Chicot the Jester

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At this supposition they all rushed out, sword in hand, towards
the gentlemen.

One of the men had just introduced a key into the lock; the door
had yielded and was about to open, when the noise of their assailants
made them turn.

"What is this? Can it be against us, Aurilly?" said one.

"Ah, monseigneur," said the other, who had opened the door, "it
looks like it. Will you name yourself, or keep incognito?"

"Armed men--an ambush!"

"Some jealous lover; I said the lady was too beautiful not to
be watched."

"Let us enter quickly, Aurilly; we are safer within doors."

"Yes, monseigneur, if there are not enemies within; but how do
you know----"

He had not time to finish. The young men rushed up; Quelus and
Maugiron made for the door to prevent their entering, while
Schomberg, D'O, and D'Epernon prepared to attack in front. But
he who had been called monseigneur turned towards Quelus, who
was in front, and crossing his arms proudly, said:

"You attack a son of France, M. Quelus!"

Quelus drew back, trembling, and thunderstruck.

"Monseigneur le Duc d'Anjou!" he cried.

"The Duc d'Anjou!" repeated the others.

"Well, gentlemen," cried the duke.

"Monseigneur," stammered D'Epernon, "it was a joke; forgive us."

"Monseigneur," said D'O, "we did not dream of meeting your highness
here!"

"A joke!" said the duke; "you have an odd manner of joking, M.
d'Epernon. Since it was not intended for me, whom did your jest
menace?"

"Monseigneur," said Schomberg; "we saw St. Luc quit the Hotel
Montmorency and come this way; it seemed strange to us, and we
wished to see what took him out on his wedding night."

"M. de St. Luc--you took me for him?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"M. de St. Luc is a head taller then I am."

"It is true, monseigneur; but he is just the height of M. Aurilly."

"And seeing a man put a key in a lock, we took him for the
principal," added D'O.

"Monseigneur cannot suppose that we had the shadow of an ill-will
towards him, even to disturb his pleasures?"

As he listened, the duke, by a skilful movement, had, little
by little, quitted the door, followed by Aurilly, and was now
at some distance off.

"My pleasures!" said he, angrily; "what makes you think I was
seeking pleasure?"

"Ah, monseigneur, in any case pardon us, and let us retire," said
Quelus.

"It is well; adieu, gentlemen; but first listen. I was going
to consult the Jew Manasses, who reads the future; he lives,
as you know, in Rue de la Tournelle. In passing, Aurilly saw
you and took you for the watch, and we, therefore, tried to hide
ourselves in a doorway. And now you know what to believe and
say; it is needless to add, that I do not wish to be followed,"
and he turned away.

"Monseigneur," said Aurilly, "I am sure these men have bad
intentions; it is near midnight, and this is a lonely quarter;
let us return home, I beg."

"No, no; let us profit by their departure."

"Your highness is deceived; they have not gone, but have returned
to their retreat: look in the angle of the Hotel des Tournelles."

Francois looked, and saw that Aurilly was right; it was evident
that they waited for something, perhaps to see if the duke were
really going to the Jew.

"Well, Monseigneur," continued Aurilly, "do you not think it will
be more prudent to go home?"

"Mordieu! yet it is annoying to give up."

"Yes; but it can be put off. I told your highness that the house
is taken for a year; we know the lady lodges on the first story.
We have gained her maid, and have a key which opens the door:
you may wait safely."

"You are sure that the door yielded?"

"Yes, at the third key I tried."

"Are you sure you shut it again?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

Aurilly did not feel sure, as he said, but he did not choose to
admit it.

"Well, I will go; I shall return some other time." And the duke
went away, promising to payoff the gentlemen for their interruption.

They had hardly disappeared, when the five companions saw approach
a cavalier wrapped in a large cloak. The steps of his horse resounded
on the frozen ground, and they went slowly and with precaution,
for it was slippery.

"This time," said Quelus, "it is he."

"Impossible," said Maugiron.

"Why?"

"Because he is alone, and we left him with Livarot, Antragues,
and Ribeirac, who would not have let him run such a risk."

"It is he, however; do you not recognize his insolent way of carrying
his head?"

"Then," said D'O, "it is a snare."

"In any case, it is he; and so to arms!"

It was, indeed, Bussy, who came carelessly down the Rue St. Antoine,
and followed the route given him by Quelus; he had, as we have
seen, received the warning of St. Luc, and, in spite of it, had
parted from his friends at the Hotel Montmorency. It was one of
those bravadoes delighted in by the valiant colonel, who said
of himself, "I am but a simple gentleman, but I bear in my breast
the heart of all emperor; and when I read in Plutarch the exploits
of the ancient Romans, I think there is not one that I could
not imitate." And besides, he thought that St. Luc, who was not
ordinarily one of his friends, merely wished to get him laughed at
for his precautions; and Bussy feared ridicule more than danger.

He had, even in the eyes of his enemies, earned a reputation for
courage, which could only be sustained by the rashest adventures.
Therefore, alone, and armed only with a sword and poniard, he
advanced towards the house where waited for him no person, but
simply a letter, which the Queen of Navarre sent him every month
on the same day, and which he, according to his promise to the
beautiful Marguerite, went to fetch himself, alone, and at night.

When he arrived at the Rue St. Catherine, his active eye discerned
in the shade the forms of his adversaries. He counted them: "Three,
four, five," said he, "without counting the lackeys, who are
doubtless within call. They think much of me, it seems; all these
for one man. That brave St. Luc did not deceive me; and were his
even the first sword to pierce me I would cry, 'Thanks for your
warning, friend.'" So saying, he continued to advance, only his
arm held his sword under his cloak, of which he had unfastened
the clasp.

It was then that Quelus cried, "To arms."

"Ah, gentlemen," said Bussy, "it appears you wish to kill me:
I am the wild boar you had to hunt. Well, gentlemen, the wild
boar will rip up a few of you; I swear it to you, and I never
break my word."

"Possibly," said Schomberg; "but it is not right, M. Bussy d'Amboise,
that you should be on horseback and we on foot." And as he spoke,
the arm of the young man, covered with white satin, which glistened
in the moonlight, came from under his cloak, and Bussy felt his
horse give way under him. Schomberg had, with an address peculiar
to himself, pierced the horse's leg with a kind of cutlass, of
which the blade was heavier than the handle and which had remained
in the wound. The animal gave a shrill cry and fell on his knees.
Bussy, always ready, jumped at once to the ground, sword in hand.

"Ah!" cried he, "my favorite horse, you shall pay for this."
And as Schomberg approached incautiously, Bussy gave him a blow
which broke his thigh. Schomberg uttered a cry.

"Well!" said Bussy, "have I kept my word? one already. It was
the wrist of Bussy, and not his horse's leg, you should have cut."

In an instant, while Schomberg bound up his thigh with his
handkerchief, Bussy presented the point of his long sword to his
four other assailants, disdaining to cry for help, but retreating
gradually, not to fly, but to gain a wall, against which to support
himself, and prevent his being attacked behind, making all the
while constant thrusts, and feeling sometimes that soft resistance
of the flesh which showed that his blows had taken effect. Once
he slipped for an instant. That instant sufficed for Quelus to
give him a wound in the side.

"Touched," cried Quelus.

"Yes, in the doublet," said Bussy, who would not even acknowledge
his hurt. And rushing on Quelus, with a vigorous effort, he made
his sword fly from his hand. But he could not pursue his advantage,
for D'O, D'Epernon, and Maugiron attacked him, with fresh fury.
Schomberg had bound his wound, and Quelus picked up his sword.
Bussy made a bound backwards, and reached the wall. There he
stopped, strong as Achilles, and smiling at the tempest of blows
which rained around him. All at once he felt a cloud pass over his
eyes. He had forgotten his wound, but these symptoms of fainting
recalled it to him.

"Ah, you falter!" cried Quelus.

"Judge of it!" cried Bussy. And with the hilt of his sword he
struck him on the temple. Quelus fell under the blow. Then
furious--wild, he rushed forward, uttering a terrible cry. D'O
and D'Epernon drew back, Maugiron was raising Quelus, when Bussy
broke his sword with his foot, and wounded the right arm of
D'Epernon. For a moment he was conqueror, but Quelus recovered
himself, and four swords flashed again. Bussy felt himself lost.
He gathered all his strength to retreat once more step by step.
Already the perspiration was cold on his brow, and the ringing in
his ears and the cloud over his eyes warned him that his strength
was giving way. He sought for the wall with his left hand; to his
astonishment, it yielded. It was a door not quite closed. Then
he regained hope and strength for a last effort. For a second his
blows were rapid and violent. Then he let himself glide inside
the door, and pushed it to with a violent blow. It shut, and Bussy
was saved. He heard the furious blows of his enemies on the door,
their cries of rage, and wrathful imprecations. Then, the ground
seemed to fail under his feet, and the walls to move. He made a
few steps forward, and fell on the steps of a staircase. He knew
no more, but seemed to descend into the silence and obscurity
of the tomb.

CHAPTER III.

HOW IT IS SOMETIMES DIFFICULT TO DISTINGUISH A DREAM FROM THE
REALITY.

Bussy had had time, before falling, to pass his handkerchief
under his shirt, and to buckle the belt of his sword over it,
so as to make a kind of bandage to the open wound whence the
blood flowed, but he had already lost blood enough to make him
faint. However, during his fainting fit, this is what Bussy saw,
or thought he saw. He found himself in a room with furniture of
carved wood, with a tapestry of figures, and a painted ceiling.
These figures, in all possible attitudes, holding flowers, carrying
arms, seemed to him to be stepping from the walls. Between the
two windows a portrait of a lady was hung. He, fixed to his bed,
lay regarding all this. All at once the lady of the portrait
seemed to move, and an adorable creature, clothed in a long white
robe, with fair hair falling over her shoulders, and with eyes
black as jet, with long lashes, and with a skin under which he
seemed to see the blood circulate, advanced toward the bed. This
woman was so beautiful, that Bussy made a violent effort to rise
and throw himself at her feet. But he seemed to be confined in
there by bonds like those which keep the dead body in the tomb,
while the soul mounts to the skies. This forced him to look at
the bed on which he was lying, and it seemed to him one of those
magnificent beds sculptured in the reign of Francis I., to which
were suspended hangings of white damask, embroidered in gold.

At the sight of this woman, the people of the wall and ceiling
ceased to occupy his attention; she was all to him, and he looked
to see if she had left a vacancy in the frame. But suddenly she
disappeared; and an opaque body interposed itself between her
and Bussy, moving slowly, and stretching its arms out as though
it were playing blindman's buff. Bussy felt in such a passion at
this, that, had he been able, he would certainly have attacked
this importunate vision; but as he made a vain effort, the newcomer
spoke:

"Well," said he, "have I arrived at last?"

"Yes, monsieur," said a voice so sweet that it thrilled through
Bussy, "and now you may take off your bandage." Bussy made an
effort to see if the sweet voice belonged to the lady of the
portrait, but it was useless. He only saw the pleasant face of a
young man, who had just, as he was told, taken off his bandage,
and was looking curiously about him.

"To the devil with this man," thought Bussy, and he tried to speak,
but fruitlessly.

"Ah, I understand now," said the young man, approaching the bed;
"you are wounded, are you not, my dear sir? Well, we will try
to cure you."

"Is the wound mortal?" asked the sweet voice again, with a sad
accent, which brought tears into the eyes of Bussy.

"I do not know yet, I am going to see; meanwhile, he has fainted."

This was all Bussy heard, he seemed to feel a red-hot iron in
his side, and then lost all consciousness. Afterwards, it was
impossible for Bussy to fix the duration of this insensibility.

When he woke, a cold wind blew over his face, and harsh voices
sounded in his ears; he opened his eyes to see if it were the
people of the tapestry speaking, and hoping to see the lady again,
looked round him. But there was neither tapestry nor ceiling
visible, and the portrait had also disappeared. He saw at his
right only a man with a white apron spotted with blood; at his
left, a monk, who was raising his head; and before him, an old
woman mumbling her prayers. His wondering eyes next rested on
a mass of stone before him, in which he recognized the Temple,
and above that, the cold white sky, slightly tinted by the rising
sun. He was in the street.

"Ah, thank you, good people," said he, "for the trouble you have
taken in bringing me here. I wanted air, but you might have given
it to me by opening the window, and I should have been better
on my bed of white damask and gold than on the bare ground. But
never mind, there is in my pocket, unless you have paid yourselves,
which would have been prudent, some twenty golden crowns; take,
my friends, take."

"But, my good gentleman," said the butcher, "we did not bring
you here, but found you here as we passed."

"Ah, diable! and the young doctor, was he here?"

The bystanders looked at each other.

"It is the remains of delirium," said the monk. Then, turning to
Bussy, "I think you would do well to confess," said he, "there
was no doctor, poor young man; you were here alone, and as cold
as death."

Bussy then remembered having received a sword stroke, glided his
hand under his doublet, and felt his handkerchief in the same
place, fixed over his wound by his sword-belt.

"It is singular," said he.

Already profiting by his permission, the lookers-on were dividing
his purse.

"Now, my friends," said he, "will you take me to my hotel?"

"Ah, certainly," said the old woman, "poor dear young man, the
butcher is strong, and then he has his horse, on which you can
ride."

"Yes, my gentleman, my horse and I are at your service."

"Nevertheless, my son," said the monk, "I think you would do well
to confess."

"What are you called?" asked Bussy.

"Brother Gorenflot."

"Well Brother Gorenflot, I trust my hour has not yet arrived
and as I am cold, I wish to get quickly home and warm myself."

"What is your hotel called?"

"Hotel de Bussy."

"How!" cried all, "you belong to M. de Bussy?"

"I am M. de Bussy himself."

"Bussy," cried the butcher, "the brave Bussy, the scourge of the
minions!" And raising him, he was quickly carried home, whilst
the monk went away, murmuring, "If it was that Bussy, I do not
wonder he would not confess!"

When he got home, Bussy sent for his usual doctor, who found the
wound not dangerous.

"Tell me," said Bussy, "has it not been already dressed?"

"Ma foi," said the doctor, "I am not sure."

"And was it serious enough to make me delirious?"

"Certainly."

"Ah!" thought Bussy, "was that tapestry, that frescoed ceiling,
that bed, the portrait between the windows, the beautiful blonde
woman with black eyes, the doctor blindfolded, was this all delirium?
Is nothing true but my combat? Where did I fight? Ah, yes, I
remember; near the Bastile, by the Rue St. Paul. I leaned against
a door, and it opened; I shut it--and then I remember no more.
Have I dreamed or not? And my horse! My horse must have been
found dead on the place. Doctor, pray call some one."

The doctor called a valet. Bussy inquired, and heard that the
animal, bleeding and mutilated, had dragged itself to the door
of the hotel, and had been found there.

"It must have been a dream," thought he again: "how should a
portrait come down from the wall and talk to a doctor with a
bandage on his eyes? I am a fool; and yet when I remember she
was so charming," and he began to describe her beauties, till
he cried out, "It is impossible it should have been a dream;
and yet I found myself in the street, and a monk kneeling by
me. Doctor," said he, "shall have to keep the house a fortnight
again for this scratch, as I did for the last?"

"We shall see; can you walk?"

"I seem to have quicksilver in my legs."

"Try."

Bussy jumped out of bed, and walked quickly round his room.

"That will do," said the doctor, "provided that you do not go
on horseback, or walk ten miles the first day."

"Capital! you are a doctor; however, I have seen another to-night.
Yes, I saw him, and if ever I meet him, I should know him."

"I advise you not to seek for him, monsieur; one has always a
little fever after a sword wound; you should know that, who have
had a dozen."

"Ah, mon Dieu!" cried Bussy, struck with a new idea, "did my
dream begin outside the door instead of inside? Was there no
more a staircase and a passage, than there was a bed with white
and gold damask, and a portrait? Perhaps those wretches, thinking
me dead, carried me to the Temple, to divert suspicion, should
any one have seen them hiding. Certainly, it must be so, and
I have dreamed the rest. Mon Dieu! if they have procured for
me this dream which torments me so, I swear to make an end of
them all."

"My dear seigneur," said the doctor, "if you wish to get well,
you must not agitate yourself thus."

"Except St. Luc," continued Bussy, without attending; "he acted
as a friend, and my first visit shall be to him."

"Not before five this evening."

"If you wish it; but, I assure you, it is not going out and seeing
people which will make me ill, but staying quietly at home."

"Well, it is possible; you are always a singular patient; act
as you please, only I recommend you not to get another wound
before this one is healed."

Bussy promised to do his best to avoid it, and, after dressing,
called for his litter to take him to the Hotel Montmorency.

CHAPTER IV.

HOW MADAME DE ST. LUC HAD PASSED THE NIGHT.

Louis de Clermont, commonly called Bussy d'Amboise, was a perfect
gentleman, and a very handsome man. Kings and princes had sought
for his friendship; queens and princesses had lavished on him
their sweetest smiles. He had succeeded La Mole in the affections
of Queen Marguerite, who had committed for him so many follies,
that even her husband, insensible so long, was moved at them;
and the Duke Francois would never have pardoned him, had it not
gained over Bussy to his interests, and once again he sacrificed
all to his ambition. But in the midst of all his successes of
war, ambition, and intrigue, he had remained insensible; and
he who had never known fear, had never either known love.

When the servants of M. de St. Luc saw Bussy enter, they ran to
tell M. de Brissac.

"Is M. de St. Luc at home?" asked Bussy.

"No, monsieur."

"Where shall I find him?"

"I do not know, monsieur. We are all very anxious about him, for
he has not returned since yesterday."

"Nonsense."

"It is true, monsieur."

"But Madame de St. Luc?"

"Oh, she is here."

"Tell her I shall be charmed if she will allow me to pay my respects
to her."

Five minutes after, the messenger returned, saying Madame de St.
Luc would be glad to see M. de Bussy.

When Bussy entered the room, Jeanne ran to meet him. She was
very pale, and her jet black hair made her look more so; her
eyes were red from her sleepless night, and there were traces
of tears on her cheeks.

"You are welcome, M. de Bussy," said she, "in spite of the fears
your presence awakens."

"What do you mean, madame? how can I cause you fear?"

"Ah! there was a meeting last night between you and M. de St.
Luc? confess it."

"Between me and St. Luc!"

"Yes, he sent me away to speak to you; you belong to the Duc
d'Anjou, he to the king. You have quarrelled--do not hide it
from me. You must understand my anxiety. He went with the king,
it is true--but afterwards?"

"Madame, this is marvelous. I expected you to ask after my wound----"

"He wounded you; he did fight, then?"

"No, madame; not with me at least; it was not he who wounded
me. Indeed, he did all he could to save me. Did he not tell you
so?"

"How could he tell me? I have not seen him."

"You have not seen him? Then your porter spoke the truth."

"I have not seen him since eleven last night."

"But where can he be?"

"I should rather ask you."

"Oh, pardieu, tell me about it, it is very droll."

The poor woman looked at him with astonishment.

"No, it is very sad, I mean. I have lost much blood, and scarcely
know what I am saying. Tell me this lamentable story, madame."

Jeanne told all she knew; how the king had carried him off, the
shutting of the doors of the Louvre, and the message of the guards.

"Ah! very well, I understand," said Bussy.

"How! you understand."

"Yes; his majesty took him to the Louvre and once there he could
not come out again."

"And why not?"

"Ah! that is a state secret."

"But my father went to the Louvre, and I also, and the guards
said they did not know what we meant."

"All the more reason that he should be there."

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it, and if you wish to be so also----"

"How?"

"By seeing."

"Can I?"

"Certainly."

"But if I go there, they win send me away, as they did before."

"Would you like to go in?"

"But if he is not there?"

"I tell you he is there. Come; but they will not let in the wife
of St. Luc."

"You laugh at me, and it is very cruel in my distress."

"No, dear lady, listen. You are young, you are tall, and have
black eyes; you are like my youngest page, who looked so well
in the cloth of gold yesterday."

"Ah I what folly, M. Bussy," cried Jeanne, blushing.

"I have no other method but this. If you wish to see St. Luc----"

"Oh! I would give all the world to see him."

"Well, I promise that you shall without giving anything."

"Oh, but----"

"I told you how."

"Well, I will do it; shall I send for the dress?"

"No, I will send you a new one I have at home; then you must join
me this evening at the Rue St. Honore. and we will go together to
the Louvre." Jeanne began to laugh, and gave her hand to Bussy.

"Pardon my suspicions," said she.

"Willingly," and taking leave he went home to prepare.

Bussy and Madame de St. Luc met at the appointed time; Jeanne
looked beautiful in her disguise. At the end of the Rue St.
Germain-l'Auxerrois they met a large party in which Bussy recognized
the Duc d'Anjou and his train.

"Ah," said he, "we will make a triumphal entry into the Louvre."

"Eh! monseigneur," cried he to the duke.

The prince turned. "You, Bussy!" cried he joyfully, "I heard you
were badly wounded, and I was going to your hotel."

"Ma foi, monseigneur, if I am not dead, it is thanks to no one
but myself. You get me into nice situations; that ball at St.
Luc's was a regular snare, and they have nearly drained all the
blood out of my body."

"They shall pay for it, Bussy; they shall pay dearly."

"Yes, you say so," said Bussy, with his usual liberty, "and you
will smile on the first you meet."

"Well! accompany me to the Louvre, and you shall see."

"What shall I see, monseigneur?"

"How I will speak to my brother."

"You promise me reparation?"

"I promise you shall be content. You hesitate still, I believe."

"Monseigneur, I know you so well."

"Come, I tell you."

"This is good for you," whispered Bussy to Jeanne. "There will
be a quarrel between the brothers, and meanwhile you can find
St. Luc."

"Well," said he to the prince, "I follow you; if I am insulted,
at least I can always revenge myself."

And he took his place near the duke, while his page kept close
to him.

"Revenge yourself; no, Bussy," said the prince, "I charge myself
with it. I know your assassins," added he, in a low tone.

"What I your highness has taken the trouble to inquire?"

"I saw them."

"How so?" cried Bussy, astonished.

"Oh! I had business myself at the Porte St. Antoine. They barely
missed killing me in your place. Ah! I did not know it was you
they were waiting for, or else----"

"Well?"

"Had you this new page with you?" asked the prince, without finishing
his sentence.

"No, I was alone, and you?"

"I had Aurilly with me; and why were you alone?"

"Because I wish to preserve my name of the brave Bussy."

"And they wounded you?"

"I do not wish to give them the pleasure of knowing it, but I
had a severe wound in the side."

"Ah! the wretches; Aurilly said he was sure they were bent on
mischief."

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