IN front of the Palace of St. Germain’s, but concealed from the park and terrace by an angle of the building, stood the Count de Chavigni, apparently engaged in the very undignified occupation of making love to a pretty-looking soubrette, no other than Louise, the waiting-maid of Mademoiselle de Beaumont. But, notwithstanding the careless nonchalance with which he affected to address her, it was evident that he had some deeper object in view than the trifling of an idle hour.

“Well, ma belle,” said he, after a few words of a more tender nature, “you are sure the Surgeon said, though the wound is in his side, his heart is uninjured?”

“Yes, exactly,” said Louise, “word for word; and the Queen answered, ‘I understand you.’ But I cannot think why you are so curious about it.”

“Because I take an interest in the young Count,” replied Chavigni. “But, his heart must be very hard if it can resist such eyes as yours.”

“He never saw them,” said Louise, “for I was not with my Lady when they picked him up wounded in the forest.”

“So much the better,” replied Chavigni, “for that is he turning that angle of the Palace: I must speak to him; so farewell, belle Louise, and remember the signal.—Go through that door, and he will not see you.”

Speaking thus, Chavigni left her, and a few steps brought him up to De Blenau, who at that moment traversed the angle in which he had been standing with Louise, and was hurrying on with a rapid pace in search of the Queen.

“Good morrow, Monsieur de Blenau,” said Chavigni: “you seem in haste.”

“And am so, Sir,” replied De Blenau proudly; and added, after a moment’s pause, “Have you any commands for me?” for Chavigni stood directly in his way.

“None in particular,” answered the other with perfect composure—“only if you are seeking the Queen, I will go with you to her Majesty; and as we go, I will tell you a piece of news you may perhaps like to hear.”

“Sir Count de Chavigni, I beg you would mark me,” replied De Blenau. “You are one of the King’s Council—a gentleman of good repute, and so forth; but there is not that love between us that we should be seen taking our evening’s walk together, unless, indeed, it were for the purpose of using our weapons more than our tongues.”

“Indeed, Monsieur de Blenau,” rejoined Chavigni, his lip curling into a smile which partook more of good humour than scorn, though, perhaps, mingled somewhat of each—“indeed you do not do me justice; I love you better than you know, and may have an opportunity of doing you a good turn some day, whether you will or not. So with your leave I walk with you, for we both seek the Queen.”

De Blenau was provoked. “Must I tell you, Sir,” exclaimed he, “that your company is disagreeable to me?—that I do not like the society of men who herd with robbers and assassins?”

“Psha!” exclaimed Chavigni, somewhat peevishly. “Captious boy, you’ll get yourself into the Bastille some day, where you would have been long ago, had it not been for me.”

“When you tell me, Sir, how such obligations have been incurred,” answered the Count, “I shall be happy to acknowledge them.”

“Why, twenty times, Monsieur de Blenau, you have nearly been put there,” replied Chavigni, with that air of candour which it is very difficult to affect when it is not genuine. “Your hot and boiling spirit, Sir, is always running you into danger. Notwithstanding all your late wounds, a little bleeding, even now, would not do you any harm. Here the first thing you do is to quarrel with a man who has served you, is disposed to serve you, and of whose service you may stand in need within five minutes.

“But to give you proof at once that what I advance is more than a mere jest—Do you think that your romantic expedition to Languedoc escaped me? Monsieur de Blenau, you start, as if you dreamed that in such a country as this, and under such an administration, any thing could take place without being known to some member of the government. No, no, Sir! there are many people in France, even now, who think they are acting in perfect security, because no notice is apparently taken of the plans they are forming, or the intrigues they are carrying on; while, in reality, the hundred eyes of Policy are upon their every action, and the sword is only suspended over their heads, that it may eventually fall with more severity.”

“You surprise me, I own,” replied De Blenau, “by showing me that you are acquainted with an adventure, which I thought buried in my own bosom, or only confided to one equally faithful to me.”

“You mean your Page,” said Chavigni, with the same easy tone in which he had spoken all along. “You have no cause to doubt him. He has never betrayed you (at least to my knowledge). But these things come about very simply, without treachery on any part. The stag never flies so fast, nor the hare doubles so often, but they leave a scent behind them for the dogs to follow,—and so it is with the actions of man; conceal them as he will, there is always some trace by which they may be discovered; and it is no secret to any one, now-a-days, that there are people in every situation of life, in every town of France, paid to give information of all that happens; so that the schemes must be well concealed indeed, which some circumstance does not discover. I see, you shake your head, as if you disapproved of the principle.

“De Blenau, you and I are engaged in different parties. You act firmly convinced of the rectitude of your own cause—Do me the justice to believe that I do the same. You hate the Minister—I admire him, and feel fully certain that all he does is for the good of the State. On the other hand, I applaud your courage, your devotion to the cause you have espoused, and your proud unbending spirit—and I would bring you to the scaffold to-morrow, if I thought it would really serve the party to which I am attached.”

The interesting nature of his conversation, and the bold candour it displayed, had made De Blenau tolerate Chavigni’s society longer than he had intended, and even his dislike to the Statesman had in a degree worn away before the easy dignity and frankness of his manner. But still, he did not like to be seen holding any kind of companionship with one of the Queen’s professed enemies; and taking advantage of the first pause, he replied—

“You are frank, Monsieur de Chavigni, but my head is well where it is. And now may I ask to what does all this tend?”

“You need not hurry the conversation to a conclusion,” replied Chavigni. “You see that we are in direct progress towards that part of the Park where her Majesty is most likely to be found.” But seeing that De Blenau seemed impatient of such reply, he proceeded: “However, as you wish to know to what my conversation tends, I will tell you. If you please, it tends to your own good. The Cardinal wishes to see you——”

He paused, and glanced his eye over the countenance of his companion, from which, however, he could gather no reply, a slight frown being all the emotion that was visible.

Chavigni then proceeded. “The Cardinal wishes to see you. He entertains some suspicion of you. If you will take my advice, you will set out for Paris immediately, wait upon his Eminence, and be frank with him—Nay, do not start! I do not wish you to betray any one’s secrets, or violate your own honour. But be wise, set out instantly.”

“I suspected something of this,” replied De Blenau, “when I heard that there were strangers inquiring for me. But whatever I do, I must first see the Queen:” and observing that Chavigni was about to offer some opposition, he added decidedly, “It is absolutely necessary—on business of importance.”

“May I ask,” said Chavigni, “is it of importance to her Majesty or yourself?”

“I have no objection to answer that at once,” replied De Blenau: “it concerns myself alone.”

“Stop a moment,” cried Chavigni, laying his hand on the Count’s arm, and pausing in the middle of the avenue, at the farther extremity of which a group of three or four persons was seen approaching. “No business can be of more importance than that on which I advise you to go.—Monsieur de Blenau, I would save you pain. Let me, once more, press you to set out without having any farther conversation with her Majesty than the mere etiquette of taking leave for a day.”

De Blenau well knew the danger which he incurred, but still he could not resolve to go, without clearing the doubts of Pauline, which five minutes’ conversation with the Queen would enable him to do. “It is impossible,” replied he, thoughtfully; “besides, let the Cardinal send for me. I do not see why I should walk with my eyes open into the den of a lion.”

“Well then, Sir,” answered Chavigni, with somewhat more of coldness in his manner, “I must tell you, his Eminence has sent for you, and that, perhaps, in a way which may not suit the pride of your disposition. Do you see those three men that are coming down the avenue? they are not here without an object.—Come, once more, what say you, Monsieur le Comte? Go with me, to take leave of the Queen, for I must suffer no private conversation. Let us then mount our horses, and ride as friends to Paris. There, pay your respects to the Cardinal, and take Chavigni’s word, that, unless you suffer the heat of your temper to betray you into any thing unbecoming, you shall return safe to St. Germain’s before to-morrow evening. If not, things must take their course.”

“You offer me fair, Sir,” replied the Count, “if I understand you rightly, that the Cardinal has sent to arrest me; and of course, I cannot hesitate to accept your proposal. I have no particular partiality for the Bastille, I can assure you.”

“Then you consent?” said Chavigni. De Blenau bowed his head. “Well then, I will speak to these gentlemen,” he added, “and they will give us their room.”

By this time the three persons, who had continued to advance down the avenue, had approached within the distance of a few paces of Chavigni and the Count. Two of them were dressed in the uniform of the Cardinal’s guard; one as a simple trooper, the other being the Lieutenant who bore the lettre de cachet for the arrest of De Blenau. The third, we have had some occasion to notice in the wood of Mantes, being no other than the tall Norman, who on that occasion was found in a rusty buff jerkin, consorting with the banditti. His appearance, however, was now very much changed for the better. The neat trimming of his beard and mustaches, the smart turn of his broad beaver, the flush newness of his long-waisted blue silk vest, and even the hanging of his sword, which instead of offering its hilt on the left hip, ever ready for the hand, now swung far behind, with the tip of the scabbard striking against the right calf,—all denoted a change of trade and circumstances, from the poor bravo who won his daily meal at the sword’s point, to the well-paid bully, who fattened at his lord’s second table, on the merit of services more real than apparent.

De Blenau’s eye fixed full upon the Norman, certain that he had seen him somewhere before, but the change of dress and circumstances embarrassed his recollection.

In the mean while, Chavigni advanced to the Cardinal’s officer. “Monsieur Chauville,” said he, “favour me by preceding me to his Eminence of Richelieu. Offer him my salutation, and inform him, that Monsieur le Comte de Blenau and myself intend to wait upon him this afternoon.”

Chauville bowed, and passed on, while the Norman, uncovering his head to Chavigni, instantly brought back to the mind of De Blenau the circumstances under which he had first seen him.

“You have returned, I see,” said Chavigni. “Have you found an occasion of fulfilling my orders?”

“To your heart’s content, Monseigneur,” replied the Norman; “never was such an Astrologer, since the days of Intrim of Blois.”

“Hush!” said Chavigni, for the other spoke aloud. “If you have done it, that is enough. But for a time, keep yourself to Paris, and avoid the Court, as some one may recognise you, even in these fine new feathers.”

“Oh, I defy them,” replied the Norman, in a lower tone than he had formerly spoken, but still so loud that De Blenau could not avoid hearing the greater part of what he said—“I defy them; for I was so wrapped up in my black robes and my white beard, that the Devil himself would not know me for the same mortal in the two costumes. But I hope, Monsieur le Comte, that my reward may be equal to the risk I have run, for they sought to stop me, and had I not been too good a necromancer for them, I suppose I should have been roasting at a stake by this time. But one wave of my magic wand sent the sword of Monsieur de Cinq Mars out of his hand, and opened me a passage to the wood; otherwise I should have fared but badly amongst them.”

“You must not exact too much, Monsieur Marteville,” replied Chavigni. “But we will speak of this to-night. I shall be in Paris in a few hours; at present, you see, I am occupied;” and leaving the Norman, he rejoined De Blenau, and proceeded in search of the Queen.

“If my memory serves me right, Monsieur de Chavigni,” said De Blenau, in a tone of some bitterness, “I have seen that gentleman before, and with his sword shining at my breast.”

“It is very possible,” answered Chavigni, with the most indifferent calmness. “I have seen him in the same situation with respect to myself.”

“Indeed!” rejoined De Blenau, with some surprise; “but probably not with the same intention,” he added.

“I do not know,” replied the Statesman, with a smile. “His intentions in my favour were to run me through the body.”

“And is it possible, then,” exclaimed De Blenau, “that with such a knowledge of his character and habits, you can employ and patronize him?”

“Certainly,” answered Chavigni, “I wanted a bold villain. Such men are very necessary in a State. Now, I could not have better proof that this man had the qualities required, than his attempting to cut my throat. But you do him some injustice; he is better than you suppose—is not without feeling—and has his own ideas of honour.”

De Blenau checked the bitter reply which was rising to his lips, and letting the conversation drop, they proceeded, in silence, in search of the Queen. They had not gone much farther, when they perceived her leaning familiarly on the arm of Madame de Beaumont, and seemingly occupied in some conversation of deep interest. However, her eye fell upon the Count and Chavigni as they came up, and, surprised to see them together, she abruptly paused in what she was saying.

“Look there, De Beaumont,” said she: “something is not right. I have seen more than one of these creatures of the Cardinal hanging about the Park to-day. I fear for poor De Blenau. He has been too faithful to his Queen to escape long.”

“I salute your Majesty,” said Chavigni, as soon as they had come within a short distance of the Queen, and not giving De Blenau the time to address her: “I have been the bearer of a message from his Eminence of Richelieu to Monsieur de Blenau, your Majesty’s Chamberlain, requesting the pleasure of entertaining him for a day in Paris. The Count has kindly accepted the invitation; and I have promised that the Cardinal shall not press his stay beyond to-morrow. We only now want your Majesty’s permission and good leave, which in his Eminence’s name I humbly crave for Monsieur de Blenau.”

“His Eminence is too condescending,” replied the Queen. “He knows that his will is law; and we, humble Kings and Queens, as in duty, do him reverence. I doubt not that his intentions towards our Chamberlain are as mild and amiable, as his general conduct towards our self.”

“The truth is, your Majesty,” said De Blenau, “the Cardinal has sent for me, and (however Monsieur de Chavigni’s politeness may colour it) in a way that compels my attendance.”

“I thought so,” exclaimed the Queen, dropping the tone of irony which she had assumed towards Chavigni, and looking with mingled grief and kindness upon the young Cavalier, whose destruction she deemed inevitable from the moment that Richelieu had fixed the serpent eyes of his policy upon him—“I thought so. Alas, my poor De Blenau! all that attach themselves to me seem devoted to persecution.”

“Not so, your Majesty,” said Chavigni, with some degree of feeling; “I can assure you, Monsieur de Blenau goes at perfect liberty. He is under no arrest; and, unless he stays by his own wish, will return to your Majesty’s court to-morrow night. The Cardinal is far from wishing to give unnecessary pain.”

“Talk not to me, Sir Counsellor,” replied the Queen, angrily: “Do I not know him? I, who of all the world have best cause to estimate his baseness? Have I not under his own hand, the proof of his criminal ambition? but no more of that—“ And breaking off into Spanish, as was frequently her custom when angry, she continued, “No sÈ si es la misma vanidad, la sobervia, Ó la arrogancia. Que todo esto, segun creo es el Cardenal.”

“It is useless, Madam,” said De Blenau, as soon as the Queen paused in her angry vituperation of the Minister, “to distress you farther with this conversation. I know not what the Cardinal wants, but he may rest assured that De Blenau’s heart is firm, and that no human means shall induce him to swerve from his duty; and thus I humbly take my leave.”

“Go then, De Blenau,” said the Queen: “Go, and whether we ever meet again or not, your faithful services and zealous friendship shall ever have my warmest gratitude; and Anne of Austria has no other reward to bestow.” Thus saying, she held out her hand to him. De Blenau in silence bent his head respectfully over it, and turned away. Chavigni bowed low, and followed the Count, to whose hotel they proceeded, in order to prepare for their departure.

In the orders which De Blenau gave on their arrival, he merely commanded the attendance of his Page.

“Pardon me, Monsieur de Blenau, if I observe upon your arrangements,” said Chavigni, when he heard this order. “But let me remind you, once more, that you are not going to a prison, and that it might be better if your general train attended you, as a gentleman of high station about to visit the Prime Minister of his Sovereign. They will find plenty of accommodation in the Hotel de Bouthiliers.”

“Be it so, then,” replied De Blenau, scarcely able to assume even the appearance of civility towards his companion. “Henry de La Mothe,” he proceeded, “order a dozen of my best men to attend me, bearing my full colours in their sword-knots and scarfs. Trick out my horses gaily, as if I were going to a wedding, for Claude de Blenau is about to visit the Cardinal; and remember,” he continued, his anger at the forced journey he was taking overcoming his prudence, “that there be saddled for my own use the good black barb that carried me so stoutly when I was attacked by assassins in the wood of Mantes;” and as he spoke, his eye glanced towards the Statesman, who sitting in the window seat, had taken up the Poems of Rotrou, and apparently inattentive to all that was passing, read on with as careless and easy an air, as if no more important interest occupied his thoughts, and no contending passions struggled in his breast.