantly, and 
 guided by her hght, they advanced towards 
 the building. It had been previously ar- 
 ranoed that Pauline and Heloise should be 
 on the ramparts at one o'clock ; it was now 
 half-past twelve, and all was still as death. 
 
 When they came underneath the battle- 
 ments they found no possible way of ascent. 
 The wall rose up perpendicularly without a
 
 164 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 buttress or a notch, and they began to des- 
 pair of success. 
 
 " What shall we do?" said Hercule, in 
 a whisper. 
 
 *' Suppose we return," answered Armand, 
 ^' and walk along yonder wall," pointing to 
 one that led right up to the ramparts, " it 
 is dangerous ; but I think it is the only 
 way." 
 
 " And when we have the ladies to carry, 
 how the deuce are we to come back ?" 
 
 " Let us first get there," rephed Ar- 
 mand, and leading the way he soon arrived 
 at the low wall over which they had chmbed, 
 and which ascended gradually towards the 
 battlements. They were soon upon this; 
 but it required great steadiness to keep their 
 footing as it was only of brick, and very 
 narrow. 
 
 At length the shadow of the building 
 enveloped the wall in darkness, and they 
 could not see whither they were going.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 165 
 
 Kneeling down, therefore, they had to feel 
 their way, but at last came up to something 
 which barred their passage. Rising up, 
 Arm and, who was in advance, found that 
 they had arrived at one of the openings in 
 the parapet, and di'awing himself up, he 
 was soon standing on the broad stone ter- 
 race which was veiled in complete darkness. 
 Hercide found no difficulty in following him, 
 and was by his side in a minute. 
 
 They had not long to wait, for in less 
 than ten nunutes, two figures appeared at a 
 short distance off, and in an instant after- 
 wards Pauline and Heloise stood before 
 them. After kissing his sister, and pressing 
 Pauline's hand, Aniiand took the latter in 
 his arms, and descended to the wall, whde 
 Hercule did the same with Heloise. When 
 on the wall, Pauline walked herself as it 
 would have been dangerous for Amiand to 
 carry her. He proceeded first, while she 
 held by the belt of his doublet. Bassom^
 
 166 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 pierre and IMdlle. Dechapelle advanced in 
 the same manner, and they were soon on 
 terra firma^ hm-iying towards the car- 
 riage which waited a short distance off. 
 Scarcely had they quitted the wall, when 
 some one in a mocking tone, laughed, — 
 
 '' Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 And retreated quickly, still continuing its 
 derisive merriment. 
 
 Hercule and Armand exchanged a look, 
 but were silent for fear of alarming the 
 ladies, and proceeded on to the carriage 
 which was soon on the way to the Chateau. 
 The reception of Pauline by M. and Mdme. 
 Dechapelle was warm in the extreme. With 
 Heloise, ]\Idlle. Lefe^TC, Hercule Bassom- 
 pierre, Armand, and the two old people, the 
 household was greatly increased ; but it also 
 increased the agreeableness of the place. 
 Hercule and Armand, however, were unable 
 to stay longer than a few days, during which 
 time the former made himself better ac- 
 quainted with Heloise, and the latter with
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 167 
 
 Pauline. He endeavoured to persuade her 
 to renounce a religion which had not her 
 whole respect, but although many of hi« 
 arguments appeared conclusive enough, she 
 would not so hghtly give up the worship of 
 her youth. She, however, was by no means 
 averse from discussing reUgious topics ; on 
 the contrary, nothing so much pleased her 
 when she could converse with one who 
 understood her ^dews and carefully attended 
 to what she said. She consented, more- 
 over, to read the Bible which Father Pierre 
 would have considered in itself a crime ; but 
 she did not think that any other person but 
 herself had a right to dictate the books she 
 was to peruse. 
 
 M. Dechapelle was much changed. His 
 manner towards his wife and children was 
 entirely different and he seemed to take a 
 pleasure in seeing them around him. There 
 is a beauty inexpressible about a fireside 
 when the members of a happy family are 
 gathered around it, wath the hght of love
 
 168 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 beaming on their faces, and no shade of 
 sorrow to darken the brightness of their 
 hearts. Such a scene was there in the 
 Chateau, except that occasionally when 
 Armand thought of PauUne's vow, a shght 
 shadow would pass over his countenance, to 
 be replaced however in the next moment 
 with a smile of love and hope. 
 
 His father entered heart and soul into 
 the conspiracy, and immediately advancing 
 a large sum of money for its use, promised 
 more for the future. He was a milhonaire 
 and no miser, and the society had gained a 
 worthy friend in him. Madame DechapeUe 
 was much the same as ever ; kind, gentle, 
 good, but her influence in the house was 
 greater than before. Her dehght at the 
 return of her daughter was extreme, and 
 she experienced lively satisfaction on seeing 
 Pauline, and hearing from Armand s lips 
 his afi*ection for her. 
 
 The gardens were done up, and planted 
 with exquisite flowers. The house was re-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 1G9 
 
 decorated, and the Chateau of the Three 
 Fountains instead of being the abode of 
 silence and misery, became the dwelling- 
 place of as happy a household as could be 
 found in France. M. Dechapelle had not 
 yet had the courage to dismiss his confessor 
 and now by the ad^dce of his son and Her- 
 cule, the priest was told that his services 
 were no longer required. His astonishment 
 was great. 
 
 " I am afraid, M. Dechapelle," said he, 
 sternly, " that you have wandered from the 
 true faith. Is it so ?" 
 
 " No, it is not. I have found the true 
 one. I and my family are Protestants." 
 
 At first the confessor was very indignant 
 — then pleading, and at last went away ex- 
 pressing his pity that so many lambs had 
 strayed from the fold. 
 
 VOL. 1.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The place where the conspirators now as- 
 sembled was a curious one. It was a small 
 house situated on the edge of a broad com- 
 mon near Charenton, quite detached from 
 all others, and consisting of only four rooms. 
 It had not been inhabited for some time be- 
 fore its occupation by the Hundred and 
 One, but although in a dilapidated condi- 
 tion when they bought it, the outer walls 
 were perfect, and the rooms easily rendered 
 comfortable. Some furniture was brought, 
 and two of the conspirators slept there at 
 night. This office they took in turns, and
 
 ST. EUSTACE 171 
 
 Armand and Hercule generally contrived to 
 remain together. 
 
 As the society was now complete, M. De- 
 chapelle could only be admitted as a member 
 of the army or an agent. He chose the latter 
 as being more suited to a man of his years, 
 and set to work immediately to raise men 
 even in the neighbourhood of Loudon. The 
 conspirators of every kind amounted now to 
 eicrht thousand, while the Eno;Hsh contin- 
 gent numbered three thousand more, and 
 was commanded by Henry Beaufort a man 
 of about thirty, and of a vigorous and 
 energetic character. 
 
 Charenton being now fixed upon as the 
 head quarters, the action of the society be- 
 gan in earnest. A large subscription was 
 opened among its members to procure arms 
 — munitions, &c., and the most bountiful con- 
 tributors to this were Antoine de St. Claire, 
 Armand Dechapelle and Pierre Marmontier. 
 Indeed, our hero only reserved out of his 
 father's allowance just sufficient to hve
 
 172 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 upon, and M. Dechapelle himself was con- 
 tinually sending large sums. 
 
 Although Armand had so many duties to 
 perform, he still was unremitting in his 
 search for the missing documents, without 
 which he had no hopes of Pauline's ever 
 being his. He visited every part of the 
 capital, searched every nook and alley, but 
 it was all in vain. Isaac was nowhere to be 
 found, although he had heard from un- 
 doubted authority that he had come to Paris. 
 
 One day he went to the Jews' quarter, 
 which w^as entered by an arched doorway, 
 and was quite separated from the other 
 parts of the city. Everything around tended 
 to excite his disgust. Here was a group of 
 squaUd children with small forms and old 
 looking features quarreling or pushing each 
 other about in the dirt. Here a Jew bar- 
 gaining with a Christian — here a gendarme 
 draofofino: some miserable wretch to the 
 dreary cells of the Conciergerie. The 
 streets were narrow, dirty, and running with
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 173 
 
 water, the smell was detestable, the noise 
 stunning, but amid all this misery, Armand 
 went on determined to find what he sought. 
 
 As he was proceeding along peering into 
 ever^^ shop, a man so wrapped in a cloak 
 that his features were undistinguishable, 
 stepped up to him, and slipping a letter into 
 his hand, rushed away amid the crowd and 
 disappeared. Thinking it might have re- 
 ference to what he was in quest of, he went 
 away to where he could read in private, and 
 saw these words : — 
 
 " Armand Dechapelle. You are a Hu- 
 guenot. Let this knowledge be enough to 
 induce you to meet me to-night at t^elye 
 on the bndo'e of Notre Dame. A friend." 
 
 Who could it be that thus knew his heart 
 so well ? Who was this that merely sign- 
 ing himself a friend expected such great 
 confidence to be placed in him ? Could it 
 be the Jew ? It might be ; but yet he al- 
 most felt assured that it was not he. The 
 figure in the haunted house recurred to his
 
 174 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 mind, and he resolved to meet his " friend" 
 whoever it was. 
 
 He thought it right, however, to lay the 
 matter before the conspirators, as otherwise 
 how could he account for his absence ? As 
 the society met at eight, he would have 
 plenty of time and yet — might it not be 
 some private business ? However, he de- 
 cided upon letting them into his secret, and 
 he did so. M. Cassaigner and Antoine de 
 St. Claire with many others advised him not 
 to go, but Hercule Bassompierre spoke to 
 the contrary. 
 
 " How do you know. Arm and," said he, 
 '' that it may not be the Jew, who is 'v\'illing 
 to restore the documents you so much wish 
 to have ? Go by all means, but as the 
 society may wish it, it had better be put to 
 the vote." 
 
 This was done accordingly, and it was 
 voted that he should go ; but for the better 
 assurance of his safety, Hercule Bassompierre 
 and twenty men were to be posted at in-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 175 
 
 tervals along the Quai to assist him in case 
 of treachen^ As he was proceeding to the 
 rendezvous a man rushed from behind a 
 comer, and seizing upon his cloak, said — 
 
 ^' Whither are you going, rash young 
 man?" 
 
 Armand started, but replied, — 
 
 " What right have you to ask me such 
 a question ? You are an utter stranger." 
 
 " I may be a stranger, but I am a friend 
 to those who are guiltless of wrong. Only 
 tell me whether you are going towards the 
 Tuilleries or not ?" 
 
 " I am going to the bridge of Notre 
 Dame," answered Armand, trying to drag 
 himself away. 
 
 " Ah," cried the stranger, " then you do 
 not know. But I will not offer my advice 
 a second time. You are going to the 
 Palace." 
 
 So saying, he darted away into the dark- 
 ness of a street and disappeared. Armand
 
 r76 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 arrived at Notre Dame in time, and met 
 the unknown at twelve as appointed. 
 
 " For what reason did you bring me 
 here?" asked Armand. 
 
 " I have nothing to do wdth it," replied 
 the man, whom, from a ghmpse under his 
 .'loak, Armand discovered to be a soldier. 
 " Follow me, and you will soon know." 
 
 " But I made no engagement to go fur- 
 ther than the bridge." 
 
 " Then, do not — that is all. If you don't 
 wish to come — stay, if you will, follow." 
 
 Thinking the latter the best course, Ar- 
 mand followed until they came to the tall 
 and dark pile of buildings that formed the 
 palace. The words of the unknoT\Ti flashed 
 upon his mind. 
 
 " What have we here ?" said he, to his 
 guide, " this is the palace." 
 
 " Well, of course, it is. When you 
 enter do not speak a word, but follow me 
 as quietly as you can. You needn't breathe 
 unless you can't help it."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 177 
 
 So sayinof, he knocked at a little door 
 underneath the buttress of a pillar, and in 
 a minute or two it was opened by a young 
 girl, who stared at Armand with open eyes. 
 
 " AYhom have you got there, Christopher/' 
 cried she. 
 
 " Never you mind, Annette," said the 
 soldier, gruffly, '' keep quiet and go to your 
 room, or if lie hears of it, you'll get packed 
 off." 
 
 " I don't care for you or him either," 
 answered the girl, in a half whisper, " for 
 there are plenty of places in Paris w^here I 
 can get on just as well as here, and plenty 
 of young men to better than you." 
 
 " There — will you hold your tonguo, be- 
 fore I send this through your chattering 
 throat," whispered the man, savagely laying 
 his hand on his sword. " Peste. The 
 girl's a fool." 
 
 " Xot half such a fool as yourself. Mind, 
 I don't care for you — but I'll go." 
 
 2 I
 
 178 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 So saying, she entered a room at the 
 side, and shut the door. 
 
 " Now," muttered the soldier to Armand, 
 "' on your Hfe don't speak a word more, but 
 foUow." 
 
 Armand went after him for a long way — 
 the man proceeding hke a cat in the dark, 
 until he stumbled against something. 
 
 " Diable^'' whispered the soldier, " if you 
 do that again, I'll send my sword dovna your 
 throat." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you paltry fool," 
 said Armand, in a louder tone, '' remember 
 I have a sword, and can use it. Lead on !" 
 
 On he went accordingly muttering curses 
 on him until they came to a corridor, one 
 of the doors in which the soldier opened, 
 and pushing Armand in, shut it again 
 softly. Dechapelle found himself in the 
 presence of a man about fifty, with iron- 
 grey hair, and a thin face, tall and upright, 
 and dressed in court costume. Armand 
 J30wed and took a seat near the door.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 179 
 
 '' Come nearer to me, M. Dechapelle," 
 said the stranger. "^ What I have to say 
 must be heard by none but ourselves." 
 
 Armand obeyed, and sat close to the un- 
 known, near a little carved table inlaid with 
 mother of pearl, and jewels. 
 
 '*" M. Deehapelle, you are a Huguenot^ 
 and you and your friends have a design to 
 upset this government, and erect a Re- 
 public. Is it not so ?" 
 
 " Before I answer any questions," repHed 
 Armand, " I must beg to know your name. 
 You have mine — it is but fair that I should 
 liave yours." 
 
 " Certainly. My name is the Comte de 
 La Roche. I also must ask a condition be- 
 fore I proceed further. You must promise 
 never to reveal — you must swear, indeed, 
 never to reveal anything I tell you in con- 
 nection with my name !" 
 
 Armand took the required oath, and the 
 Count proceeded in reply to him — 
 
 '' Of course, I shall never mention your
 
 180 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 conspiracy if you keep faith with me, 
 and vice versa. To proceed, I and some 
 other noblemen have no love for Louis 
 XIII., and would gladly see him removed, 
 but we cannot proceed to an open revolu- 
 tion. AYe wish to find a man with a bold 
 heart, and a sure hand. You understand 
 me." 
 
 " I do," replied Amiand, firmly. 
 
 " That man's fortune would be made if 
 he succeeded — he could but die the death of 
 a brave man if he failed." 
 
 " I have no need of fortunes bought by 
 blood, for I am ah'eady richer than most 
 noblemen in France," answered Armand. 
 
 " Y^ou mistake me, M. Dechapelle, en- 
 tirely," said the Count, unmoved, " I only 
 require you to find me some one who would 
 fear nothing ; his fortune would be secured, 
 and you would become a peer of France 
 
 /'I have no such ambition," rephed Ar- 
 mand, " but have on the contrary such con- 
 tempt for titles, that I would lay mine aside
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 181 
 
 did I now possess one, particularly as I 
 know what sort of men my companions are." 
 
 De la Roche took no notice of this insult, 
 but proceeded — 
 
 " You are in love with a lady, whom for 
 certain reasons you cannot marry." 
 
 Armand started. 
 
 " And," said the Count, smiling, " if you 
 do what I ask, the documents you are in 
 search of shall be restored, you shall 
 marry her in a month, and M. Favier shall 
 be brought to justice." 
 
 Armand looked with astonished eyes at 
 the nobleman, as he thus recounted his 
 knowledge of his wishes, but although he 
 thought of Pauhne with a sigh of regret, 
 and an overflowing of the eyes, he could not 
 agree to so awful a proposal. The Count 
 thought he saw him give way, and went 
 on — 
 
 " You shall marry Mdlle. Pauline Lefevre 
 I repeat in a month, and the priest shall be 
 punished for the murder of her father."
 
 182 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 '' Tempt me not thus, I beseech you,'* 
 said Armand, taking his hand and forgetting 
 himself for an instant. 
 
 ^^ At last, then, you have come to reason," 
 laughed the Count, " and" 
 
 " No — no, it was but a momentary 
 weakness — let me go, sir." 
 
 '' Stay— let me" 
 
 " Let me go, sir, or I rouse the palace," 
 cried Armand, drawing his sword and seiz- 
 ing a bell-pull, " tell your ruffian soldier tc 
 lead me to the door, which I hope I may 
 never again enter." 
 
 " Here, Christophe," said the Comit, 
 " let this gentleman out, and make as httle 
 noise as possible. Adieu, Monsieur, and I 
 hope you may think better of me and mine." 
 
 Armand was soon on his way home, op- 
 pressed by gloomy thoughts. Could the 
 documents be in the possession of the 
 Count ?
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Matters were not progressing very favour- 
 ably at the Chateau of the Three Fountains. 
 M. Dechapelle had received many letters 
 from the Abbess of St. Eustace, and from 
 Father Pierre in relation to PauHne, some 
 threatening, some entreating, some advising. 
 Heloise being his daughter, they acknow- 
 ledo^ed his rio'ht to withdraw her from the 
 convent, but as Pauhne was no connexion what- 
 ever of theirs, the priest menaced them with 
 prosecution for forcibly carrjing off a stranger 
 from a nunner\'. M. de St. Denis well knew 
 that as he had kept Mdlle. Lefe^Te there
 
 184 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 against her will, he would be punished also 
 if the case w^ere made public, but he knew 
 well that M. Dechapelle did not intend re- 
 senting his insults from a wish not to have 
 his principles known. 
 
 One evening Pauline and Heloise were 
 walking as was their wont in the gardens of 
 the chateau. The moon was obscured by a 
 few light clouds, and the stars were hardly 
 \isible at all, so that objects could not be 
 distinctly seen. A brisk breeze had sprung 
 up from the east, and rustled amid the 
 smaller branches — roaring in anger around 
 the larger arms of the trees. The wind 
 brouofht with it the murmurs from the town 
 and the bapng of the house-dogs as 
 travellers passed by the houses on the lonely 
 road. The shadows around the trees fell thick 
 and impenetrable to the sight, the foliage 
 formed one dark mass, for the rays of the 
 moon fell too lightly to show the outhnes of 
 the boughs. 
 
 Pauline and Heloise talked of the con-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 185 
 
 vent, of Armand, of M. Lefe\Te, of Father 
 Pierre, until it grew rather late, and jMdlle. 
 DeehapeUe ad^dsed her companion to return 
 to the house out of the cold air. They had 
 just turned to do so, when hands were 
 placed on both their mouths, strong arms 
 encircled their waists, and they were home 
 struggHng from the grounds without the 
 power to utter a word. Outside was wait- 
 ing a post-chaise, into which they were 
 forced, and they were soon dashing away at 
 f uU speed from the chateau. 
 
 When far from their hom.e, the gag was 
 removed their mouths and they were allowed 
 to speak. To their many inquiries, how- 
 ever, their companion, who proved to b 
 Father Pierre, vouchsafed no reply, except 
 that they were going to a place from whence 
 they would never escape. They traveller 
 all night, and at last arrived at a house into 
 which they were placed, and the priest left 
 them. 
 
 The place to which M. de St Denis con-
 
 186 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 veyed them was situated on the sea coast, 
 and was not entii'ely habitable. It was, 
 however, used as a convent, but its inmates 
 consisted only of those nuns who were so 
 against their will. It was unknown, at least 
 openly, to the authorities, and was supposed 
 to be entirely deserted. Standing on a high 
 cliff, it could be seen for miles around, and 
 far out at sea it served as a landmark for 
 the sailors in bad weather, when the sohtary 
 lamp of the poor w^atchers shone out upon 
 the rolling waves of the deep. Now that 
 the nuns resided there, the people around 
 declared it to be haunted, and named it the 
 Tower of Spirits, nor could any reward in- 
 duce them to enter its gloomy walls. 
 
 The apartments that were assigned to 
 Pauhne and Heloise overlooked the sea, and 
 often when the others had retired to rest, 
 would the former sit by her window, with 
 the casement open, Hstening to the roaring 
 of the waves as they broke and receded 
 from the rocks below — the screams of the
 
 ST. EUSTACE 187 
 
 wild bird as it skimmed the billows towards 
 its nest amid the crags — to the fluttering of 
 the gale as it swept along the face of the 
 ocean. They were not allowed to see each 
 other often, for no other reason than to 
 enhance the misery of their already miser- 
 able abode. 
 
 The Abbess of this dreary convent was 
 an old woman who was quite under the 
 power of M. de St. Denis, and who seemed 
 to take a delight in carr^dng out his cruel 
 orders. As they were permitted to have no 
 communication with any persons outside 
 the convent, they could scarcely hope for 
 aid directly. They foresaw that they had 
 before them a long and dreary imprison- 
 ment, and though they looked fon\ ard with 
 confidence and hope, still they knew that 
 their deliverance was not the work of a day, 
 a week, a month, or even perhaps a year. 
 PauHne almost regretted that she had left 
 St. Eustace, but yet the conduct of the 
 priest was working its effects upon her
 
 188 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 mind, and she could not help thinking that 
 at any rate he must be a bad man. 
 
 Heloise was the most grieved. She had 
 left a father, a mother, and a dear brother ; 
 she knew that all of them were grie\ing for 
 her, and that ^ladame Dechapelle would 
 give way to imnecessary sorrow, the conse- 
 quences of which she feared to contemplate. 
 Pauline had only been deprived of a friend 
 — she could scarcely call him her betrothed, 
 although he ought to have been so. She 
 was, however, the greatest prize in the eyes 
 of M. de St. Denis — she was the daughter 
 of Simon Lefe\Te, and revenge was working 
 its accomphshment. 
 
 The consternation excited by the abduc- 
 tion was extreme at the chateau. ^M. De- 
 chapelle suspected, indeed knew, the authors 
 of it ; but would not take any steps without 
 consulting Armand, although ^Madame was 
 in a great state of excitement and terror, 
 and begged him to write to the authorities 
 at once. Prudence, however, told him to
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 189 
 
 wait awhile, for in the present state of 
 affairs it would have been extremely dange- 
 rous to hazard an avowal of his opinions. 
 It must not be supposed, however, that he 
 was not extremely sorrow-stricken at the 
 loss of his daughter and friend. But rash- 
 ness w^as not the way to succeed, and ac~ 
 cordingly he wTote off immediately to Ar- 
 mand, begging him to return home directly. 
 Upon receiving his father's letter, Ar- 
 mand laid the whole case before the Hun- 
 dred and One, and appealed to their 
 sympathies, expressing his determination to 
 use force if necessary. He obtained leave 
 directly, and with Hercule and twenty fol^ 
 lowers started for the Chateau of the Three 
 Fountains, where he found everything in 
 disorder. His mother was on a sick bed, 
 his father was searching the neighbourhood 
 all day, and had been several times to St. 
 ^stace. Of course the Abbess knew no- 
 thing of the two girls, and although Ar- 
 mand and his followers lay in ambush every
 
 190 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 night, the priest kept out of the way, and 
 their journey was in vain. He never ima- 
 gined, however, that they were away so far 
 from the convent, hut was inclined to be- 
 lieve they were still at St. Eustace. 
 
 On his return to the capital after the 
 fruitless search, he set to work in right ear- 
 nest to seek the lost documents. Six 
 months had now elapsed since Pauhne had 
 taken her vow, and he had not had the 
 slightest inkhng of their whereabouts. The 
 conspiracy, however, was progressing pretty 
 well, and amounted in all to ten thousand. 
 This was partly formed by a new corps called 
 the Reserve, and composed of Germans and 
 Huguenots from all parts of the globe. 
 
 But this was a small number wherewith 
 to accomplish the reduction of France ! 
 They reckoned, however, that on the raising 
 of the flag of Protestant independance, 
 thousands would flock to its aid, and an 
 army of immense force be organised before 
 the arrival of the royal troops.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 191 
 
 One evening as Armand was walking lei- 
 surely towards that end of Paris which leads 
 to Charenton, a man passed quickly from 
 the other side of the way, and said — 
 
 " FoUow me." 
 
 Although he could have no reason for 
 trusting him, yet, being of a bold disposi- 
 tion, and having his sword by his side, he 
 determined to foUow, and merely said— 
 
 " Lead on," 
 
 The man immediately began to advance 
 at a rapid pace towards the Rue St. Lis, 
 where they entered a low gateway. Here 
 he entered, and putting his finger on his 
 lips to denote silence, desired Armand by a 
 sign to follow. They w^ent along a narrow 
 passage, and then mounting a long flight of 
 steps, arrived at a room tolerably furnished. 
 Here they entered, and locking the door, 
 the unknoTVTi desired Armand to take a seat, 
 saying — 
 
 " My conduct may appear strange, but I 
 have reasons for it. You are in search of
 
 192 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 certain documents lost at ^' The Cave." Ii 
 not that the case ?" 
 
 " It is ; and upon my life my wishes seem 
 to be pretty well known here in Paris. Who 
 you are, and how you got your knowledge, 
 I know not." 
 
 " That is precisely what I do not mean 
 you to know. You are to be entirely igno- 
 rant of how I obtained a clue to them — 
 who I am — and why I wish to serve you. 
 You must also swear never to reveal your 
 visit to this house." 
 
 ^' You ought to have stated your condi- 
 tions before you brought me here," answered 
 Armand. 
 
 '^ Oh, no," rephed the other, smiHng. 
 ^' it was not necessary. Besides, you might 
 then have refused to come. But of that 
 anon. Are you mlHng to pay a good sum 
 for them?" 
 
 *' I will pay a reasonable price for thorn ; 
 but not an exorbitant one." 
 
 " But remember what you will obtain,"
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 193 
 
 exclaimed the unknown. '• Mdlle. Pauline's 
 hand — ^I. Lefevre's houses, and revenge on 
 M. de St. Denis." 
 
 " You seem to know my feelings pretty 
 well," said Armand, smiling) In spite of 
 himself. 
 
 " Ohj yes," answered the stranger, " I 
 know also where Mdlle. Lefevre and your 
 sister are now staying ; but I am bound by 
 an oath to reveal it to no one until a certain 
 period." 
 
 ^' And that is " 
 
 ^' The death of Father Pierre, which is 
 not hkely to take place just yet." 
 
 Armand was about to speak, but the un- 
 kno\\Ti interrupted him by continuing, — 
 
 ^' My price is ten thousand livres, and an 
 oath that you will speak to no one of your 
 visit here, and also that if you ever meet old 
 acquaintances you will not mention me, or 
 seek to gain information respecting me." 
 
 " I will give the ten thousand livres, but 
 
 VOL. L 5
 
 194 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 as to the rest, I cannot promise to do any- 
 thin o^ of the sort." 
 
 He said this from a strong suspicion that 
 he did not possess the documents at all. 
 
 " Then you can never return from this 
 room alive," said the stranger, sternly. 
 
 *' A\Tiat do you mean ?" cried Armand, 
 drawing his sword. 
 
 " I mean exactly what I say — that you 
 shall not go from this room alive if you do 
 not promise exactly what I ask." 
 
 Without another word, Dechapelle sprang 
 across the room, and before the unknown 
 had time to draw his sword, he had seized 
 him by the throat, and held him tightly to 
 the wall." 
 
 " Xow, then," cried Armand, " instantly 
 promise to let me depart, or I run you 
 through." 
 
 The stranofer made a sio^n that he could 
 not speak with his throat held so tightly ; 
 but when Armand released him, he sprang
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 195 
 
 away, and touching a spring in the wall, 
 disappeared. Armand turned to the door 
 by which he himself had entered, and the 
 key was in the lock. In joy he instantly 
 opened it and found a second door barring 
 his passage, and without lock or any percep- 
 tible fastening. 
 
 " Caught !" exclaimed Dechapelle ; " but 
 as my position is desperate, I will attempt 
 a desperate escape !" 
 
 So saying, he approached the window. 
 It was closely fastened, and would not open, 
 but breaking the panes of glass with the 
 hilt of his sword, he soon tore away the 
 frame, and looked out. Beneath was a 
 deep court — he was in the very top room — 
 all around were dead waUs. He looked for 
 a water-pipe by which he might descend, 
 but there was none, and his position was 
 hopeless, at least, it appeared so to him.
 
 CHAPTEK XXL 
 
 It now became quite dark, and as Armand 
 had, of course, no chance of obtaining a 
 Hght, he planted his back against the wall 
 with his sword drawn, gazing fiercely on the 
 darkness that all around enveloped him. His 
 position was, indeed, a miserable one. The 
 very thing he leant against might be a 
 secret door — the room was pitch dark, and 
 the house might contain men who would 
 make no scruple of murdering him. It 
 was rendered w^orse by his being unable to 
 perceive whether he was alone in the room 
 or not.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 197 
 
 But as he was meditating upon his pe- 
 culiar position, the moon in all her bril- 
 liancy cast a silver flood of Hght over the 
 chamber, illuminating every part of it 
 through the large window. It came like a 
 burst of dawning hope upon his soul, and he 
 had now time for more collected thought. 
 He took a chair, therefore, and placing it 
 by the window, sat do^\Ti and began to 
 think. 
 
 " ^Yhat could be the man's intention in 
 thus leaving him to himself ?" 
 
 *' Perhaps," thought he, " he imagines 
 it will bring me to reason to be left alone in 
 this dreary place ; but I will never give way." 
 His position was the more vexatious in that 
 he was immured as it were amonof the Hvinof. 
 He was in one of the most populous quar- 
 ters of the city, and yet his cries would not 
 be heard were he to call ever so loudly. 
 Many plans entered into his head, but nearly 
 all were rejected as impossible. One was to 
 set fire to the door and burn a passage
 
 198 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 through. This, in his eagerness to escape, 
 he at once thought feasible, and commenced 
 breaking up the furniture to pile against the 
 entrance. The fresh breeze that poured in 
 through the open window would raise the 
 flame and enwTap the door. This he 
 thought at first, but luckily ere he fired the 
 heap he remembered that w ere the floor to 
 ignite his hfe would be lost for a certainty. 
 He had nothing with which to put out the 
 fire were it to reach the walls, and he gave 
 up this idea in despair. 
 
 He then got upon the sill of the window, 
 and endeavoured to reach the roof with his 
 hands ; but it was too far, and he only just 
 escaped a fall into the court beneath, by 
 grasping the wall till the blood sprang from 
 under his nails. He sat dowTi, there- 
 fore, to plan again, when suddenly an idea 
 struck him, and seizing the leg of a large 
 oaken chair he had dragged to pieces, he 
 commenced beating the door with all his 
 might. It resisted his efibrts, however, and
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 109 
 
 he flung the wood away in disgust. It 
 struck the wall, and open sprang a door. 
 
 Armand leaped towards it, and cautiously 
 stepped out. He found himself in a dark 
 passage, at the end of which appeared a 
 shght ghmmer of hght. Towards this 
 he made with as soft a footstep as he 
 could, and found a window opening into a 
 little room, where sat the unknown and 
 Father Pierre. They were in earnest con- 
 versation. 
 
 " And did he really think," said tlie 
 Priest, " that we had the documents, and 
 would give them up for money ?" 
 
 " I did not mention your name of course. 
 I made him think, indeed, that I sought 
 your ruin, and wished to bring you to 
 justice." 
 
 " And he refused altogether ?" 
 
 " No, he offered the money, but would 
 not make the oath." 
 
 " What !" he said, " he would discover 
 this place to the police ?"
 
 200 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " No ! but refused to make any promises 
 that he would not." 
 
 *' And how do you intend to deal with 
 him?" inquired the Priest. 
 
 " Leave him in the room, of course, 
 untn " 
 
 " Ah — until — yes, I understand you, 
 until there could be no chance of his bab- 
 bling. I'll trouble you for some more wine." 
 
 Armand w^ent back to the room without 
 making the shghtest noise, and set fire to 
 the heap of combustibles which he had 
 piled against the door. The wind caught 
 the flame, and rising up it lapped the door 
 w ith its fiery tongue, and filled the place 
 with smoke. He then hurried back after 
 closing the secret door, and took his station 
 in the depth of the gloom near the door of 
 the apartment where the Priest and his 
 confederate were sitting. 
 
 It was not long before the smell of fire 
 reached the place, and Father Pierre, who
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 201 
 
 had began to turn to other subjects, sud- 
 denly exclaimed, — 
 
 " Good heavens ! he has set fire to the 
 house !" 
 
 The stranger looked at him, and seemed 
 to be smelling something. 
 
 '' Yes, it is the smell of fire — ^let us go 
 and see what he is at. One good thing is, 
 we shall have the pleasure of seeing him 
 burnt, and by his own hand too." 
 
 So saying, he threw open the door, and 
 both went towards the room where Armand 
 had been confined, not perceiving him in 
 the gloom of the passage. As soon as they 
 had disappeared, Armand rushed into the 
 room, making, however, as little noise as 
 possible, and set fire to everything he could 
 get at. He then opened a door opposite, 
 and locking it behind him, ascended a flight 
 of steps. These he found to conduct to the 
 leads of the house, which he reached in 
 time to see the fire beginning to ascend 
 
 K 2
 
 202 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 through the roof. He immediately made 
 away along the tiles, but had not gone 
 far, when he was stopped by the corner of a 
 street. 
 
 He saw, however, a skyhght, and knock- 
 ing furiously on the glass of this, it fell in 
 with a crash, and he went in after it. He 
 fell on the floor of a room where a grisette 
 was sleeping, who, terrified at hearing the 
 crash and at seeing a man come so suddenly 
 through the roof, leaped out of bed and 
 began to scream. Knowing that if he were 
 caught thus running away, he should be 
 known to be the incendiary, Armand seized 
 her in his arms, and putting his hand over 
 her mouth, explained that he was escaping 
 from a house on fire. This pacified her, 
 but the cry hvad alarmed the inmates of the 
 house, and Armand, thinldng that if found 
 in a grisette' s bed-room, he should become 
 the hero of an elegant adventure, begged 
 her to hide him somewhere.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 203 
 
 The griselte^ however, was not of the 
 same mind, and opening the door, said to 
 the persons who had come up, — 
 
 "" This gentleman has just escaped from 
 No. 6, which is on fire. Let him out if you 
 please." 
 
 Thanking her with a look, Armand de- 
 scended with the concierge^ and on being let 
 out, made the best of his way out of Paris. 
 On arriving at Charenton, he found the 
 Hundi'ed and One still sitting, for they sus- 
 pected that he had met va\h some adventure 
 which prevented his coming. He recounted 
 his evening's exploits faithfully, and excited 
 much merriment among his companions, 
 who declared that even now the Priest and 
 his double must be roasting over a good fire. 
 
 But he did not join in their merriment. 
 A thought suddenly struck him. Might 
 not the documents perish in the flames ? 
 And yet he had a suspicion that they were 
 not in their possession at all. It was soon
 
 201 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 to be cleared up. On the following day, 
 the unknown entered Armand's private 
 lodging with the utmost assurance, and took 
 a seat Dechapelle rose in indignation. 
 
 " You are very bold, sir," cried he, '' to 
 venture here into my room after endeavour- 
 ing to murder me." 
 
 " Stay, stay," answered the stranger, 
 not in the least perturbed, " be not too 
 hasty. I have something to tell you, which 
 you will be sorry to hear. Besides," he 
 added, holding up his left arm which was 
 bound up, "as to murdering, you made a 
 pretty good try at that yourself last night. 
 I am unable as it is to use my arm." 
 
 " I am exceedingly glad to hear it," re- 
 turned Armand, with unmoved gravity. 
 
 " I dare say you are — and so am I since 
 it shows I w^asn't killed. But to business. 
 The documents are lost." 
 
 " I believe that as much as everj^thing 
 else you have told me," rephed Armand ; 
 *' but you can say what you please."
 
 ST EUSTACE. 205 
 
 " Very well, very well, and so by your 
 leave, I'll give you my history. My name 
 is Claude Favier, and I am the younger 
 brother of Albert Favier, or as some call 
 him M. de St. Denis, who is your greatest 
 enemy. When I was about twenty, I was 
 carried away by force, and placed in an old 
 house on the sea coast, where I was kept 
 immured by the orders of Father Pierre. 
 What motive it was that induced him to 
 act thus, I know not ; but perhaps it was 
 that I might not reveal his true name and 
 character to the world. Perhaps he ima- 
 gined I stood in his way somehow or ano- 
 ther. At any rate it so happened, until a 
 short time ago, Mdlle. Pauhne Lefevre and 
 your sister were brought there — " 
 
 Armand started. 
 
 " Oh," continued Claude, " you need not 
 look so anxious, for I'm not going to tell 
 you where they are, for as I before told you 
 I am under a solemn oath never to reveal it
 
 206 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 until after my brother's death. But as to 
 the documents, they are lost." 
 
 " But how?" enquired Armand. 
 
 '^ They were stolen on the night of the 
 conflagration by an old Jew servant of 
 mine." 
 
 " Thank heaven," cried Dechapelle, in- 
 voluntarily, " then they are not entirely 
 lost." 
 
 " Why thank heaven they are stolen ? 
 You will never again see them." 
 
 ^' On the contrary, I now feel every hope 
 of finding them, and that, too, without 
 much reward if I chose. But how do you 
 reconcile what you have told me with your 
 conversation last night with Father Pierre." 
 
 " Why you see I am obhged to play 
 double," answered Claude, " or else Father 
 Pierre would throw me overboard ; but let 
 us not part enemies — give me your hand 
 before we part^ and if ever I can serve you, 
 I will,"
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 207 
 
 The man appeared so sincere, that Ar- 
 mand held out his hand to him, and he 
 went away, nor did he appear again for 
 some time.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 It happened that very evening that Ar- 
 mand DechapeUe and Hercule Bassompierre 
 had to stay in the old house on the moor 
 at Charenton. It had become so much a 
 habit for them to be there, that the lonely 
 situation of the building was never thought 
 of, and their conversation was livelv and 
 hopeful. 
 
 " \yelV' said Hercule, " so old Isaac has 
 got the documents again, you think ?" 
 
 " I have every reason to think so ; for 
 what other Jew would have thought of seiz- 
 upon a bundle of papers during a conflagra-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 209 
 
 tion. Would they not rather have stolen 
 money ?" 
 
 " To be sure, if there were any. I think 
 myself you have a much greater chance. 
 I would go the Jews' quarters every day if 
 I were you, Armand, and search every nook 
 and comer." 
 
 " I will. And now to more immediate 
 matters," said Dechapelle. "Our conspi- 
 racy progresses but slowly, I fear." 
 
 " Yes — but when we begin it will be all 
 right. I am glad you are commander-in* 
 chief, for I feel I am not adequate for it." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense," said Armand? 
 " we are always equal whatever we are, 
 and" 
 
 A violent knock at the door interrupted 
 him. 
 
 " Who the deuce can that be," cried 
 Hercule, " I suppose we must let him in, 
 " whoever he is." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Armand, and 
 drawing a brace of pistols from his belt, he
 
 210 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 approached the window. " Who is there ?" 
 shouted he, putting his head out, on which 
 ho had first pulled a white night-cap 
 
 " Open in the king's name !" roared a 
 man, who had behind him about a hundred 
 and fifty soldiers. " Open in the king's 
 name, and don't keep us standing here, or 
 we will break the door down." 
 
 Pretending not to understand him, 
 Armand cried out in his loudest voice — 
 
 '' Murder — thieves — help — help — help," 
 and fired with Hercule right in among them. 
 
 The soldiers now began to beat the door 
 with the butt ends of their muskets with 
 such force, that Armand at once saw that if 
 they continued it would not last long. With 
 the assistance, therefore, of Hercule, he 
 carried down as many of the moveables as 
 he could, and piled them against the door 
 thus forming a strong barricade, which it 
 would take a long time to break down if 
 guarded at all.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 211 
 
 Armand then, to the sui-prise of Hercule, 
 cried — 
 
 '^ Go, Hercule, and tell Antoine de St. 
 Claire to bring up the seventh company, and 
 you also bring yours." 
 
 " Armand, this is madness. I cannot 
 leave you. Besides, a collision between the 
 troops and the royal soldiers would not do 
 now." 
 
 " I am your officer now," retunied 
 Armand, finnly. " Go and do as I bid you 
 immediately, you can be back wdth them 
 in an hom\ The place will hold out as long 
 as that, and if not, I can escape by the 
 secret door." 
 
 Hercule, seeing that Ailnand was deter- 
 mined, went out by the secret door, and our 
 hero was left alone. He easily passed 
 by the troopers in the darkness of the 
 night, and passed quickly on towards Paris. 
 The blows against the door now redoubled, 
 and though made of double oak, and newly 
 clamped with iron, it quivered at every
 
 212 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 stroke, and Arm and saw it must soon give 
 way. He, however, ascended the stairs, and 
 putting his head out of the T\indow, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " You can never get into the house, and 
 therefore it is useless to endeavour to do so. 
 There is no one here but myself, and I do 
 not even know what you want. You are 
 evidently thieves, if so, let me give you all 
 the money I have and leave me in peace." 
 
 " We arrest you in the king's name for 
 high treason, M. Armand Dechapelle, and 
 if you do not open the door the punishment 
 will be worse." 
 
 ^' If that is what you come for, the pun- 
 ishment cannot be worse, for high treason 
 is death." 
 
 " Then you acknowledge your guilt." 
 
 " I acknowledge that I hate the king and 
 his slaves, and you may do your worst." 
 
 The soldiers now dashed against the door 
 with all their force, and one of the hinges 
 gave way.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 213 
 
 " Bravo, my men," cried the officer, 
 '^ you will soon get the traitor. One more 
 effort and he is yours." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha," laughed Armand, *^ beat 
 away." 
 
 The commander, exasperated, ordered 
 some of his men to fire, and they sent a 
 sharp volley at him. He never flinched, 
 and the balls missed. 
 
 " Very well," cried Armand, " if you 
 begin at that, I have a word to say too." 
 
 And levelling his pistol, he wounded the 
 commander in the left arm, while with the 
 other he shot his horse under him. This 
 was all he intended to do, for he wished to 
 reserve his encounter with him until the regu- 
 lar battle. The officer rose from the ground 
 bruised, shaken, wounded ; and foaming with 
 rage, ordered a new and more vigorous effort, 
 DechapeUe now went out at the secret 
 door, and passing noiselessly, waited a short 
 distance off in order that he might meet 
 his little band.
 
 214 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 He had not long left the house before 
 the door gave way with a crash, but was 
 prevented from faUing by the barricade of 
 furniture. This was an impediment quite 
 unlooked for, and they did not know at 
 first what to make of it. They, however, 
 took the door away, and then finding the 
 pile of furniture, began to pull it down bit 
 by bit. 
 
 They had not concluded this operation 
 when Armand heard the tramping of men 
 in the distance, and soon Hercule's com- 
 pany of the Huguenot hussars came in 
 sight. They were only fifty in number, but 
 Antoine de St. Claire had eighty besides, 
 half foot, half horse, so that Armand had 
 a hundred and thirty men to oppose a hun- 
 di'ed and fifty. The royal troopers, think- 
 ing it was a reinforcement, gave a shout, 
 which was responded to by the Huguenots 
 and Armand mounting his favourite horse, 
 Venus, put himself at their head, and with 
 a cry of "Death to the Catholics," they
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 215 
 
 rushed at full speed against the enemy. 
 The troopers, who by this time had become 
 aware of their situation, formed and re- 
 ceived the charo'e p:allantlv, so that Decha- 
 pelle's little band, although not in disorder, 
 had to wheel round and reform. This time 
 the infantry advanced at a run on either 
 side, and when the cavalr)^ attacked the 
 royal forces, went in among them and struck 
 at them from below. 
 
 This unexpected assault bewildered the 
 troops ; they struck about them wildly, 
 wavered, drew up, and then breaking, fled 
 in all directions, im^ao^ininof that an immense 
 force of the enemy was come against them. 
 The commander, whom Armand had sin- 
 gled out in the combat, seeing his men fly, 
 took the hint and fled after them. But 
 Armand, although this victory was a com- 
 plete one, foresaw that the troops would 
 make another attempt, and therefore divi- 
 ding his little band, he placed half in front 
 of the house, and haK a short distance ofi^.
 
 216 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 In about ten minutes or more the helmets 
 and cuirasses of the royal hussars once more 
 appeared in sight, and came doTVTi at full 
 speed. But with their determined spirit the 
 Huguenots bore the charge bravely, and the 
 fight became general. Not a sound was 
 heard but the clashing of steel and the 
 firing of carbines, when suddenly from the 
 other side of the straggling troops a sheet 
 of flame shot out, and the second band 
 closed around the now disordered ranks. 
 They made many desperate attempts to 
 escape, but they were hemmed in, and the 
 carnage was dreadful. At length, with the 
 loss of more than half their number, they 
 submitted themselves prisoners of war. 
 
 The commander, with a tear in his eye, 
 yielded up his sword to Armand, at the same 
 time saying— 
 
 " To such troops as yours I am not 
 ashamed to yield." 
 
 '' Providing they all give up their arms, 
 their helmets, horses, and their cartridges,
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 217 
 
 they may all go in peace. You must make 
 a solemn promise, however, not to bear arms 
 against us any more." 
 
 " I promise," said the officer, and then 
 turning to his soldiers — " my men, give up 
 your arms, helmets, cuirasses, horses, and 
 cartridges, and then you may go in peace. 
 I command you. " 
 
 The men sullenly obeyed, and in a short 
 time after the whole, now only seventy-five, 
 entered Paris, bare-headed and on foot, 
 carrying thirty wounded comrades. Vrhen 
 counting his men, Armand found that their 
 loss amounted to twenty killed and thirty 
 wounded, which was a large proportion. 
 All the wounds, hovi^ever, were not serious 
 some v>ere mere contusions, some slight 
 bruises. The Huguenots now donned the 
 royal uniform, strapping their own behind 
 them on their horses. The spare beasts 
 were used to convey the wounded, while the 
 dead were left in the house. The guards 
 of the Barrier e seeing the manner in 
 
 VOL I. L
 
 218 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 which they were dressed, allowed them to 
 pass, and they proceeded unmolested each 
 to his OTVTi home. Armand and Hercule 
 distributed the wounded, taking one mth 
 them, and when the sun rose next morning 
 over the city, nobody could have told that 
 amonof the citizens there were those who 
 had fought and bled in the cause of free- 
 dom the night before. 
 
 " Armand," said Bassompierre as they 
 sat at their breakfast, " last night's game 
 was desperate ; you cannot intend to go on 
 with it." 
 
 " No, you are right," repHed Armand, 
 " it will now require more caution than ever 
 on our part. What happened last evening, 
 how^ever, has taught our troops their supe- 
 riority ; one T\ill tell it to another, and by 
 the time we want their serrices again, ten 
 thousand of ours will beat twenty thousand 
 of the king's soldiers. 
 
 " True ; but it will exasperate the king 
 and put him on his guard."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 219 
 
 " It will ; and that is the reason why 
 after to-night we must defer meeting for 
 awhile." 
 
 " And where do we meet to-night ?" 
 
 " At the house in the Rue St. Jacques." 
 
 Hercule stared. 
 
 " Yes, there, for we shall never be ex- 
 pected to return to our old quarters. The man 
 who saw us there will not betray us, and 
 none know the secret but he. I shall give 
 you the task of reporting this to the Hun- 
 dred and One." 
 
 " The Hundred, you should say, Armand," 
 observed Hercule, " poor Pierre is killed." 
 
 '' TMiat, Pierre Marmontier?" asked 
 Dechapelle. 
 
 ^' Yes ; he headed the infantry, and was 
 afterwards shot down by a trooper." 
 
 '' Poor fellow. Now I may open the 
 packet he gave me." And, going to a drawer, 
 he took out a small paper parcel, and 
 opened it. It contained a will, leaving to 
 Armand Dechapelle, " for purposes he well
 
 220 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 knew," the whole of his property, about 
 fifty thousand pounds. 
 
 *' He truly loved the cause," cried Ar- 
 niand, with much emotion, " but we must 
 get this transferred, or as soon as my 
 name becomes known in connection with it, 
 it will be stopped and confiscated." 
 
 " You say rightly ; I will do it for you 
 myself, and now adieu." And so saying he 
 took leave of his friend and departed, leav- 
 inof Armand alone to think over the events 
 of the day. 
 
 When Dechapelle that evening laid be- 
 fore the society the proceedings of the 
 night, they unanimously aproved of his con- 
 duct, and were loud in their applause of the 
 behaviour of the troops. When the ex- 
 citement had subsided, and the will of Pierre 
 had been read over, Hercule Bassompierre 
 laid on the table some papers relating to 
 the transfer to ]\I. Antoine de St. Claire of 
 the money. Armand then said that he had 
 a request to make, which vras that his father
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 221 
 
 should be admitted in the place of Marmon 
 tier. This was put to the vote and carried 
 almost without a dissentient voice. They 
 then consulted on the next move, which by 
 Dechapelle's advice was to remain perfectly 
 quiet, and by no means betray any sign of 
 the existence of the society, so that by the 
 time they were ready for action the govern- 
 ment would be lulled into a state of false 
 security. 
 
 On Armand's recommendation, several of 
 the Huguenots were promoted for their 
 conduct, and the rest warmly thanked and 
 praised. The greatest enthusiasm reigned 
 among the whole of the httle aiTQy, and 
 most of them were impatient for action 
 upon the victory becoming known.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Meanwhile tlie discomfiture of the royal 
 troops by an armed force, which had mys- 
 teriously disappeared, was causing great ex- 
 citement at the palace. No one was allowed 
 to mention the affair abroad on pain of in- 
 curring the displeasure of the king, while 
 in the meantime diligent search was made 
 to discover the author of so daring an 
 attack. 
 
 The commander of the royal troops, who 
 had been so discomfited, was degraded as 
 well as many under his command, and the 
 soldiers were much scoffed at by their com-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 223 
 
 rades, when they were seen to return bare- 
 headed, and unarmed. Many of the men 
 about the palace declared their willingness 
 to go against the robbers ; but, Louis not 
 wishing to appear to place any regard on so 
 trivial a circumstance, affected to take it 
 indifferently. His fears he kept from others, 
 but he had fears, for the soldiers exaggerated 
 immensely the number of their conquerors 
 declaring that it was an overwhelming force 
 that had attacked them. 
 
 The king did not wish to move about 
 masses of troops for fear of creating tumult, 
 and accordingly ordered two thousand men 
 to proceed to Charenton on the followhig 
 night and attack the house. They were to 
 be composed of cavalry, infantry, and artil- 
 lery, the latter comprising fom' cannons, 
 When Armand went to bmy the dead that 
 day, he met the ex-commander, who had ap- 
 parently been waiting some time for his ap- 
 pearance,
 
 224 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " You recognise me, do you not ?" said 
 he to Dechapelle. 
 
 ^' Yes, you are lie who commanded the 
 king's troops last night." 
 
 " Well, I have come to tell you of the 
 movements of your enemy, for revenge is 
 sweet. To-night at twelve o'clock two thou- 
 sand men — cavalr)', infantry, and artillery, 
 with four guns will attack this house. Are 
 you in a position to defend it ? It seems to 
 be in a ruined state, and not very hkely to 
 stand the discharge of cannon." 
 
 " I might get a thousand men," returned 
 Armand, " and perhaps fifteen hundred, 
 hut we have no guns. We must trust to our 
 small arms." 
 
 " Then, you will inevitably be lost if at- 
 tacked — and yet I have an expedient, you 
 need not come." 
 
 " The plan might answer, for we meet 
 elsewhere now ; but we must defend this 
 house to the last, or we shall lose the pres-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 225 
 
 tige we have gained. I can rely on the 
 troops after last night's adventure. It will 
 do them good, a little skirmish." 
 
 " You are very sanguine — but let me tell 
 you the troops that are to come to-night are 
 picked men — two crack regiments." 
 
 " So will mine be," repUed Dechapelie, 
 " the men who fought last night have 
 many of them been promoted, and they 
 would all rather die than yield." 
 
 " Then grant me a favour," cried the Ex- 
 Commander, as a sudden thought seemed to 
 strike him, " give me the command of a 
 corps. An old enemy of mine will be at 
 the head of those who are to attack you, 
 and I shall have a chance of avenging my- 
 self." 
 
 " 'Tis granted, and yet — " 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " How am I to know you are sincere ?" 
 
 " A man in my position is always sincere 
 in his revenge." 
 
 '' Well, Iwdll trust you — come with me." 
 
 L 2
 
 226 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 On arriving in the capital, Armand im- 
 mediately sent for Hercule, and told him 
 how matters stood. He was not at all 
 pleased at Armand's plan, but still he gave 
 up to him as a superior officer, and did as 
 he was directed. He went one after 
 another to the whole Hundred and One, and 
 disclosed the approaching battle. All were 
 deliofhted and enthusiastic, and visited their 
 companies which amounted to eight hundred 
 men in Paris, and desired them to be ready 
 at eight, and assemble outside the barrier at 
 half-past, on horseback. 
 
 Armand himself set off to Versailles, in 
 which village were many sworn Huguenots, 
 and called upon them to assist. All of them 
 responded, and after urging their certain 
 assemblage, he \dsited several other hamlets 
 near and procured about six hundred more. 
 
 When at the appointed hour they all met 
 outside the barrier, they mustered about 
 sixteen hundred men, a third of whom were 
 cavalr}-. Antoine de St. Claire was at the
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 227 
 
 head of the reserve, which was two hundred 
 cavahy and four hundred infantry. Armand 
 commanded the fii'st corps, and the remain- 
 ing six hundred were left to Hercule, and 
 the old commander. Colonel Monsigny. 
 
 At nine they began their march, Armand 
 leading. In a short time they arrived at 
 the old house, and took up their position. 
 Fifty sharp-shooters were placed in the 
 building, while Armand, at the head of his 
 four hundred, went behind an angle to 
 await the arrival of the enemy. After sta- 
 tioning his men, he returned to give his 
 orders, and placed Hercule behind the other 
 angle but reserved a hundred of his in- 
 fantry to fight together with his own men. 
 The reserve corps he stationed some distance 
 off behind the house with orders not to come 
 up till a horn was blown. 
 
 About midnight they heard the rumbling 
 of wheels in the distance, and the tramping 
 of horses. The wind, however, was high 
 and blowing in a contrary direction, so that
 
 228 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 merely an indistinct noise was heard at first. 
 The thought suddenly occurred to Annand, 
 that the disposition he had made was not a 
 good one ; for if the cannon were directed 
 against the house, it would endanger not 
 only the reserve behind, but his two bodies 
 of men on either side. He sent vrord to 
 St. Claire therefore^ to go round as noise- 
 lessly as possible until they were in the 
 enemy's rear, and there await the summons. 
 
 Tlie royal troops came steadily up, ^Yith. 
 no music, in order not to rouse any of those 
 who, they expected, would be awaiting them. 
 They drew up in order in front of the build- 
 ing, and directed their cannon against it, 
 but to the surprise of Dechapelle, did not 
 fire a shot. His sui^prise, however, was of 
 short duration. He saw the wisdom of the 
 arrangement, and silently acquiesed. The 
 royal leader intended to wait for the light. 
 
 The day dawned with unusual slowness. 
 Low mists appeared to be creeping over the 
 earth, and rolhng away over the dreary
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 229 
 
 common of Cliarenton, towards the Marne 
 and the Seine. The sun rose yellow and 
 romid, then tmiied to a deep red, and 
 seemed to swell into unnatural dimensions. 
 Gray gleamed the towers of the sleeping 
 city in the presence of the waking day ; but 
 gradually the fog dispersed, and made way 
 for as glorious a sunsliine as ever blessed the 
 land of France. 
 
 Just as the light disclosed the presence of 
 the mist to the little camp of Huguenots, 
 they went round quietly to the back of the 
 royal troops, but they were not unperceived. 
 Feigning however not to see them, the 
 commander fired a gun at the house, and 
 summoned its defenders to surrender it into 
 his hands. He had intended after this to 
 wheel his cannon round suddenly, and svv eep 
 the enemy from the grouni; but he found 
 his mistake too late. The volley of 
 musketiy that came pouring in from the 
 old house, was seconded by an impetuous 
 rush, and hardly had the cry of " Death to
 
 230 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 the Catholics" sounded high in the air, be- 
 fore Huguenots and troops were mingled in 
 a hand to hand combat. 
 
 The cannon, however, was not by this 
 rendered useless. Roar succeeded roar, and 
 the old house bit by bit sank to the ground, 
 while the guns also played on the advancing 
 reserve. The small body of infantry which 
 Armand had at first assaulted gave way and 
 fled, and the victorious Protestants pressed 
 on. But a seemingly impenetrable wall of 
 steel prevented their further progress. Eight 
 hundred cavalry formed in hollow square 
 with long lances in front stood firm as a rock, 
 the second line pouring out volleys of 
 musketry over their comrade's shoulders. 
 
 To attempt the storming of this human 
 citadel without further aid, would have been 
 an useless expenditure of life, and Armand 
 blew the horn. The reserve corps, although 
 terribly thinned by the play of the guns, 
 came up very quickly and charged on the 
 flank, while Armand attacked the front, and
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 231 
 
 Hercule the rear. On the other flank were 
 the guns surrounded by picked men. 
 
 The royahsts now broke, but they did not 
 fly. After fighting for a short time hand 
 to hand, they scoured away over the com- 
 mon, and returned at full speed. The same 
 scene of indescribable confusion was again 
 repeated. Infantry — cavalry — artillery, 
 mingled in one melee. Such a contest coidd 
 not possibly be of long duration. The royal 
 troops gradually melted away, and at length 
 the horse soldiers, as if by a mutual under- 
 standing, threw down their arms, and fled 
 with precipitation, followed by Armand's 
 corps. Reinforcements were coming, but, 
 meeting their flying comrades pursued by 
 the Huguenots, they joined their ranks, and 
 rushed pell mell into the capital, nor did 
 they stop until the gates of the palace bar- 
 racks had closed on them. 
 
 Meanwhile the infantry animated by their 
 commander, had gathered round the guns, 
 and were defending them with fierce deter-
 
 232 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 mination. Charge after charge was re- 
 pelled with severe loss, and the Huguenots 
 began to despair of capturing them when 
 the returning cavalry sw ept over the ground 
 and crushed the opposing force like grass 
 beneath their feet. Those who could do so 
 fled, and the rest received quarter. The 
 loss of the royalists was immense — six hun- 
 dred only remaining of the two thousand. 
 The Protestants, however, had suffered in 
 proportion, having only eight hundred sound 
 left out of sixteen hundred. The arms'^of 
 the dead and wounded, besides a few horses 
 and six field pieces remained in their hands. 
 These last were bm'ied near the spot, be- 
 cause it w^ould have been impossible to draw 
 them into the city.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Armand was fully aware that this open de- 
 fiance of the power of the king could not 
 be kept up under existing circumstances, 
 and to be discovered would be to be ruined 
 for ever. On meeting the Hundred and 
 One in the evening, therefore, he begged 
 them to postpone their meetings for a time, 
 as it was extremely dangerous to meet at 
 present. 
 
 Good news, however, awaited him, for 
 dminof their dehberations tidiness were 
 brought that in M. Dechapelle's neighbour- 
 hood five thousand Huguenots were ready to
 
 234 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 rise at their bidding. The enthusiasm of 
 the society was unbounded, and they de- 
 clared that with a leader so energetic, and 
 with so many friends, they could not but 
 succeed. 
 
 As he was returning home, and reflecting 
 on the success of the conspiracy, he saw 
 a man approaching hastily from the other 
 side of the road. Put on his guard by his 
 recent mishaps he drew his sword, and 
 placing his back against the wall, awaited 
 the new comer, who rushed rapidly over. 
 
 " Put up that sword," said the man, " or 
 I shall not disclose my errand." 
 
 " Then you'll have to keep it to yourself,* 
 answered Armand, " for how do I know 
 you are a true man ?" 
 
 " Oh, if you are so timid, good night to 
 you. But I give you my word I mean well.'* 
 
 " I take your word," said Armand, 
 " speak quickly." 
 
 " If you possess any courage then foUow
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 2S5 
 
 me, for I am a friend and shall conduct vou 
 to friends," 
 
 " Lead on then," replied Armand, " al- 
 though I know I am wrong in thus allowing 
 myself to be conducted I know not whither 
 by a stranger." 
 
 " Do not waste time," said the man, 
 gruffly, " if you doubt my honesty, depart 
 in peace." 
 
 " Ma foi — that is a strange idea. 
 Honest ? — why how am I to know whether 
 you are honest or dishonest. I know one 
 thing, however, I have a sword and under- 
 stand its use. Lead on." 
 
 The man now proceeded mumbling some- 
 thing about cowards, but his remarks were 
 lost upon Armand. Indeed, the latter was 
 so wrapped up in his own thoughts, that 
 though he followed his guide, it was merely 
 a mechanical motion, and when the stranger 
 said " Here we are," he started as from a 
 dream. 
 
 " Here is our destination," said the un-
 
 236 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 known, " follow me quickly, do not speak a 
 word." 
 
 The house was situated in one of the 
 most lonely streets in Paris, hut the windows 
 were ht up, and a lamp shone in the open 
 passage. The man, however, did not enter 
 here, but knocking gently at a side door, 
 almost hidden in the obscurity, he went into 
 a passage veiled entirely in darkness. 
 Without a moment's hesitation Arm and 
 plunged in, and after stumbUng on a short 
 distance, started back suddenly as a blaze 
 of Ught shone out as from a recess. In a 
 side room sat about twenty men, apparently 
 dehberating. It was evident, however, that 
 they were in expectation of some arrival, as 
 they listened attentively when he approached. 
 When his guide entered with him, and 
 whispered a few words to a person w^ho sat 
 at the head of the table, he made a sign, 
 and rising, they saluted him as their chief, 
 taking off their hats and bowing. 
 
 The surprise which was excited in Armand
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 237 
 
 by this strange conduct, was soon at an end. 
 To his great satisfaction he learnt that this 
 was another society of Huguenots, number- 
 ing twelve thousand, who, haying no leader 
 in whom they could place confidence, and 
 having learnt of the existence of a fonnida- 
 ble conspiracy from one of theu^ spies, had 
 deteraiined to join themselves to the Hun- 
 dred and One. After giving them some 
 necessary instructions, he went away re- 
 solved to summon the society next evening 
 at " The Vaults," the name of the new 
 rendezvous. 
 
 The Hundred and One were as pleased 
 as they were astonished by theii' imexpected 
 success. Arraand told them in an enthusi- 
 astic speech that the time for action had 
 come, and they m^ust now take the field. 
 The Protestants throughout France, he 
 said, would rise at their call. He expected 
 them to join him each with their company 
 iii Poitou, where his father would be ready 
 with his reinforcement. An army of thirty
 
 238 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 thousand men was now ready for service — 
 the only difficulty was how to unite. He 
 bade them go in small parties so as not to 
 excite suspicion, and after giving orders for 
 the distribution of the necessary funds, he 
 concluded his address by an appeal to their 
 constancy. 
 
 " Now that the time for action has come, 
 my friends, do not flinch — do not give way, 
 but rather rejoice that the season has at 
 length arrived, when you may see the flag 
 of the Protestant Eepubhc wave over every 
 towTi in your native land." 
 
 This was rash. In his enthusiasm he did 
 not remember that he had never before men- 
 tioned the name of the Republic, and for a 
 moment he regretted it. But it was but for 
 a moment. By the enthusiastic rephes of 
 the various speakers, he found they were all 
 of his opinion, and determined to die for 
 freedom. 
 
 Could Armand leave Paris without an- 
 other efi'ort to find the documents ? His
 
 ST. EUSTACE 239 
 
 country called him ; but no, he felt he must 
 not quit the place where he was sure Isaac 
 was to be found ^nthout strenuous endea- 
 vours. He visited the Jews' quarter con- 
 tinually — he searched every jeweller's shop, 
 but in vain ; imtil at length, as he was pro- 
 ceeding along the Quai, he heard a voice 
 near him say — 
 
 " Charity — charity for a poor man." 
 He was charitable, and thrusting his 
 hands into his pocket he drew out a silver 
 coin, and was about to give it and depart, 
 when the voice said — 
 
 " M. DechapeUe, is that you?" 
 At this Armand raised his eyes and en- 
 countered the beggar. For some time he 
 stood bewildered, and it was long before he 
 recognised in the pale, dirty, emaciated, 
 ragged creatm'e before him Isaac the Jew 
 of '' the Cave." 
 
 " Come with me," said the Jew, ^' I will 
 take you to a place where we can talk at 
 leisure."
 
 240 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Isaac led the way along a number of 
 wretched streets which showed every variety 
 of squahd misery. Ragged children were dab- 
 bhng in the narrow passages — we can hardly 
 call them thoroughfares, for they were so 
 narrow that you could shake hands across 
 from window to window — ragged garments 
 were hanging on lines suspended across the 
 street, and dripped upon the passers. Cha- 
 racters, whose lives would not stand analysis, 
 stood at every door ridiculing the pedes- 
 trians, who slushed throuoh the running- 
 street, and laughing loud when they met 
 with any mishap. 
 
 But disreirardin^ all the abominations 
 which abounded in old Paris, Annand went 
 steadily on. His object w^as a great one, 
 and he cared liot with how^ much difficulty 
 his path was beset. To him the scenes be- 
 fore him only increased his a^nxiety that the 
 Republic should be established, and the peo- 
 ple by this means be raised from their pre- 
 sent state of moral and physical degradation.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 241 
 
 His heart sickened as he thought of the 
 insane reverence of his fellow countrymen 
 for one man, whose right to he at the head 
 of the French people was much less than 
 his own, inasmuch as he was a friend of the 
 poor, and the king an atrocious and cruel 
 tjTant. Armand had a contempt for 
 royalty which sensible men of the present 
 time often possess, but which then was a 
 matter of great surprise. 
 
 He w^as glad when the Jew at last reached 
 a house, as squaHd and wretched as the 
 rest, and ascended the creaking stairs as 
 far as the grenier. Here he entered a small 
 room, which was not so dirty as might be 
 expected, and begging Armand to excuse 
 there being no chau', took from a cupboard 
 a packet and gave it to him. 
 
 " You see," said he, " through all my 
 misery I have preserved this, and I hope 
 you will recompense me." 
 
 " That I will— but are you sure they are 
 
 VOL. 1. M
 
 242 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 all here ?" asked Dechapelle, with a scruti- 
 nising glance. 
 
 Isaac never flinched. 
 
 " Yes," answered he, " they are all there." 
 
 " Well, then," replied Armand, his heart 
 overflowing with gratitude, " take that," 
 and casting a heavy purse on the table he 
 pocketed the papers, saying — " You shall 
 never want if I find it all right — if not — 
 but that cannot be. Tell me your story." 
 
 Isaac gave a very circumstantial account 
 of his adventures, after which Armand took 
 his leave, ver}- well pleasedwith his day's work. 
 
 When Armand and Hercule stopped at 
 the inn at Etampes, the first place at which 
 they halted in the Orleanois department, 
 Dechapelle called his friend into his 
 room, and telling him his adventure 
 with the Jew, opened the papers before him. 
 Koll after roll of covering came ofi^, and 
 his hand trembled so that he could scarcely 
 hold them. At last the papers themselves 
 ' appeared, but — they were perfectly blank.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 243 
 
 " Curse that l}ing scoundrel ! he has de- 
 ceived me," cried Ai'mand, dashing them 
 to the ground, " if I find him I will hang 
 him up to the first tree." 
 
 " You are in such a hurry, Armand," re- 
 plied Hercule, " that you do not look. See 
 here," and picking up a paper he gave 
 it to him. It was a note, and ran thus — 
 
 " Most Excellent Friend, — You can- 
 not suppose that I was fool enough to lose 
 documents so precious to yourself and me. 
 The amusing packet which you herewith 
 obtained from Isaac are all you can ever 
 hope to get for so small a sum as that men- 
 tioned. The Jew cannot read, so do not 
 punish him. But if you feel inclined to 
 meet me again, you wiU find me in Angou- 
 leme. Adieu — au revoir. 
 
 " Claude Favier." 
 
 " The ^'illain," exclaimed Armand, " but 
 Angouleme is not far from Poitou, and I 
 daresay I shaU find him. I remember his 
 saying, ' Perhaps some day we may meet
 
 244 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 on more equal terms' — perhaps we may. 
 But let us on." 
 
 The journey to the Chateau of the Three 
 Fountains was not a long one, and the ex- 
 citement produced by recent events, and 
 the hopes of the futm^e, combined to make 
 it appear shorter to Armand and Hercule. 
 They were welcomed with much emotion by 
 the afflicted father and mother, who had 
 heard nothino^ of Heloise and PauHne. 
 Their residence in the Convent of St. 
 Michael we have not described, as it was 
 perfectly monotonous ; harsh treatment, 
 however, had reduced the round and full 
 foinns of the beautiful girls, and paled and 
 saddened their faces. 
 
 M. Dechapelle informed his son that the 
 five thousand had since his letter increased 
 to eight thousand, as on hearing rumours of 
 an approaching contest, numbers of the 
 more cautious were roused, and were flock- 
 ing in on all sides. He introduced to him the 
 leader he had appointed to these forces, for
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 245 
 
 from his age he thought it better not to 
 assume the command himself. 
 
 Alphonse de St. Martin was tall and 
 muscular in figure, with a proud, haughty 
 air, and rather a sinister expression of 
 countenance. Armand, who was as tall as 
 he, with a handsome intellectual face, 
 rescued for himself affection and respect ; 
 while Alphonse obtained the latter though 
 repelling the former. 
 
 " I am happy, M. Dechapelle, to be- 
 come acquainted with my leader," said he, 
 with a shght bend. " I have heard much 
 of your skill in directing the Hundred 
 and One, and have no doubt it will be only 
 equalled by your skill in generalship." 
 
 There was a slight sneer conveyed in this, 
 and Arm and could not help saying — 
 
 " I am obhged by your compliment. I 
 hear that you possess great influence over 
 your men, and I shall feel honoured by 
 having your corps under my command." 
 
 These last words were spoken with an em-
 
 246 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 phasis which made Alphonse shghtly colour ; 
 but Armand, who only meant it as a return 
 for the sneer, immediately turned it off by 
 adding — 
 
 " With your permission we Tvill step out 
 into the grounds that we may consult toge- 
 ther." 
 
 Giving his arm to his new friend, upon 
 whose mind he had already made a favour- 
 able impression, he walked out upon the 
 lawn. He was careful to extract from him 
 his opinions respecting the ultimate objects 
 of the contest, and if any estrangement had 
 existed before between them, the discovery 
 he made was sufficient to dispel all ill-will. 
 Alphonse de St. Martin was a Republican, 
 as earnest as Armand himself, and hated 
 Louis with a hatred only equalled by his 
 love for free institutions. They looked upon 
 victory as certain, and although most per- 
 sons would deem them romantic enthusaists, 
 it was the right feeling that possessed their 
 minds, "V\Tiat war was ever carried on sue-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 247 
 
 cessfuUy without enthusiastic hope ? When 
 the warriors of Napoleon carried the eagle 
 of France to victory over many a bloody 
 field, did not the heart of each man in those 
 vast hosts warm with the steadfast hope of 
 victory. To talk of defeat before a battle 
 is to court defeat. Hope and confidence 
 are the elements of victory, and with souls 
 burning with love for their country" and en- 
 thusiasm in the cause of freedom, the three 
 leaders separated that day with the hope 
 that in a week the Protestant fiag might 
 wave over its future territory.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 On the 1st of August, 1620, Armand as- 
 sembled his forces, mustering in all about 
 thirty four thousand, and addi'essed them 
 thus : — 
 
 " Countiymen and soldiers ! We are 
 about to embark on an enterprise, which 
 wiU require all your courage, all your energy, 
 all your enthusiasm. Do not despair, be- 
 cause of the smallness of your force. No ; 
 we shall be battling for the true faith, and 
 from every part of the land fresh forces wdll 
 flock in to join us, when they hear the 
 rallyino^ cry of the oppressed and ill-used
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 249 
 
 Protestants. Our fii'st move ^^ill be to-day ; 
 prepare yourselves, therefore, to ruarch ; but 
 let me first see whether your hearts respond 
 to my words." 
 
 Thus speaking, he stepped back an in- 
 stant, and then ascendino- a sho^ht eminence, 
 he unfm'led a flag with the Protestant 
 insignia. His heart beat high with expecta- 
 tion as with the aid of a few men, it was 
 planted in the earth, and fluttered gaily in 
 the breeze. It was a grand sight. Armand 
 w^ith a brilliant staff* of officers, stood on 
 the hillock with the Standard of Freedom 
 floating over them, while around, as far as 
 the eye could reach, heaved a mighty multi- 
 tude, their arms ghttering in the sun, and 
 their bright red uniforms glancing in the 
 light. Here a body of infantr}^ — there a 
 regiment of well mounted cavalry — here 
 the bayonets flashing in the beams of the 
 God of day — there the lancers with their 
 neighing horses — here the infantry again, 
 
 M
 
 250 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 and there the heavy mounted cavalry. It 
 was a sight that stirred the soul, and Ar- 
 mand felt its influence. 
 
 Hardly had the standard shaken out its 
 folds to the wind, when a cheer almost as 
 loud and hearty as a British cheer reverbe- 
 rated around, and made Dechapelle sure of 
 the feehngs of the majority at least. In- 
 deed, he had before ascertained that twenty 
 thousand of them were Republicans, and 
 therefore, he set about giving his orders. 
 
 Hercule Bassompierre was directed to as- 
 sume the command of ten thousand, and to 
 proceed by a circuitous route through Chat- 
 terault and other towns more towards the 
 east of Poictiers to rouse the populations, 
 and Alphonse de St. Martin with the same 
 number was to go through Bressm'e, etc., 
 and return by way of Partenay to Poictiers, 
 the rendezvous. Armand with the remain- 
 ing fifteen thousand went round by 
 Mortagne, Montaign, Augenai, penetrated
 
 ST. EUSTACE 251 
 
 into Saintonge and Angoumois and re- 
 turned by way of Melle to the appointed 
 place. 
 
 Hercule with his ten thousand men went 
 through the route marked out for him, and 
 came back with half as many again. Al- 
 phonse de St.'^Martin was quite as successful, 
 and as they were only waiting for the ap- 
 pearance of Armand to commence active 
 operations, they lost no time in getting their 
 men up to their exercises. They knew 
 that he had a longer march before him than 
 they had had, and could not be expected for 
 a week or even more, and they determined 
 that by the time he did arrive, he should 
 find himself at the head of thirty thousand 
 as good men as ever bore arms. 
 
 The thing in which they were most defi- 
 cient was guns, and to procure them other- 
 wise than by force, was almost impossible. 
 They took several from the towns they 
 passed through, but they were but few, and
 
 252 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 accordingly they awaited Dechapelle's ar- 
 rival before attempting anything. 
 
 Meanwhile, Armand marched through 
 the different towns, all of w^hich opened 
 their gates to him with the exception of one 
 or two, which presented a feeble resistance 
 just perhaps to quiet their consciences, if the 
 kins: should demand an account of their 
 conduct. But on arriving at the borders of 
 Santonge, and crossing the river between 
 Livre and Niort, he was surprised to see a 
 body of cavalry with artillery posted on a 
 slight slope commanding the road. 
 
 To pass this and leave it behind by a flank 
 march would have been hazardous, as they 
 would have exposed themselves to be an- 
 noyed in the rear. To march along the 
 foot would have been a work of great loss. 
 He, therefore, determined to force the posi- 
 tion. The enemy possessed twelve small 
 guns ; the Huguenots had but six ; but the 
 forces under Armand were immensely su-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 253 
 
 perior in number, although many of them 
 were raw recruits. 
 
 As soon as the troops had forded the 
 river, he drew them up in Hne, and com- 
 menced firing upon the cavaby, who, seeing 
 it was of no use for them to remain there, 
 slowly wheeled round, and galloped off in a 
 north westerly direction. A large mass of 
 infantry took their places, and began pour- 
 ing down a destructive fire upon the Pro- 
 testants, who returned it with energy. 
 Under cover of an incessant fire, Ai-mand 
 directed ^lanson de St. Andre to charge 
 with the Huguenot guards, a favourite 
 corps consisting of picked men. 
 
 Up they rushed — upwards still though 
 the cannon made many a gap in their 
 ranks. Men stepped instantly into tie 
 vacant places, and still the im.petuous 
 charge continued. ^lore than once they 
 wavered, when the deadly missiles rushed in 
 thick and fast, but still onward they went ; 
 and dashing over the artiller}^, sent the
 
 254 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 enemy flying down the hillside. The Ca- 
 tholics, though hrave at first, thought of no 
 return, hut fled precipitately. After a brief 
 pursuit, the Huguenots retired to the hill, 
 drawing off" the twelve captured cannon, and 
 were welcomed by their companions with 
 cheers. 
 
 The loss of the Huguenots amounted only 
 to fifty killed and wounded, while that of 
 the Catholics must have been much 
 greater. After collecting the wounded, and 
 throwing the dead into the river, they pro- 
 ceeded. Armand had determined to go to 
 Angoulene, and he therefore crossed the 
 boundary of the department as quickly as 
 possible, and entered Angoumois. The 
 capital of this place is situated on the top 
 of some high rocks, at the foot of which 
 runs the Charante. The population was at 
 that time six thousand, and not very war- 
 like. But yet Armand did not attempt to 
 force an entrance, fearing that Claude 
 might escape in the confusion ; but placing
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 255 
 
 his force some miles off in a forest, he rode 
 away into the city with a few friends. 
 
 The person whom he sought was well 
 known to the commissary of police, and it 
 was not long before he found his place of 
 residence. He was in very good apartments 
 in the house of a shopkeeper, and appeared 
 better off than when Armand last saw him. 
 
 " To what am I indebted for your visit ?" 
 said Claude, turning shghtly pale at the 
 sight of his uniform. 
 
 " I come to demand the documents which 
 you have feloniously kept," cried Ai'mand, 
 fiercely. 
 
 '' Beware how you insult me, sir ; but I 
 can answer you this — I bought them fairly 
 of the Jew at first." 
 
 " Then you told me a lie," answered Ar- 
 mand, " when I last saw you — and in your 
 letter your deception is more apparent than 
 ever. Do not presume, moreover, to dare 
 me, for I could now, if I chose, lay this
 
 256 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 city in ashes, and swing you up to the next 
 tree as a perjured villain." 
 
 Claude started, but instantly recovering 
 his composure, repUed, — 
 
 " I do not possess them now. They are 
 in the hands of my brother." 
 
 " What ! has Father Pierre got them in 
 his possession ?" exclaimed Armand. " You 
 are a greater villain than 1 took you or Your 
 words to me were — ^ I am obliged to play 
 double in order to be friends with my 
 brother,' and now you have delivered over 
 the documents to him. Sir, you are now 
 my prisoner — officers, seize him, and search 
 the house. 
 
 " Not so," cned Claude, drawing his 
 sword, " I said that one day we should meet 
 on more equal terms, and if you are not a 
 coward, you will draw and defend yourself 
 Guard." 
 
 Directing his friends to stand back, and 
 on no account to interfere, Armand at-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 257 
 
 tacked his adversary. Favier was a good 
 swordsman, but lie was a better. Both 
 were perfectly cool, and thus the contest was 
 rendered more difficult. Eeceiving a flesh 
 wound, however, in the arm, Claude made a 
 desperate lunge at his opponent, who, parry- 
 ing thrust, sent his sword through Claude's 
 body just under the right shoulder — 
 the weapon coming out on the other side. 
 Favier fell hea\dly to the floor, groaning 
 and muttering curses on his victor. 
 
 ^' Never curse me," said Arm and, " it was 
 your own choice. Cheer up, the wound is 
 not mortal — you will yet Hve to be hanged. 
 Gaspar, run for the nearest surgeon !" 
 
 At this moment several men in black 
 entered, and going up to Dechapelle, said — 
 
 " You are our prisoner, sir. Resistance 
 is useless. The house is full of soldiers, so 
 you had better follow^ us immediately." 
 
 " By whose authority do you insult Ge- 
 neral Dechapelle ?" exclaimed Manson de 
 St. AndrC; fiercely drawmg his sword.
 
 258 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " By the king's authority, young man ! 
 and because he is General Dechapelle — a 
 traitor, and a rebel !" 
 
 " Ho, ho, the wind blows there, does it?" 
 And so saying, Armand made a sign to 
 his officers, and dashed through them to- 
 wards the door. But what met his eye ? 
 The stairs were covered with masses of dark 
 figures, evidently CathoHc volunteers. What 
 was to be done ? Closing the door and 
 holding it firmly, he said, — 
 
 " Well, my friends, you have come at 
 last. How many do we number ?" 
 
 " Ten thousand. General,'' cried the fore- 
 most, for Armand' s bold speech had made 
 them believe him in authority. 
 
 " Ah — well, the king will reward you. 
 But there is a noise inside. Your chief has 
 captured some prisoners, and I suppose they 
 are attempting to escape. You had better 
 go in some of you and assist him, while I 
 go and make arrangements for your depar- 
 ture to Poitou."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 259 
 
 He then went quickly down the stairs 
 with his officers, and mingled with the 
 crowd, just as the door opened, and their 
 chief cried, — 
 
 *' The prisoners have escaped ! After 
 them !" 
 
 Supposing them to have fled by the win- 
 dows, the CathoHcs rushed out into the 
 street, bearing down with them, Dechapelle 
 and his comrades. Hardly had they gained 
 the street, when he saw the chief pointing 
 them out as his captives. Leaping on their 
 horses, therefore, they scoured fast down the 
 street, and made in the direction of the 
 forest, followed by about fifty mounted pur- 
 suers. The beasts of the latter were quite 
 fresh, and the distance between them 
 began to diminish. They were soon in the 
 plain, and five more active than the rest 
 pressed on with carbines unslung. Arm and 
 and his companions now gave themselves up 
 for lost, when crack went a musket, and the
 
 260 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 foremost rolled over in the dust, while the 
 falling animal overthrew another. The rest 
 halted, and were soon joined by the other 
 forty-five. There now issued from a clump 
 of trees close at hand, about thirty Hu- 
 guenots headed by Hubert Defoe, the 
 person whom Armand had left in command, 
 and who, thinking that he had fallen into 
 the hands of the enemy, had come out to 
 reconnoitre. 
 
 It was now that Armand remembered that 
 the three soldiers, with whom they had 
 entered the city, were not with them. 
 Manson, however, pointed to three dusky 
 forms scouring away to the east They 
 were going the wrong way in order to draw 
 off their pursuers from the direction of the 
 camp, and if possible to save their com- 
 manders. But unfortunately, the enemy 
 was not short-sighted and soon distinguished 
 officers from men. The rush they made at 
 the thirty-three was terrific, and scarcely a
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 261 
 
 horse remained standing on either side after 
 the charge. Armand soon disentangled his 
 horse Venus, and galloping off, followed by 
 most of his followers, reached the camp un- 
 molested,
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 On the 1st of September 1620, all the 
 Huguenot forces under General Dechapelle 
 assembled before Poictiers. They now 
 numbered sixty thousand men, but only 
 fifty thousand were completely armed. They 
 possessed only thirty guns, and their am- 
 munition was not very plentiful ; but not- 
 withstanding all these disadvantages, on the 
 1st of September they summoned Poictiers 
 to surrender. After a short time an an- 
 swer was returned in the shape of a red 
 hot shot, which emptied the saddle of the 
 herald, and killed one of his attendants.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 263 
 
 This breach of the laws of war deter- 
 mined Armand on a siege, and the next day 
 they opened the trenches and invested the 
 town completely. The reply of the garri- 
 son to the guns of the Huguenots w^as not 
 very energetic, but still sufficient to show 
 that they meditated a sturdy resistance, and 
 that it was necessary to be on the alert. 
 The town, however, was better supplied with 
 materiel than the camp of the besiegers, 
 but the country was open to the latter, 
 while the former only rested their hopes on 
 the chance of holding out until reUeved by 
 an army from without. 
 
 The besiegers, however, pressed on with 
 vigour, and at length, about a week after 
 the investment, a breach was made. On 
 seeing this, Armand once more summoned 
 the inhabitants to surrender, in order, if 
 possible to prevent unnecessary slaughter ; 
 but receiving no answer, he gave the word 
 to the columns reserved for the assault. 
 Alphonse de St. Martin requested permis-
 
 264 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 sion to head the stonning party, and re- 
 ceived it. They rushed across a space of a 
 hundred yards, and attacked at several 
 points in order to create a diversion in favour 
 of a large body which marched up to the 
 breach. The fire of the Huguenots was 
 kept up unintermittingly, and conflagrations 
 began to I'ise at several points. Suddenly, 
 however, the cannonading ceased, and there 
 was a hush in the Protestant batteries. 
 
 The storming party, which had already 
 got over haK the breach, would have cer- 
 tainly turned at this unexpected lull, and 
 the day would consequently have been lost, 
 had not Armand despatched a messenger to 
 say all was right, and reinforced them with 
 a large body of fresh troops. The cause 
 was this. News had just arrived that the 
 royal troops in vast numbers were encamped 
 on the river Loire, not thirty miles off, and 
 that a large body were already on their way 
 to raise, if possible, the siege. Ammuni- 
 tion was so scarce among the besiegers, that
 
 ST EUSTACE. 265 
 
 had the cannonading been kept up six 
 hours longer, no shot or powder would have 
 been left them. Besides, he wished to allow as 
 much of the toT^Ti as possible to remain 
 intact, as he intended to keep it. 
 
 While Armand was giving his orders and 
 anxiously awaiting the result, a loud cheer 
 arose, and the Huguenot flag waved trium- 
 phantly in the breeze from the citadel. 
 Giving the word to his men, he put himself 
 at their head, and marched into the toT\Ti. 
 It was not, however, by any means con- 
 quered, and knowing the evil of delay, De- 
 chapelle — although as commander it was 
 not his place to fight — ^joined in the melee 
 with his reinforcement. In half an hour more 
 everyplace was reduced, with the exception of 
 a httle detached fort, which obstinately re- 
 sisted all attempts at capture. 
 
 Though reluctant to spend much ammu- 
 nition, Armand found it necessary to use 
 the cannon once more, and the whole of the 
 thirty guns, and those also on ihe citadel 
 
 TOL. I. N
 
 266 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 poured out their deadly hail upon the place 
 and its brave defenders. The combined 
 missiles from so many guns upon a spot so 
 small soon did their work, and in half an 
 hour it was a smoking ruin. The whole 
 town now being in their hands, Dechapelle 
 gave orders that all private property should 
 be spared, and the fires put out, as he 
 found, much to his astonishment that most 
 of the inhabitants were Huguenots. They 
 gave the tired troops refreshments, and di- 
 rected them where to find immense stores 
 of ammunition. Leaving a strong guard to 
 man the walls, and sending workmen to re- 
 pair the breaches, he stopped in the town 
 that night to rest his fatigued soldiers. 
 
 On the following morning Armand, hav- 
 ing left Hercule Bassompierre as Governor 
 of Poictiers, with ten thousand men, marched 
 to meet the royal troops. Enthusiasm 
 reigned in every heart, and as the men 
 gazed upon the flag of liberty roUing out 
 its colours to the breeze, their hearts felt 
 cheered, and hone kpT^+ oi^— - ^Vom
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 267 
 
 Many times during the eventful siege had 
 Armand's thoughts reverted to the evenings 
 he had spent at the Chateau of the Three 
 Fountauis, when vdth Pauline's hand pressed 
 in his, he had talked of the happy time yet 
 to come ; when joy beamed from each face, 
 and the merry laugh resounded through the 
 old oaken hall. The battle he was about to 
 fight would decide him as to his course, but 
 he determined as soon as possible to pro- 
 ceed to St. Eustace, and extort from Father 
 Pierre the place of captivity of his sister 
 and Pauline. 
 
 It was before Chatellerault, on the con- 
 fluence of the rivers Vienne and Loii'e, that 
 the first pitched battle between the Hugue- 
 nots and royal troops was fought. The 
 latter were fifty thousand strong, well 
 armed, disciplined, and equipped with a 
 large park of artillery, while the former were 
 five and forty thousand only, with thirty 
 pieces of cannon. 
 
 The first charge of the Huguenots was
 
 268 ST. EUSTACE/ 
 
 not destined, however, to dispose of the 
 king's tried troops. They hurled them back 
 as from a rock, and it was long before the 
 contest became general. Armand was 
 fighting gallantly at the head of his cavalr)^, 
 when he saw a man also mounted, with a 
 black mask, approaching him, driving all 
 before him, and seemingly intent upon 
 meeting the leader of the Huguenots. 
 Armand also made his way towards the 
 strange person, and a fierce duel ensued. 
 They heeded not the battle that raged 
 around them ; all their fury was directed 
 against each other. As if by a tacit con- 
 sent, the men did not touch them, but were 
 careful not to impede their movements in 
 the slightest. Many a sturdy warrior rested 
 on his battle axe to see those two cham- 
 pions, as they fought with intense courage 
 and fire. 
 
 They were very equally matched, Armand 
 with his scarlet uniform and sash^ on his 
 iron-grey charger ; and the other with his
 
 ST. EUSTACB. 269 
 
 black helmet, his black clothes, and his 
 black horse. They looked a strange pair. 
 At length the steed of the latter staggered 
 and fell, throwing its rider heavily to the 
 ground. Dechapelle immediately dis- 
 mounted, and assisting his discomfitted 
 ei;emy to rise, resumed the conflict on foot, 
 A cheer arose from those near, and fiercer 
 grew the struggle. But the mask's thrusts 
 were random, and at last a yell of rage pro- 
 ceeded from the CathoHcs as the sword of 
 Armand passed through his body and he 
 fell- — blood gushing from his mouth. Kneel- 
 ing down, Armand tore ofi* the mask and 
 revealed the features of Father Pierre. 
 
 " Great heavens !" exclaimed he, " before 
 you die, tell me where are Pauline and 
 Heloise ?" 
 
 A fiendish smile lit up the features of the 
 priest as he gurgled — 
 
 '^ You will never know. They are goni) 
 where you will no more see them, at least, 
 in this world."
 
 270 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " Demon !" cried Armand, but he was 
 recalled to the battle by Alphonse, who, 
 touching him on the shoulder, said — 
 
 " The enemy wavers ; let us now give 
 the final charge." 
 
 Dechapelle immediately put himself at the 
 head of the cavalry, and charged at a tre- 
 mendous speed. Everything gave way 
 before them, and the enemy, after a few 
 ineffectual attempts at resistance, fled, leav- 
 ing the artillery and the ammunition wag- 
 gons in their hands. 
 
 On searching the field of battle Armand 
 was surprised to find that the body of the 
 priest had disappeared. Thinking, how- 
 ever, that he had been carried off by his 
 comrades, he took no further care of it, but 
 immediately gave orders to bury the dead, 
 and attend the wounded. After doing this 
 until it was pitch dark, the army retired to 
 rest, and was told to hold itself in readiness 
 to march on the following morning.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII, 
 
 About three o'clock the sun rose with un- 
 usual splendour from beyond the hills, and 
 shone down brilliantly upon the camp, where 
 the Huguenots were partaking of a hearty 
 breakfast. Nobody would have imagined 
 that the men whose arms looked so bright, 
 and whose faces were so merry, had been 
 engaged in deadly strife but ten hours be- 
 ffH'e. Some were joking and laughing and 
 talking with vivacity on the vef}^ spot where 
 lay a buried comrade — here one w as trying 
 on the breast plate of a Cathohc — here one 
 was singing a song as he gulped down his
 
 272 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 wine — ^here another was polishing his arms 
 — and all seemed enthusiastic and happy. 
 
 As soon as all had partaken of the meal 
 they started for Loudon, where the main 
 army of the king was encamped. The dis- 
 tance from Chatellerault to this place is 
 about thirty miles, and it was not until the 
 afternoon that Armand ascended an emi- 
 nence that commanded a view of the en- 
 trenchments of the royahsts. The first 
 siofht he beheld was his father's chateau in 
 flames. Exasperated at this sight, he di- 
 rected his artillery to pour down upon the 
 camp where none suspected their approach. 
 
 Many of the tents, and luggage waggons 
 were in flames before the army was called 
 to arms, and the front entrenchments pre- 
 sented many a breach — now was the time. 
 The cavalry dashed down the hill, and 
 leaping over the chevaux de frises were 
 among the soldiers before they were able to 
 understand their position. The infantry 
 followed, and the carnage became fearful
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 273 
 
 But in the other di\ision of the camp the 
 men formed, and when the Huguenots con- 
 sidered the day their owti, a heavy body of 
 cavahy came scouring up, and overthrowing 
 the front ranks, shook even the centre of 
 the Protestant columns. 
 
 The royal army was upwards of a hun- 
 dred thousand strong — the Repubhcans 
 forty thousand, and had Armand known 
 this, he would never have attempted the 
 attack. But he was a young general, and 
 had not had the severe lessons of experi- 
 ence. Besides, he had been deceived by 
 the scouts. However, the battle raged in 
 the most fierce manner — man fell upon 
 horse, and horse upon man, and many 
 fought from behind walls of dead. Ar- 
 mand seemed to be everywhere, encouraging 
 his troops, and recalling them to their duty 
 when they wavered. But it was impossible 
 for such a minority to gain the battle — they 
 were Frenchmen against Frenchmen, and it 
 was only the enthusiasm of one party that
 
 274 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 made them at all able to stand up against 
 the other. It was not, however, till the 
 evening, and when the Huguenots had 
 lost six thousand men, that their columns 
 slowly retired under cover of a heavy fire 
 from the artillery on the hill. 
 
 Though the loss in this battle was great, 
 it was only a check, not a defeat ; for they 
 preserved their guns, and retired in good 
 order. Armand and the cavalry were the 
 last to leave the camp ; but when they did, 
 he galloped up to the batteries on the sum- 
 mit, and ordered his men to entrench them- 
 selves, and as soon as possible to pour in 
 red hot shot to fire the camp. He then 
 with five hundred men rode down to Loudon, 
 and the site of the Chateau of the Three 
 Fountains. 
 
 On arriving at the place of his birth, he 
 found nothing but a heap of smoking ruins. 
 The garden was trampled and torn to 
 pieces — the trees blackened and charred — 
 the lake muddy and covered with pieces of
 
 ST. EUSTACE 275 
 
 timber. Not a flower was to be seen — the 
 pots were broken and thrown about the 
 place, and the plants and shrubs were 
 dragged up by the roots. Here a gilded 
 ornament peeped out from among the 
 burning mass ; while often there protruded 
 the leg of a chair or a table. 
 
 Turning with a sickened heart from the 
 desecrated mansion, he rode into the town 
 where he found everybody in consternation 
 lest the royal troops should fire the place. 
 But on learning the defeat of the king's 
 army, they hailed Armand as their deHverer, 
 and would have carried him in triumph, but 
 thanking them for their zeal, he begged to 
 know his father's place of residence. 
 
 He was conducted by one of the town's 
 people to the house of a citizen named 
 Garand, where he found his parents. Mon- 
 sieur was pale, but calm — his mother terri- 
 fied and ill. Armand described to them his 
 success, which seemed to delight M. De- 
 chapelle, who related that the first thing
 
 276 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 the royal troops did on arriving, was to 
 burn do\Mi the Chateau, and they only 
 escaped by dint of great exertion and the 
 kindness of his servants. Armand begged 
 his father to remain in the town under an 
 assumed name, as he was of course out- 
 lawed. After taking an affectionate leave 
 of them, he set off in the direction of St. 
 Eustace. 
 
 The convent stood there cold — grim — 
 dreary as ever. The massy door was opened 
 by the same porter that had opened it when 
 he first took Heloise there, but with a far 
 different look. Pale as ashes was he, and 
 trembling in every limb. 
 
 " Be kind enough to conduct me to the 
 Abbess," cried General Dechapelle, in an 
 authoritative voice. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, if you will just walk 
 this way, I will tell her immediately, Mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 So saying, the man opened the door with 
 a shaking hand. Armand could not help
 
 St. EUSTACE. 277 
 
 laughing at the extreme poHteness of the 
 man, which he saw was produced by the 
 sight of the soldiers ; but he had not much 
 time for merriment, for the next moment he 
 found himself in the presence of the Ab- 
 bess. She bowed, and pointed to a seat. 
 
 " Excuse me for interrupting you in your 
 duties, Madame," said he, in a firm but kind 
 tone, "I am come to ask whether Mdlle. 
 Pauline Lefevre and my sister are still here." 
 
 " Then, Monsieur, I shall be able to 
 answer you at once. They are not." 
 
 Armand felt the delicacy of the next 
 request. 
 
 " As the whole of this part of France is 
 now in my hands," Emihe started and turned 
 pale — '* I feel it my duty as a Protestant to 
 open the doors of the convent to all who 
 wish to depart." 
 
 " Monsieur, it wiU. be my duty to prevent 
 such violence. There are two pieces of 
 cannon on the ramparts, and I vaU. defend 
 it to the last."
 
 278 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 Armand smiled. 
 
 ** You are, perhaps, not aware that at the 
 distance of about fifteen miles I have forty 
 thousand men, and a park of artillery. But 
 not to speak of that there are in the court- 
 yard five hundred troops who, in less than 
 five minutes, could make prisoners of all in 
 the convent." 
 
 " You have concerted measures well, 
 Monsieur," replied the Abbess, bitterly, 
 " but do you imagine that this will bring 
 a blessing on your head." 
 
 " I am not come," said Armand, sternly, 
 " I am not come, Madame, to discuss the 
 matter, but to act. Let the nuns be as- 
 sembled, and let me speak to them." 
 
 " You would not surely " 
 
 " Let what I say, Madame, be done, or I 
 shall be under the necessity of doing it my- 
 self." 
 
 The Abbess went away affecting to weep. 
 
 Armand had a twofold reason in speak- 
 ing to them personally — to allow the nuns 
 to obtain their Hberty, and to see whether
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 279 
 
 Pauline and Heloise were really no longer 
 there. It was not long before they were 
 assembled in the [hall to the number of a 
 hundred. Beautiful many of them were, 
 but a shade of sorrow was on the brows of 
 some, while on others a calm resignation 
 told of their happiness in being allowed to 
 remain away from the busy world. 
 
 Dechapelle addressed them, kindly telling 
 them that those who desired might depart, 
 and that he had brought carriages with him 
 in which they might return to tlieir friends. 
 More than half declared their willingness 
 to go — some remaining because they con- 
 scientiously approved of the conventual 
 system. The nuns to the number of sixty 
 were placed in the conveyances and escorted 
 to the town where many of them had ac- 
 quaintances ; and after the performance of 
 this duty, it being late, Armand returned 
 to the hill where the Huguenot army was 
 encamped. 
 
 As he approached from behind the ami-
 
 280 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 nence, he saw a bright light illumine the 
 sky. Sparks intermingling with dense 
 columns of black smoke rolled up into the 
 ether and every now and then a loud explo- 
 sion rent the air. Spurring his horse up 
 the hill, he arrived just in time to see a 
 scene of awful confusion in the enemy s 
 camp. It was on fire, and by the light of 
 the burning waggons and tents, and store huts 
 could be descried men hurrying hither and 
 thither — cavalry and infantry — here an 
 officer calling to his men to put out the fire 
 in the neio^hbourhood of a mao^azine — here 
 a man trying to force his horse towards the 
 blazing entrance of the encampment — there 
 a dense column of fire suddenly shot up into 
 the air together with logs of wood and shot 
 and planks, and materiel of all kinds. 
 
 About midnight, after in vain striving to 
 put out the conflagration which, from the 
 closeness of the tents, was destro}ing every- 
 thing rapidly, the word was given to retreat 
 and the immense army moved off with the 
 loss of many men and several cannon.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 As Armand was lying wrapped in his cloak, 
 and endeavouring to catch a few hours re- 
 pose, he was roused by some one tapping 
 him lightly on the shoulder. He started 
 up and laid his hand on his sword, but the 
 new comer, who was a young man, said — 
 
 " Do not be alarmed — I come from 
 MdUe! Dechapelle." 
 
 "Ah! — come inside my tent, it is cold 
 there." 
 
 " My dear Mdlle. gave me a letter to 
 send to you," continued the man, entering,
 
 282 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 *^ but I thought it would be safer to bring 
 it myself, and here it is." 
 
 Taking him by the hand Armand said — 
 
 " Good, noble fellow, how can I reward 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, that is of no consequence. Mdlle. 
 Dechapelle has been very good to me and 
 my family, and it was but Httle to do for 
 her." 
 
 Armand read — 
 
 " My Dearest Brother, — ^After amonth's 
 solitary confinement, I am able to write to 
 you. We are at the Convent of St. Mi- 
 chael — or the Tower of Spirits, as the peo- 
 ple call it — on the coast near Bourgneuf. 
 It is half ruined, and as no one is supposed 
 to inhabit it, the persons round about say it 
 is haunted. I am tr} ing to be cheerful, but 
 if you knew the sorrow of poor Pauline you 
 would shed tears yourself. I am better 
 treated than she is, for Father Pierre hates 
 her most, and directs his spleen against her. 
 He has now gone to assist in the war against
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 283 
 
 the Huguenots, in which I suppose you are 
 engaged only on the opposite side. Do 
 come and rescue us. The person I send 
 this by to the post is a peasant, and I hope 
 he will not forget to put it in. Pauhne is a 
 Protestant, and — ^I cannot say more, for our 
 keeper is coming, — Ever yours, 
 
 " Heloise." 
 
 " Pauline a Protestant," cried Armand, 
 aloud, " then as to her the documents are 
 unnecessary. Thank heaven. What is 
 your name my good man ?" 
 
 " Pierre." 
 
 " Well then, Pierre, how far do you take 
 it to be from here to St. Michael ?" 
 
 " A hundred miles. Monsieur." 
 
 '' Diable,'' exclaimed Armand, "and how 
 long did you take in coming?" 
 
 " Ten hours only." 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " Tis true, Monsieur, but then I stopped 
 not to rest a moment, and my horse fell 
 dead at the entrance of the camp.
 
 284 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " I might get there by to-morrow evening 
 with five hmidred men, think you ?" 
 
 " Yesj Monsieur." 
 
 " Well, then, make yourself at home 
 here," said Armand, unlocking a small, box, 
 *' you must be hungr)^ We are all Kepubli- 
 cans here, you know," he added, seeing 
 the man hesitated to sit before him, " and 
 stand on no ceremony. Here, help your- 
 self, and before you have done, I daresay 
 I shall take some with you." 
 
 So saving, he walked out towards where 
 Alphonse de St. Martin lay. The scene 
 was magnificent. The moon was shining 
 brightly, and the stars were out in number- 
 less hosts. The white tents dotting the hill 
 on every side added to the pictm'esqueness 
 of the landscape, while the gun of a soHtar\' 
 sentinel here and there glanced in the 
 moonlight. As he] went by one of these he 
 was seized roughly, and a voice cried — 
 
 " Who are you, who think to pass with- 
 out the word ?"
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 285 
 
 Armand laughed. 
 
 " Pardon, General," said the man, recog- 
 nising him, " but it is best to be cautious." 
 
 " You are right there, Chabot. But you 
 have given me quite a shake. Good night, 
 I am off to-night, and shall not be back 
 till the day after to-morrow." 
 
 And he gave his hand to the man, who 
 grasped it heartily. This was the way in 
 which Armand gained the hearts of his sol- 
 diers. On getting to where Alphonse de St. 
 Martin lay, he touched him on the shoulder, 
 and said when he was sufficiently aroused — 
 
 *' Alphonse," said he, "I am going to 
 speak to you as a friend. I wish to go a 
 distance of a hundred miles, and I desire 
 some one to command the troops in my ab- 
 sence. Can I trust you ?" 
 
 " You can, Armand," replied St. Martin, 
 " but " 
 
 *' Ah— there 2S a 'but?'" 
 
 " Yes — I would rather go with you.
 
 286 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 '^ What ?— and why is that ?" 
 
 '' I know you have some suspicions about 
 me, and I wish to prove my devotion ex- 
 tends to the commander as well as to the 
 cause itself." 
 
 '' Then you shall come," said Armand, 
 *' and I will leave Hubert Defoe in com- 
 mand. But would you really prefer it?" 
 
 " I should indeed," replied Alphonse, 
 heartily. 
 
 " Then assemble two hundred and fifty 
 hussars, and I will get two hundred and fifty 
 of my carabineers, and speak to Hubert, as 
 I wish to start in less than an hour." 
 
 It was not long before they began to 
 wend their way down the hill, slowly, in 
 order not to wake the army. It was a grand 
 sight — the sleeping camp — the moving 
 figures — the men, whose cuirasses and 
 carbines gUttered in the Hght as their 
 horses pranced softly on the turfy slope, 
 and the waters of the river in the dis- 
 tance sparkhng and gushing in the em-
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 287 
 
 brace of the goddess of night, while far 
 away in the surrounding country could be 
 seen dark meadows and dusky forests, and 
 the town of Loudon with the moon glancing 
 on its housetops and turrets. Here and 
 there a detached cottage or stately chateau 
 peeped from amid the trees, and many a 
 lake and rivulet diversified the scene. 
 
 Such was the prospect of the night, and 
 Armand's thoughts somehow or another 
 assumed a hopeful guise. He was going to 
 free that being for whom his heart beat 
 most wildly in battle — for whom he felt 
 most deeply ' i the calm quiet hours of even- 
 ing — of whom he often entirely thought 
 and spoke — of whom were his dreams wak- 
 ing and sleeping. AVhat was power to him 
 — what was honour to him — what wealth — 
 what distinction, if Pauline was not to 
 share his glory with him — to congratulate 
 him in victory, and soothe him in defeat 
 
 But he was roused by the fact that they 
 had issued from the precincts of the camp,
 
 288 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 and he gave orders to proceed at full speed. 
 Each horseman took a wide berth, and they 
 advanced at the rate of ten miles an hour. 
 Now they rushed along a green lane, where 
 the moon cast across the path the shadows 
 of the overhanging trees, which 
 
 " Intertwined and wove deep shade" — 
 
 now they galloped across a grassy meadow 
 — ^now they were rattUng through the streets 
 of Loudon — then again pursuing their swift 
 course across ploughed land, for they dashed 
 on not stopping to see whether the ground 
 was cultivated or not. 
 
 As it was impossible to obtain horses for 
 so many men, they found it necessar}^ to re- 
 cruit the strength of their steeds, and after 
 remaining a short time at an inn, they again 
 proceeded at a more moderate pace. It was 
 now three o'clock in the morning, and 
 seventy miles w ere yet to be passed. Seve- 
 ral of the horses began to show symptoms 
 of fatigue, and at length, when twenty more
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 289 
 
 had been ridden, Armand resolved not to 
 wait for the rest, but press on himself. 
 
 " Alphonse," said he, '' will you come 
 with me, and let the others advance at their 
 leisure. Stay, we had better take ten men.' 
 
 Accordingly ten of the freshest beasts 
 were selected, and as Venus was still strong, 
 as well as the steed of Alphonse, they 
 pushed on vigorously. Towards evening the 
 grey dismantled towers of St. Michael came 
 in sight in the distance, and they pressed 
 forward with redoubled speed. Let Byron 
 describe it for me — 
 
 " There is a stern round tower of other days, 
 " Firm as a fortress with its fence of stone, 
 
 " Such -as an army's baffled strength delays — 
 " Standing with half its battlements alone, 
 " And with two thousand years of ivy grown." 
 
 Just as the troop emerged on the top of 
 the hill facing the Tower of Spirits, a thick 
 volume of smoke rolled upwards to the sky, 
 and then a flame issued from the windows. 
 
 " Great heavens," exclaimed Armand, 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " see, Alphonse, St. Michael is on fire. 
 Pauline I will die with you ! On ! on 1" 
 
 So saying, he dashed up the acclivity at a 
 headlong speed, out-distancing his com- 
 panions. 
 
 On the side of the old convent nearest 
 the sea was a terrace, the end of which had 
 fallen down into the water, and which ter- 
 minated therefore abruptly without any 
 balustrade. The old tower rose high above 
 this, frowning with its ivied walls, now^ 
 wreathed in smoke. The birds, who nes- 
 tled amid the leaves of the parasite, star- 
 tled by the heat, flew away to sea, and fled 
 to roost on some more deserted spot. 
 
 As Armand approached, gazing wildly at 
 the walls, two figures appeared on the ter- 
 race — one a female, the other a man. The 
 former seemed to he endeavouring to escape 
 the fire by running down the steep wall, 
 which led down to the courtyard, while the 
 latter appeared to desire to hurl her back 
 into the burning edifice.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 291 
 
 It was Pauline and the Priest ! 
 
 Armandsawatoncethe necessity for action. 
 They are strugghng on the very edge of the 
 terrace —beneath are rocks, perpendicular 
 and jagged — below the boihng waves. She 
 falls — yet no, she escapes, and is hurried 
 tow^ards the flames. He saw no more, but 
 madly dashing into the burning house, he 
 attempted to ascend the stairs. The whole 
 place was enveloped in smoke and flame — 
 the stairs trembled beneath his weight — 
 he felt half stifled, and many times had to 
 catch hold of the bannisters for support. 
 But he knew delay might prove fatal, and 
 gaining the corridor leading to the terrace, 
 he saw her once more free, and was about 
 to spring to her aid, when something struck 
 him on the head. He staggered, grasped 
 at empty air, then falling heavily on the 
 burnt floor, it gave way, and he fell, do^vn, 
 do^Ti, through the blazing timbers into the 
 court beneath.
 
 CHAPTER XXrX. 
 
 When Armand recovered, he found that he 
 had fallen through the floor into the court- 
 yard. He was much bruised and shaken, 
 and was bleeding profusely from the head. 
 His first thought was of PauUne, and turn- 
 ing, he gazed on the place of her dreary 
 sojourn. 
 
 The old castle was a heap of ruins — the 
 terrace where he had last seen her had 
 fallen into the sea — and where was his be- 
 loved ? He was leaning against a block of 
 fallen masonry, and looking wistfully at the 
 smouldering place before him when he was
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 293 
 
 recalled to himself by hearing a well known 
 voice, — 
 
 ^' ^Miat, Armand ! you here ? What 
 has happened, you are bleeding furiously. 
 Let me lead you to the village." 
 
 " Oh, I am all right, Alphonse," answered 
 Dechapelle ; " but I have had a shght fall. 
 I can walk very well." 
 
 So saving, he staggered towards the place 
 where some of his men were standing gaz- 
 ing at the ruins. St. Martin, therefore, 
 seized him by the arm, and hfting him up 
 before him on his horse, bore him off to 
 the village near. 
 
 Crowds of people had assembled to see 
 the Tower of Spirits burning, and by the 
 direction of one of these Alphonse was soon 
 able to find a surgeon, who tended Armand* s 
 head. His hurt was shght, but yet the 
 bleeding was so profuse, that it was fortunate 
 that a person was near to attend to it. M. 
 Masson declared he must remain at his
 
 204 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 house two days, and at the end of that time 
 he undertook to set him up again com- 
 pletely. 
 
 Armand agreed very reluctantly to this ; 
 but his reluctance was overruled completely 
 by Alphonse, who would not hear of his 
 setting out in his present condition. He 
 went and directed the men to encamp as 
 their leader was ill, and could not proceed 
 for a day or two, and after performing this 
 duty, he came to sit \\ath Armand. De- 
 chapelle was soon compensated for his |loss 
 of time. ^Yhile bathing his head, the sur- 
 geon remarked, — 
 
 " You were at the Tower of Spirits, were 
 you not, when this occurred ?" 
 
 " I was," replied Armand ; and after a 
 moment he added in an inquiring manner, 
 " and except myself, I fear no one es- 
 caped." 
 
 " Oh, you are mistaken there," cried 
 Masson, " my daughter was there ; she was
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 295 
 
 the attendant on two young ladies, wlio 
 were residino; there much ao:ainst their will. 
 I beheve she has escaped and is here now." 
 
 *' And the others ?"' exclaimed Annand, 
 starting up and upsetting the basin the sur- 
 geon held, much to the discomfort of the 
 latter. 
 
 '' Diahle ! Oh ! my leg — ^my leg !" cried 
 the victim, dancing about the room. " Oh ! 
 you have scalded me to death !' 
 
 '' I am very sorry, indeed," said Decha- 
 pelle, inwardly ^thinking, " I wish your 
 leg was at the devil." 
 
 After the leg had ceased its capers, Ar- 
 mand observed, — 
 
 " Do you know what became of the two 
 ladies?" 
 
 '' I cannot say. Oh, my poor leg." 
 
 " Will you allow me to speak to your 
 daughter presently alone?" 
 
 " What about ? Tell me that, and I 
 will."
 
 296 
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " Of what consequence can that be to 
 you ?" remarked Armand, sharply. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed the surgeon, 
 " a good joke— a very good joke. Of what 
 consequence is it to me what you say to my 
 daughter? Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 " You mistake me, Monsieur," answered 
 Armand, " I wish merely to enquire about 
 the ladies who w^ere in St. Michael." 
 
 " Oh, oh, I begin to see what you mean 
 now. Well, you shall see Annette 
 presently. But now I must finish your head, 
 and please not to scald my other leg if you 
 can help it." 
 
 Armand acquiesced quietly though he was 
 dying with impatience to learn all he could 
 respecting Pauline and his sister. M. Masson 
 w^as not a gentleman by position. He, in- 
 deed, was not much above a peasant, for 
 the village of Melay was so small, that the 
 practice would not have paid a man of 
 higher station.
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 297 
 
 " The Huguenots — God bless them— are 
 risen, are they not, Monsieur?" asked he. 
 
 " They are ! You are one it seems !" 
 
 " I am ; and if I could find any of the 
 leaders, I would enUst my son in one of 
 their regiments." 
 
 He had a suspicion that Armand was an 
 officer by his uniform. 
 
 " Well, you have your wish, Monsieur, for 
 I am the commander-in-chief. If your son 
 wishes it, he may enter dh'ectly. I cannot 
 offer him the position of an officer. But we 
 are all Republicans, and equals," 
 
 " Oh ! I will teU Henri immediately." 
 
 And he was rushing to the door, w^hen 
 Armand cried, — 
 
 ^' Here stop — please to finish doing my 
 head first." 
 
 " I forgot." 
 
 And he set to work, and in a few minutes 
 more it was done. When this was over, 
 Masson ran out, and reappeared presently
 
 298 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 with a tall, fine-looking young man, who 
 bowing to Armand, thanked him for his kind- 
 ness. He was immediately enrolled in the 
 hussars." 
 
 " Now then, my dear Monsieur, can you 
 let me speak to Annette ?" said Armand. 
 
 " Go Henri, and tell your sister a gentle- 
 man — a friend of mine — wishes to speak to 
 her." 
 
 It was not long before Annette entered. 
 She was a gu'l about twenty, with dark 
 Sparkling eyes — a fair complexion, and 
 beautiful hair. Her face had a smiling, 
 good-natured expression, and Armand at 
 once saw how to deal with her. 
 
 When they were left alone — 
 
 ■' Mademoiselle," he said, " can you tell 
 what became of the ladies who were staying 
 at the Tower of Spirits, as your people call 
 it" 
 
 " But M. de St. Denis made me promise 
 never tq tell anything about them."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 299 
 
 " Now, will you answer me truly ? Are 
 you engaged to be married?" 
 
 The girl blushed, and looked surprised. 
 
 " Come tell me. I merely wish to know.' 
 
 " I am. Monsieur, though why you want 
 me to say so, I can't imagine" 
 
 " Well, then, if your Jacques, or Henri, 
 or " 
 
 " Pierre," murmured little Annette, 
 blushing. 
 
 " If Pierre were in danger — if PieiTe 
 were to be carried off by any one, and 
 forced into the army, or cast into a dun- 
 geon, or in peril of his hfe in any way, would 
 you not be ever grateful to him, who told 
 you anything about him." 
 
 " Yes ; Monsieur." 
 
 " Then I am in that position. Mdlle. 
 Lefevre and Mdlle. Dechapelle are in danger 
 perhaps of their lives — at any rate, I shall 
 never see them more if I do not see them 
 soon. I shall be ever grateful to you if you
 
 300 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 will tell me all you know respecting their 
 present wliereabouts." 
 
 Annette was astonished at the earnestness 
 T\ith which this was spoken, but replied, — 
 
 " Well, Monsieur, as you are so desirous 
 to know, I will tell as much as I know about 
 them ; but you must promise never to tell 
 who gave you the information." 
 
 " I never will. ' 
 
 " Sit down, then, Monsieur, and I will 
 tell you. The two ladies are safe." 
 
 " Thank Heaven," murmured Armand. 
 
 " M. de St. Denis I am sure was ready 
 to kill poor Mdlle. Lefevre, but that a crowd 
 was looking on, and seeing he was foiled, he 
 forced them down the terrace, and putting 
 them into a postchaise, drove off. The 
 people would have interfered, but he told 
 them that the poor ladies were insane, and. 
 Monsieur, it is a wonder they were not, for 
 they were treated shamefully in St. Michael. 
 As often as I could, I took them better
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 301 
 
 foodj and arranged their rooms comfortably ; 
 but it was very seldom that I could do so. 
 I was watched by an old woman, who was 
 paid well by M. de St. Denis, and whenever 
 I was found out taking things in she used 
 to strike me. I only stayed in order to assist 
 the poor young ladies, and she could not get 
 anybody else to come or she would never 
 have kept me." 
 
 *^ Bless you for your kindness towards 
 them," said Armand, taking her hand and 
 pressing it warmly, " if ever I can do any- 
 thing for you, I will." 
 
 '' Well, ^lonsieur, there is one thing I 
 should be glad of " 
 
 '' And what is that ?" he asked, although 
 he made a shrewd guess. 
 
 " My father does not like Pierre because 
 he is a Cathohc. If you could persuade 
 him to — ^but it is asking too much, besides 
 it is impossible." 
 
 " No, no, I will try. What is his name ?" 
 
 " Pierre Thibaud."
 
 302 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " Has he been away the last two days?" 
 asked Armand, a suspicion crossing his 
 mind. 
 
 " Yes — ^he went to take a letter to the 
 commander-in-chief of the Huguenots." 
 
 " That is myself." 
 
 She started. 
 
 " Yes, I know him, and I will try all I 
 can do for you and him. Send M. Masson 
 to me — I mean your father — and you will 
 see." 
 
 M. Masson came in rubbing his hands 
 and looking excessively pleased. 
 
 " I am afraid, M. Dechapelle, my son did 
 not thank you sufficiently for the place you 
 have given him. I see you have made him 
 a non-commissioned officer. It has been 
 the wish of my heart to see him fighting for 
 the true cause. And if it were a Re- 
 public " 
 
 " It is, my good sir, A Protestant Re- 
 public is what we seek."
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 303 
 
 "How can I show my gratitude ?" 
 
 " You can by granting me a request." 
 
 " Name it ; it is granted before you 
 ask." 
 
 " Are you sure ?" 
 
 " Yes, quite." 
 
 " Then let your daughter Annette marry 
 Pierre Thibaud." 
 
 " Well, now, that is a shame. That girl 
 is incorrigible. Never mind, I have pro- 
 mised, and it must be so. Besides, I begin 
 to suspect he is not half a Catholic after all. 
 But if you will allow me, we will have some 
 supper. I am very hungry." 
 
 It was rather early for supper, not more 
 than eight, but still the two friends fell to 
 with a good appetite, and after the hearty 
 meal which the hospitable surgeon set be- 
 fore them, they formed a circle round the 
 fire-place. 
 
 " Now Annette," said Armand, " I 
 have a favour to ask. I know you must
 
 304 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 have some legends about this romantic 
 neighbourhood, so do tell us one to while 
 away the time." 
 After the usual excuses, she began.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE MAGIC HARF. 
 
 " The legend I am going to relate," said 
 Annette, " is not connected with this neigh- 
 bourhood exactly. I do not know, indeed, 
 where the events happened to which it 
 
 alludes. 
 
 " Rodolphe was a musician, and he was 
 engaged to a beautiful girl of the name of 
 Claudme, who loved him as truly as ever 
 woman loved a man. At length, a year 
 before the time they were to be married, 
 Rodolphe determined to go to Germany to 
 perfect himself in the art, as his father,
 
 306 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 who was organist of the church of the 
 town, would then give up to him his place. 
 
 " ^ I am going away, dearest,' said Ro- 
 dolphe to Claudine, the eve before his de- 
 parture, ' I am going away, but here is a 
 harp, keep that in remembrance of me, and 
 play it at evening when the moon begins to 
 rise, and the sun is dead. At that soft 
 hour play the tune we both love so well, and 
 I shall think of thee when I am far away.' 
 
 •' Rodolphe went, and Claudine was left 
 to herself. Months passed, and every even- 
 ing in the balmy hour of twilight she issued 
 forth into the garden and played the tune 
 that Rodolphe lo^ed, and sang a sweet 
 song. She loved to Usten to the whispering 
 of the wind, for she imagined that every 
 breeze that blew wafted her the words of 
 love he was breathing to her in a distant 
 land. 
 
 " At length, one evening as she was walk- 
 ing in the garden and weeping over his ab- 
 sence, she took the harp and touched the
 
 ST EUSTACE. 307 
 
 chords. They seemed to be vibrating of 
 themselves, and she commenced the song 
 they loved, for she knew he was near. 
 
 " Presently from a short distance arose 
 a voice in concert to her own, and in another 
 moment she was clasped in Rodolphe's arms. 
 They were married, and a life of love and 
 joy and happiness was theirs. How they 
 wandered amid the leafy trees, and plucked 
 the fair flowers ! She would garland him 
 with laurels, and he would wreathe her with 
 roses ; and then he would clasp her to his 
 bosom in intense joy. 
 
 " At length a boy was born ; but fate 
 ordained him not to live, and mother and 
 child were soon united in the tomb. The 
 father was rendered all but mad by his loss, 
 but the parting words of Claudine in some 
 degree consoled him, 
 
 " ' Rodolphe,' said she, ' I am dying, but 
 do not despair. We shall meet again in 
 that land where flowers ever bloom— where 
 no care is, nor parting, and then we can
 
 308 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 love each other, nor fear ever to be sepa- 
 rated. When I depart, Rodolphe, take the 
 fairest blossoms and deck our chamber. 
 Whenever I am near you and can order it 
 so, that harp wiVL play the tune we both love 
 so well. Then you will be comforted and 
 know that I am with you. Farewell.' 
 
 '' When she had gone, he decked their 
 room with roses, and jessamines, and violets, 
 and all the fairest flowers, and departed to 
 a foreign land. For some time he wan- 
 dered, and at length, after the lapse of a 
 year, he returned to his home, and found 
 the wreaths faded, and the flowers dead, 
 but the harp was in the comer. 
 
 " He replenished the withered blossoms, 
 and sat there awhile. But when he was 
 sought for they found him lying insensible 
 on the floor — his hands wildly clutching the 
 bed-posts. From that time for a year and 
 more he was mad ; but at length he reco- 
 vered and went once more to the room. 
 Here he was found in the same state, but
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 309 
 
 upon recovery he exhibited no signs of in- 
 sanity, and in order to ascertain the cause, 
 a friend of his determined to watch. 
 
 " Accordingly, when he again entered 
 the room and sate down, the listener stood 
 behind a curtain. Presently the strings of 
 the harp in the conier vibrated, and the 
 most heavenly sounds proceeded from the 
 trembling chords. Eodolphe, when this had 
 ceased, flung himself in a paroxysm of grief 
 on the ground. 
 
 " The friend stepped forward and raised 
 him. He was dead." 
 
 Next day as Armand was walking in a 
 little grove at the side of the village, he 
 heard a quick step behind him, and 
 on turninof round saw that it was Mdlle. 
 Masson. Upon coming up to him she said — 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur, how can I thank you 
 for your kindness ?" 
 
 •' That is nothing," replied Armand,
 
 310 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 smiling and drawing her arm into his, " only 
 I am sorry at one thing." 
 
 •' What is that, Monsieur," asked Annette, 
 surprised. 
 
 "" I am almost sorry I gave you away to 
 another so precipitately." 
 
 '•]\lonsieur," cried Annette, hlushing and 
 laughing. 
 
 Armand stooped dovm and kissed her 
 rosy lips, but had scarcely done so when a 
 rough shake recalled him to himself. 
 
 " What the de\il do you mean by kissing 
 that lady," cried Pierre Thibaud, who had 
 darted out of the thicket close by. 
 
 " Don't be so stupid, Pierre," cried An- 
 nette, " this is the gentleman that arranged 
 all with my father, and you ought to be 
 very grateful to him, you surly fellow." 
 
 Pierre thought the only way was to com- 
 ply, particularly when he recognised him as 
 the Huguenot general, but he muttered 
 something about " the kissing" as he moved 
 forward with them. Ke did not leave them
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 311 
 
 (luring the whole walk. Armand had a 
 good laugh ^dth Alphonse over this adven- 
 ture, which served to diversify the monotony 
 of the day. 
 
 During the evening as they were sitting 
 together again, a messenger arrived in haste, 
 and placed in Armand's hands a letter from 
 Hubert Defoe, sapng that the ^Marquis de 
 la Force, a Protestant nobleman, had as- 
 sembled a small body of troops, and de- 
 manded permission to begin the war in 
 another province. He stated, however, that 
 he was deficient in men. He also went on 
 to say that Poictiers was invested by the 
 king's troops, and that Hercule Bassompierre 
 was hard pressed. 
 
 He begged Arniand to return forthwith, 
 as he was in want of aid and advice. De- 
 chapelle accordingly despatched the messen- 
 ger back to the camp on a fresh horse to 
 say he should set out on the following 
 morning. Hardly had he departed when a 
 louder knock was heard at the door, and a
 
 312 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 traveller, seemingly more tilled than the 
 former one, entered. He wore a long cloak 
 and great top boots, and when he came into 
 the room where they were sitting, and 
 threw off his outer covering, he displayed a 
 shining cuirass and a gilt-headed sword. 
 
 '• What, don't you know me, Armand," 
 cried he, with a foreign accent, "is it possi- 
 ble my dress has changed me so much ?" 
 
 " Ah, Beaufort, I am glad to see you. 
 And have you brought any men ?" 
 
 '' Three thousand as good soldiers as you 
 could see anywhere. But how well you 
 have succeeded. I hear everpvhere of the 
 successes of the Huguenots. But with all 
 due deference to you, 1 think you began a 
 little too soon. Why, I had hardly time to 
 get my men equipped, and have only been 
 able to get four guns." 
 
 " That is something. I have just heard 
 that the Marquis de la Force has risen with 
 a small body of men and joined us. But
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 313 
 
 to balance that Poictiers is besieged and 
 hard pressed." 
 
 " Ah, I daresay," returned the EngHsh- 
 man, evidently intent upon something else. 
 He added after a moment — " Let us now 
 discuss another subject. I have not tasted 
 a single thing since the morning, and am 
 hungry enough, I can tell you. A good 
 glass of wine and some meat, etc., would be 
 more acceptable to me than a victory — I 
 mean at this present time." 
 
 Mdlle. Masson had during this colloquy 
 brought out something substantial, upon 
 which Henr}^ Beaufort immediately fell 
 to with a hearty good will. He was a hand- 
 some man. Standing at least five feet ten 
 in his stockings, his height was increased by 
 his enormous top boots. His figure was 
 full and commanding, his face open, his 
 features regular, and a well curled pair of 
 black mustachios adorned his mouth. His 
 nose was sHghtly aquiline, his eyes were 
 large and brilliant, and his brow lofty and 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 broad. His manners were lively and hearty, 
 but he could at times be staid and even 
 fierce. 
 
 '^ A\Tiat brings you into this part of the 
 country?" said Beaufort. " If I had not 
 met a man who was hurrying away from 
 the house as if Old Nick were at his heels, 
 I should never have found you." 
 
 " Oh, this was a private affair. My sis- 
 ter and a friend of hers wanted my assis- 
 tance, and I came ; but came, alas ! too 
 late." 
 
 " I see perfectly. Your sister and a 
 friend of hers — i. e. yours ! An affaire de 
 coeur. But you must not let that interfere 
 with your pohtical duties." 
 
 " Trust me you will always find me where 
 I am wanted," returned Armand, shghtly 
 piqued. "At six to-moiTOw I start for 
 Loudon." 
 
 " Then I shall have a chance of smelHng 
 powder in earnest. We had a sHght affair 
 on the way."
 
 ST. EUSTACE 315 
 
 " Xot from the troops ?" 
 
 " Yes — I suppose they were. About ^\e 
 thousand of them were drawn up across the 
 road, and the leader sent forward to ask 
 who we were. I suppose he was puzzled by 
 our dresses. I returned for answer that we 
 were English. This puzzled him still more, 
 and he begged to know what we were doing 
 in France with arms in om' hands. I re- 
 pHed that we were about to join the Hugue- 
 not anny. Upon this he told me in the 
 politest manner possible, that as his force 
 was superior to mine, I had better render 
 up my sword, to prevent the unpleasant ne- 
 cessity he should be under of cutting us to 
 pieces should I refuse. But I gave him to 
 understand that the English are not so 
 easily frightened, and before he had time to 
 give his orders I told my men to charge, 
 and in less than five minutes they were 
 dashing down the road with us after them. 
 On coming into the first town they dispersed 
 in all directions, and we pursued our way."
 
 316 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " Very good," exclaimed Arm and, " ra- 
 ther an ominous beginning. But we had 
 better retire to rest, for I wish to be up 
 earlv to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 It was a bright frosty morning when Ar- 
 mand arose from the couch where he had 
 been sleeping. He had not rested on a bed 
 for a month and more, and it was so im- 
 usual that at first he found himself unable 
 to sleep. But when he did dreams came to 
 him — as they always do to the sorrowing — 
 happy, radiant, full of bright and golden 
 sunshine. He did not long reflect upon his 
 visions ; but throwing open the window he 
 leaned out to inhale the fresh air of the 
 morning, and gaze at the things around 
 him.
 
 18 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 On one side were to be seen the white 
 tents of the hussars, and the more numerous 
 but less conspicuous ones of the Enghsh 
 guards. The sentinels were passing to 
 and fro, and many of the troops were busily 
 engaged in polishing their arms and attend- 
 ing to the horses. Not far from the en- 
 campment still smoked the ruins of the old 
 Tower; blackened heaps of masonry and 
 charred beams lay scattered about. Here 
 and there market carts dotted the land- 
 scape, their drivers whisthng some merry 
 tune as the horses trotted slowly on. The 
 trees around were bare and leafless, and 
 their spectral branches just moved in the 
 crisp air of the wmter's morning, w^hile 
 every now and then a shivering and hungry 
 sparrow would perch on one of them, and 
 chirp drearily as if to keep out the cold. 
 
 On the other side was the village with its 
 grey church and white- washed cottages from 
 the chimneys of which the blue smoke was 
 just beginning to curl. Over all this scene
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 319 
 
 the big round sun was rising brightly, and 
 dispersing the mist which still hung over 
 the village and the country around. It 
 seemed Hke a fiery globe in the horizon, and 
 reddened the whole sky around it, sending 
 forth spiral irradiations, some upwards — 
 some across the sea which the fresh breeze 
 of the morning was lashing into high 
 billows. Here a great wave dark below and 
 whitened at the top, dashed wildly up against 
 the rocks, whose shadows cast a gloom over 
 the water beneath. Here a huge billow 
 glistening and roseate under the gleams of 
 the sun moved on in easy undulations to- 
 wards the shore rising, and then blending 
 one with the other, until at length with a 
 roar and a heave upwards they broke upon 
 the dark cliffs. 
 
 Standing out against the western horizon 
 were several small crafts belonging to the 
 fishermen of the village, who had been out 
 for horn's breasting the sea in search of their 
 livelihood. Here and there the tall masts
 
 320 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 of a royal cruiser could be distinguislied from 
 the rest sailing majestically along, while the 
 seagulls eddied round and round the masts, 
 now gUding away, skimming each wave in 
 their flight, then retm-ning to their vessels, 
 and screaming faintly in their joy. 
 
 As Armand gazed out upon this lovely 
 scene — so quiet — so full of repose ; as the 
 breeze fanned his cheek and cooled his hot 
 brow, he thought how happy he might be, 
 if instead of holding the responsible office 
 he then held, he could settle down on the 
 borders of this village with PauUne, and be 
 at rest from the turmoils and vicissitudes of 
 poHtical life. The sense of duty, however, 
 was strong in him, and after gazing once 
 more at everything around, and drawing a 
 long sigh, he closed the window, and de- 
 scended the stairs with everv thouoht of the 
 kind banished from him. The house was 
 excessively quiet, and at first Dechapelle 
 imagined that he would be acting wrongly 
 in distm'bing them ; but just as he was about
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 321 
 
 to enter the room below, he heard a light' 
 step advancing along the passage. It was 
 Annette. 
 
 " Ah, Mademoiselle, good morning," said 
 x\rmand, taking her hand, " but how is it 
 the house is so quiet ? Is not any one risen 
 but yourself ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, we are all up, except the Eng- 
 hsh gentleman, Monsieur ; but we did not 
 like to disturb you after you were so tired." 
 
 ^' You are very kind, but I wish to rise 
 early. However, there is plenty of time. 
 I must rouse M. Beaufort." 
 
 So saying, he ascended the stairs, and 
 upon coming to Beaufort's door, tapped 
 loudly. 
 
 " Eh, eh, what's the matter ?" said the 
 voice of a person evidently only half awake. 
 
 " Why it is time to be going my friend,' 
 cried Armand, laughing. " Here I am 
 dressed, and am going to take something to 
 eat. You had better be quick, or there will 
 be none left."
 
 222 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 " In that case I will be ready imme* 
 diately," said Henr}^, leaping out of bed. 
 " Go down — I will follow in a minute." 
 
 The house of M. Masson was rather large 
 for a cottage — but still it was a cottage. 
 The rooms were snug and cosy — an air of 
 comfort pervaded the whole place — cheer- 
 fulness was impressed upon every counte 
 nance, and even the enthusiastic Armand 
 could not help contrasting the present mo- 
 ment with what might happen in a few 
 hours. What might be the scene of blood- 
 shed and fierce conflict to which he was 
 hurrying ? What fate might await him ? 
 What might be the change before evening ? 
 He had not much time left him for reflec- 
 tion however. Beaufort came down, and 
 breakfast came up. It was a silent meal, 
 and the parting was felt as much almost as 
 it would have been between old friends. 
 
 On arriving at the encampment, they 
 found every one in readiness — tents slung — 
 horses saddled — and the artillery prepared
 
 ST. EUSTACE. 223 
 
 to march. The English contingent was a 
 fine troop, and their bright cuirasses gleamed 
 in the ripening smi ; while the real EngHsh 
 horses champed the bit and struck the 
 ground impatiently. The soldiers seemed 
 to be on very good terms with each other. 
 The English, indeed, will fraternise with any 
 one — be he French, German, Turkish, 
 Itahan, or Hindoo. 
 
 Just as they were beginning to move, a 
 peasant came running from the direction of 
 the tillage. Armand ordered his men to 
 halt, and await the arrival of the messenger, 
 who, upon coming up, gave a note to him, 
 and began to go off. Dechapelle, however, 
 upon seeing the waiting, pulled out a purse, 
 and put it into the hands of the astonished 
 man. The cortege moved on, Armand, 
 Beaufort and St. Martin leading the way. 
 
 The letter was from Pauline — the first he 
 had ever received from her. It was to ac- 
 quaint him with her safety ; and to say that 
 she and Heloise were being hurried away —
 
 324 ST. EUSTACE. 
 
 she knew not whither, but she thought to- 
 wards Angemois. The expressions in it were 
 such as gave him no doubt of her feelings 
 towards him ; but that availed him little 
 now. 
 
 Folding the letter and placing it in his 
 doublet next to his heart, he turned once 
 more to gaze on the place of their captivit}\ 
 The village was nearly out of sight — the 
 ruins of the Tower had ceased to smoke — 
 the trees, and the swelling of the countrj- 
 began to take all away from his eyes, and 
 with a long look of farewell to the place 
 where he had last seen Pauline, he galloped 
 back to rejoin his men. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 T. C. Neicb)/, Publisher, '60, Welhsck Street, Cavendish Square.
 
 V \