The marriage-ceremony of Edward Langdale and Lucette de Mirepoix du Valais was over. Act was taken, as it was then sometimes called, of the fact, signed by the bride and bridegroom and by all present; and Richelieu's own name stood first in the list of witnesses.

Every one well knows that in those days clandestine marriages took place frequently between persons very young, and also that the omnipotent power of the Romish Church was not uncommonly called in to dissolve a rite which the Church itself pronounced a sacrament. But the presence of Richelieu as prelate, cardinal, and prime minister was enough to secure the union of Edward and Lucette against any machinations of unconsenting friends in the courts, either civil or ecclesiastical. But the great minister left nothing undone to prevent the possibility of such a result: not a word was omitted which could render the ceremony binding; and Spada, the pope's nuncio, himself, was easily induced to give his formal sanction to an act which recognised to a certain degree the authority of the Romish Church and struck a heavy blow at one of the greatest Protestant leaders.

But a few words were spoken by the cardinal to the young bridegroom after the marriage; but they seemed to be important; for, though they were for the most part uttered in a whisper, all those who were still around heard the question, "Do you promise me, upon your honor as a gentleman?" and Edward's reply, "I do, most solemnly."

"Now, De Tronson," said the cardinal, "give our young friends an hour or two to compose their minds after so much agitation, and then forward them, as I directed, to wherever they may find the Prince de Soubise or his brother."

In five minutes after Lucette was left alone with her young husband, his arms were thrown around her, and her blushing face and tearful eyes were hidden on his bosom.

"Have we done right, Edward?" she said, after some pause.

"It was the only thing left for us to do, my love," he answered, kissing her tenderly. "And yet, Lucette, I fear it may not be so much for our happiness as it would seem. I foresee that your great relations will make every effort to annul our marriage or to keep us forever separate."

"That they shall never do, my love,—my husband," said Lucette, warmly: "they may separate us now; doubtless they will: but the time must come when I shall be my own mistress; and whenever that time does come, and you desire it, I will go to join you anywhere,—as, indeed, I am in duty bound to do."

"Then, my own dear girl," said the youth, "this marriage is not a forced union on your part, but as full of love and willingness as on mine? Oh, speak, Lucette!"

"Can you doubt it, Edward?" she answered. "I only feared for a moment that our own feelings might have led us to seize upon the cardinal's proposal too eagerly for our duty and respect toward others; but, on reflection, I think we could not avoid it. It was our only chance of safety."

"I think so too," answered her young husband. "But yet it is almost cruel of the cardinal not to have carried his kindness one step further, and suffered me to take you with me, as my wife, wherever fate may lead me. But yet, dear girl, perhaps he was wise. We are both too young."

"But, if we are too young, is this marriage binding? Can they not break it?" asked Lucette, with a look of apprehension which was of very sweet assurance to Edward Langdale.

"Oh, no," he replied: "the cardinal made sure of that. I could see he took especial pains at every point of the ceremony, that there might not be a flaw now nor a quibble hereafter. Did you not remark how he corrected two words in the act with his own hand? They cannot break it, Lucette,—except, perhaps, with your consent."

"That they shall never have," replied Lucette. "Oh, Edward, let us both swear to each other never to consent that this contract shall be broken between us. Let us do it solemnly; let us go down upon our knees before the God who sees all hearts, and be married again by our own holy promises."

As she spoke, she knelt, holding the youth's hand in hers, and, carried away by her simple love, he knelt beside her; and, with the confidence of early youth, they repeated the vows of everlasting faith to each other, and solemnly promised never to consent to a dissolution of their union, but each to seek the other at the first call.

Had Lucette known more of the world and worldly things, had her heart or her thoughts been less pure and spotless, Edward might have had a difficult task that day; for the cardinal had bound him by a promise similar to the injunction which the King of the Genii imposed upon Prince Zeyn Alasnum in the book which has enchanted all young and imaginative brains. But her innocence saved him from all suspicion of coldness; and the very undisguised love with which she rested on his bosom or received his kisses—warmer though not more affectionate than her own—spared all explanation, and gave to hope all the coloring of joy.

But they had much else to discuss,—how to communicate with each other when they were separated, how they were to act toward the Prince de Soubise when they found him, what they were to tell and what they were to conceal. Just let the reader sit down and fancy all that could and might be said by two people who had passed through so much during the last few hours, who had so much to pass through still, who were so strangely situated, who knew so little of each other and yet who loved each other so well, and his imagination will supply much more of their conversation than I am skilled to tell. That conversation lasted long. One hour went away after another: they were left totally alone; (and for that, too, Richelieu had his reasons;) and two o'clock had passed ere any one disturbed them. Then a servant came to announce to them that their mid-day meal was served in an adjoining chamber, and they proceeded thither, with feelings very strange:—happy, and yet not fully; composed, in comparison with their feelings not many hours before, yet agitated; with warm hope for the future, but many a bewildering doubt and some apprehension.

But the first sight that presented itself on entering the little hall where their dinner was served gave matter for fresh thought to Edward. As to Lucette, her thoughts had employment enough: she was married; she was a wife, and one act of the life-drama of a woman was over: the curtain was down for the time.

But there, on two sides of the table, each behind a chair, appeared Pierrot la Grange and Jacques BeauprÉ; and Edward's dinner was rendered tedious by his anxiety to learn from the latter the particulars of his escape near MauzÉ and all that followed. While the court laquais was in the room, of course nothing could be said; but the man soon delivered the party from his presence, retiring as soon as the dinner—which was somewhat meagre—was over and the dessert placed upon the table. Pierrot had, indeed, before the man left the room, boldly apologized to his young master for not returning to him that morning, saying plainly that he had been stopped by the servants of the chateau. "I hear, however," he added, with a smile and a reverence, "that all has ended happily; and I beg humbly to offer my congratulations to monsieur and madame." Jacques, in his grave way, and the laquais, with courtly fluency, added their compliments upon the occasion; and Edward felt his scanty purse under tax.

"And now, Jacques," he said, as soon as they were free from the presence of the stranger, "tell me, as quickly and succinctly as possible, what has occurred since we last met."

"Why, sir, what happened to me can be little to you," answered the man: "suffice it I got through a small hole in the lines when my young lady stuck in a large one. I reached the Chateau of MauzÉ easily, bags and all, and, as you had ordered, went straight to the Prince de Soubise. I found the whole party there ready to break up, for the Papists were getting too many for them in the neighborhood,—the prince and duke having but three hundred men with them, while the enemy had three thousand round about. Monsieur de Soubise roared like a cow that has lost her calf when he heard that you and Pierrot were in all likelihood captured, and still worse when he learned that mademoiselle was certainly in the hands of the enemy; but the bags seemed a great consolation to him, and he plunged into them for refreshment as a tired man does into a cool river. He took out all the letters and papers, and fingered the gold and counted it; and then he read a letter which had his own name on it, and looked at all the rest one by one. Some he put aside, and the others he returned to the bag again with the money, and he and Monsieur de Rohan, with two or three others, went into the window and talked together for full half an hour. At the end of that time they came back and opened the other bag; but they seemed to have no great love for a frippery; for, finding there was nothing in it but purfled shirts and laced collars and some suits of clothes, they soon shut it up again, and then told me I must come with them, for MauzÉ was likely to be turned into a rat-trap. As I had found by this time there was very little cheese in the trap, I was as glad as any one to get out, and we travelled for two days, having a brush now and then with the king's soldiers. Sometimes we had a little the better and sometimes a little the worse; but we contrived to get through all in the end, and we also made three prisoners. From them Monsieur le Prince learned that you had been sent to Nantes and that mademoiselle had been sent after you; and thereupon he proposed to me to follow you, taking with me your money and such letters as he said could do no harm. I was to inquire for you diligently but quietly; and his Highness told me of several places in the town where I certainly should find friends, and perhaps information. Well, sir, I made my conditions, as all wise men do. I stipulated for a good horse, and for leave to go round by Meile and St. Maixens, (for we were by this time at a good farm hard by St. Jean,) and for money enough to carry me there and bring me back, and a little to spare. All this was granted, and I set out. But in one of the places where I was certain to find friends in Nantes, the good folks were so very friendly that they thought I should be better lodged and fed in the chateau, and therefore let his blessed Majesty or some of his people know that I was in the city inquiring for one Sir Peter Apsley, who was soon to arrive. Thereupon I was brought up here with my bag by two archers and an exempt; and here have I been entertained at the royal expense ever since."

"But you have not been a prisoner?" asked Edward. "Pierrot told me you were at liberty."

"You have seen a mouse just after a cat has caught it, sir?" said the man. "I was just in that state. I underwent a good mumbling in the shape of an examination when first I came, and then I was told I was set free because Sir Peter Apsley was under the cardinal's particular protection; but, whenever I tried to go a hundred yards, pat came a paw upon me; and I fully made up my mind that, like poor madame mouse, I was only to be played with till I was eaten up. But at length I heard you were here; and last night I was chewed up in another examination; but I always took refuge in utter ignorance. I only knew that you had arrived at Rochelle in a merchant-ship,—not in Lord Denbigh's fleet, for that they asked me particularly; that, you and I being both anxious to get out of that God-forgotten place, I had taken service with you, as you wanted another man, having but one attendant and a page; that you were neither very tall nor very short, neither very brown nor very fair; that you spoke some French, but more English, looked for a beard with good hope, and were altogether a personable young gentleman about nineteen."

"You did me more than justice, Jacques," replied Edward. "However, you have acted well and discreetly; and I trust all present danger has passed away."

"Ah, sir," replied the man, "danger is always present. Neither you nor I can tell that twelve hours ago you were in greater peril than you are at this moment."

"Good Heaven! what does he mean, Edward?" exclaimed Lucette, turning pale. "What new peril does he speak of?"

"None, madame, in particular," replied Jacques BeauprÉ. "My father was killed by the fall of a beam on the celebration of his wedding-day. My uncle served under King Henry the Fourth, and fought in ten battles, but died from running a nail into his foot. My eldest brother was a sailor, and saw many a storm, but was drowned while bathing in the Sevre Niortaise; and by the time that I was twenty I had learned that in this world there is no such thing as danger, no such thing as security, and that the only way to be happy is to be ready at all times and fearful at none."

"A good philosophy, upon my word," said Edward. "But now our thought must be, where we can find Monsieur de Soubise."

"You might as well try to ride in a carriage after a hawk," answered Jacques: "he is here and there and everywhere in a day. But Monsieur de Rohan you will find more easily. He is probably at St. Martin des RiviÈres, the little castle which, just in the fork of the two rivers, can be defended by a handful against an army."

"There, then, we must go," said Edward. "But it is strange, dear Lucette, that we have seen no one for the last three hours. I thought Monsieur de Tronson said he would rejoin us."

Edward little knew the multitude of events which were passing within the sombre walls of that chateau,—some great, some small, but all tending more or less to the promotion of those mighty results which were now marching on in France, all full of deep personal concern to the various personages around him, and amongst which the fate of himself and his Lucette was but as a petty interlude, which could excite nothing but a transient feeling of interest or amusement.

Half an hour more went by; and then was heard the sound of many feet passing along through some chamber near. At the end of above five minutes the door opened, and Monsieur de Tronson led in an elderly lady habited as if for a journey.

"Madame de Langdale," said the secretary of the cabinet, addressing Lucette, "Madame de Lagny, with whom you passed last night, will have the pleasure of accompanying you and Monsieur de Langdale on your journey. The carriage has been ready for an hour; but, the council having sat later than usual, I could not leave my post. Monsieur will do me the honor of accompanying me to his chamber below, where I will put him in possession of his money and his safe-conduct, together with his baggage, while you prepare for travelling, which, as it is, must, I fear, be protracted into the night."

Edward followed him down several flights of steps, conversing with him, as he went, upon the arrangements for their journey, telling him that he feared from his servant's information they would be obliged to proceed beyond Niort to St. Martin des RiviÈres, and that, consequently, at least two days more than he had calculated upon must pass ere he could fulfil the promise he had given to return.

But De Tronson seemed thoughtful and absent; for, in truth, he had just come from a painful scene;[3] and, although he heard, and answered all his young companion said, it was by an effort, and evidently without interest.

All the arrangements were soon made, however. Edward's property was restored to him; the tradesmen he and Lucette had employed were paid; and then the secretary led him to the little court, where stood one of the large clumsy carriages of the day with four tall horses. A stout man on horseback was also there, holding by the rein the horse which Jacques BeauprÉ had ridden to Nantes, and, as no beast had been provided for Pierrot, he mounted beside the coachman. Lucette and her companion were already in the vehicle, and, with a kind adieu from M. de Tronson, Edward took his place beside them, and the vehicle rolled on.