“MARTEVILLE, you have served me essentially,” said the Count de Chavigni as soon as he had left Pauline in what was called the ladies’ hall of the Hotel de Bouthilliers, addressing the tall Norman, whom the reader has already recognised beyond a doubt. “You know I never suffer any good service to go without its reward; therefore I will now pay you yours, more especially as I have fresh demands to make upon your zeal. Let us see how our accounts stand;” and approaching a small table, which served both for the purposes of a writing-desk and also to support a strong ebony cabinet clasped with silver, he drew forth a bunch of keys and opened a drawer plated with iron, which contained a quantity of gold and silver coin. Chavigni then seated himself at the table, and the Norman standing on his right hand, they began regularly to balance accounts, the items of the Norman’s charge being various services of rather a curious nature.

“For stopping the Archduke’s courier,” said Chavigni, “and taking from him his despatches—fifty crowns is enough for that.”

“I demand no more,” said Marteville; “any common thief could have done it.”

“But, by the way, I hope you did not hurt him, for he came with a safe conduct.”

“Hurt him! no,” replied the Norman: “we are the best friends in the world. When I met him on the road, I told him civilly that I must have his despatches; and that I would either cut his throat or drink a bottle with him, whichever he liked: so he chose the latter, and when we parted, he promised to give me notice the next time he came on the same errand.”

“The rascal!” said Chavigni, “that is the way we are served. But now we come to this business of the Count de Blenau—what do you expect for the whole concern?”

“Nay but, Monseigneur, you forget,” exclaimed the other; “there is one little item before that. Put down,—for being an Astrologer.”

“Why, I have given you fifty crowns on that account already,” rejoined the Statesman; “you are exorbitant, Seigneur Marteville.”

“That fifty crowns went for my expenses—all of it,” replied the other. “There was my long black robe all covered with gimcracks; there was my leathern belt, painted with all the signs under heaven; there was my white beard, and wig, which cost me ten good crowns at the shop of Jansen the Peruquier: besides the harness of my horse, which was made to suit, and my Astrologer’s bonnet, which kept all fast upon my head. Now, Monseigneur, you cannot give me less than fifty crowns, for being out two nights, and running the risk of being burnt alive.”

“I think not,” said Chavigni, “so let that pass. But to come to the other business.”

“Why, first and foremost,” replied the Norman, marking each article as he named it, by laying the index of his right hand upon one of the immense fingers of his left,—“For making love to Mademoiselle’s maid.”

“Nay, nay, nay!” cried Chavigni, “this is too much. That must be part of the dower I have promised with her, of which we will talk presently. But have you married her?”

“No,” answered the Norman, “not yet. We will see about that hereafter.”

Chavigni’s cheek reddened, and his brow knit into a heavy frown. “No evasions, Sir. I commanded you, when you took her away last night from Chantilly, to marry her directly, and you agreed to do so. Why is it not done?”

“If the truth must be told, Monseigneur, it is not done, because it goes against a Norman gentleman’s stomach to take up with any body’s cast-offs.”

“Do not be insolent, Sir,” cried the Statesman. “Did I not give you my honour that your suspicion was false? Know, Sir, that though Chavigni may sometimes condescend to converse with you, or may appear to trifle for a moment with a girl like this Louise, it is merely to gain some greater object that he does so; and that unless it be for some State purpose, he never honours such beings with his thoughts.”

“Well, well, Monseigneur,” replied the other, seeing the fire that flashed in his Lord’s eye, “I will marry her: Foy de Normand! Don’t be angry; I will marry her.”

“Foy de Normand! will not do,” said Chavigni. “It must be this very night.”

“Eh bien! Eh bien! Soit,” cried the Norman, and then muttered to himself with a grin, “I’ve four wives now living; a fifth won’t make much difference.”

“What murmur you, Sir?” demanded the Statesman. “Mark me! in one hour from hence you will find a priest and two witnesses in the Cardinal’s chapel! When you are married, the priest will give you a certificate of the ceremony, carry it to my intendant, and upon the sight of it he will pay you the sum we agree upon. Now, proceed with your demands.”

“Well then, Monseigneur,” continued Marteville, “what is the information concerning Mademoiselle’s coming to Paris worth?”

“It is worth a good deal,” replied Chavigni, “and I will always pay more for knowledge of that kind than any acts of brute force. Set that down for a hundred crowns, and fifty more for catching the young lady, and bringing her here; making altogether two hundred and fifty.”

“Yes, Sir, yes; but the dot—the dowry you mentioned,” cried the Norman. “You have forgot that.”

“No, I have not,” replied Chavigni. “In favour of Louise, I will make the sum up one thousand crowns, which you will receive the moment you have married her.”

“Oh! I’ll marry her directly, if that be the case,” cried the Norman. “Morbleu! that makes all the difference.”

“But treat her kindly,” said Chavigni. “With the stipend of a thousand crowns, which I allow you yearly, and what you can gain by particular services, you may live very well; and perhaps I may add some little gratification, if you please me in your conduct towards your wife.”

“Oh! I’ll be the tenderest husband living,” cried the Norman, “since my gratification depends upon her’s. But I’ll run and fetch her to be married directly, if you will send the Priest, Monseigneur.”

“Nay, stop a moment,” said the Statesman. “You forget that I told you I had other journeys for you to take, and other services for you to perform.”

“No, Sir,” answered the Norman, “all is prepared to set out this very night, if you will tell me my errand.”

Chavigni paused for a moment, and remained in deep thought, gnawing his lip as if embarrassed by doubts as to the best manner of proceeding. “Mark me, Marteville,” said he at length: “there are two or three sorts of scoundrels in the world, amongst whom I do not look upon you as the least.” The Norman bowed with the utmost composure, very well aware of the place he held in Chavigni’s opinion. “There are, however, some good points about you,” continued the Statesman; at which Marteville bowed again. “You would rob, kill, and plunder, I believe, without remorse, any one you hated or did not care about; but I do not think you would forget a kindness or betray a trust.”

“Never!” said the Norman: “red-hot pincers will not tear from me what is intrusted to my honour.”

“So be it, then, in the present instance,” said Chavigni; “for I am obliged to give you the knowledge of some things, and to enter into explanations with you, which I do not often do with any one. You must know, then, I have information that on the same day that Monsieur de Cinq Mars set out from Chantilly with Monsieur de Thou, the Duke of Orleans, with Montressor and St. Ibal, took their departure from Moulins, and the Count de Fontrailles from Paris. They all journeyed towards the same point in Champagne. I can trace Fontrailles to Troyes, the Duke and his companions to Villeneuve, and Cinq Mars and De Thou to Nogent, but no farther. All this might be accidental, but there are circumstances that create suspicion in my mind. Cinq Mars, when he set forth, gave out that he went to his estate near Troyes, in which I find he never set his foot; and when he returned, his conference with Louis was somewhat long. It might have been of hawks and hounds, it is true; but after it, the King’s manner both to the Cardinal and myself was cold and haughty, and he suddenly took this resolution of coming to Paris himself to examine into the case of the young Count de Blenau:—in short, I suspect that some plot is on foot. What I require of you then is, to hasten down to Champagne; try to trace each of these persons, and discover if they had a conference, and where; find out the business that brought each of them so far, examine their track as you would the slot of a deer, and give me whatever information you collect; employ every means to gain a thorough knowledge of all their proceedings—force, should it be required—but let that be the last thing used. Here is this signet, upon the sight of which all the agents of Government in the different towns and villages will communicate with you.” And he drew from his finger a small seal ring, which the Norman consigned to his pocket, his hands being somewhat too large to admit of his wearing it in the usual manner.

“The Duke of Orleans and his pack I know well,” answered Marteville, “and also Cinq Mars and De Thou; but this Count de Fontrailles—what like is he, Monseigneur?”

“He is a little ugly mean-looking man,” replied Chavigni; “he frequently dresses himself in grey, and looks like a sorcerer. Make him your first object; for if ever there was a devil of cunning upon earth, it is Fontrailles, and he is at the bottom of the plot if there be one.”

“You traced him to Troyes, you say, Monseigneur? Had he any pretence of business there?”

“None,” answered Chavigni; “my account says that he had no attendants with him, lodged at the Auberge du Grand Soleil, and was poorly dressed.”

“I will trace him if he were the Devil himself,” said the Norman; “and before I see you again, Monseigneur, I shall be able to account for each of these gentry.”

“If you do,” said Chavigni, “a thousand crowns is your reward; and if you discover any plot or treasonable enterprise, so that by your means they may be foiled and brought to justice, the thousand shall grow into ten thousand, and you shall have a place that will give you a life of luxury.”

The Norman’s eyes sparkled at the anticipation, and his imagination pourtrayed himself and his five wives living together in celestial harmony, drinking the best vintages of Burgundy and Epernay, eating of the fat of the land, and singing like mad. These blissful ideas were first interrupted by the sound of horses’ feet in the court. “Hark!” cried Chavigni, “they are putting the horses to the carriage; go down, and see that all be prepared for the young lady’s journey.”

“Instantly,” answered the Norman, “and after that I will carry Louise to the Priest, finger your Lordship’s cash, and we will set off for Troyes.”

“Do you intend to take her with you?” demanded Chavigni, in some surprise.

“Nay, my Lord, you would not wish me to leave my bride on our wedding night, surely,” replied the Norman, in a mock sentimental tone. “But the truth is, I think she may be useful. Woman’s wit will often find a way where man’s wisdom looks in vain; and as I have now, thanks to your bounty, two good horses, I shall e’en set Louise upon one of them, and with the bridle rein over my arm lead her to Brie, where, with your good leave, we will sleep, and thence on upon our journey. Travelling with a woman, no one will suspect my real object, and I shall come sooner at my purpose.”

“Well, so be it then,” answered the Statesman. “You are now, as you wished to be, intrusted with an affair of more importance than stopping a courier, or carrying off a weak girl; and as the reward is greater, so would be the punishment in case you were to betray your trust. I rely on your honour; but let me hint at the same time, that there is such a thing as the rack, which has more than once been applied to persons who reveal State secrets. Keep good account of your expenses, and such as are truly incurred for the Government, the Government wall pay.”

Thus ended the conference between Chavigni and the Norman, neither of whom we shall follow much farther in this volume. Of Chavigni it is only necessary to say, that immediately after the departure of Pauline he proceeded to the Louvre to wait the arrival of Louis the Thirteenth, who soon after entered Paris, accompanied by the Queen, Cinq Mars, and all the usual attendants of the court, and followed by the Cardinal and those members of the Council who had not previously arrived along with Chavigni.

In regard to the Norman, inspired by the agreeable prospect of a thousand crowns, he was not long in visiting the Chapel of the Palais Cardinal, where the Priest speedily united him to a black-eyed damsel that he brought in his hand. Who this was, it does not suit me to discover to the reader. If he have found it out already, I cannot help it; but if he have not, I vow and protest that in the whole course of this true history I will afford him no farther explanation; no, not even in the last sentence of the last page of the last volume.

Immediately after their marriage the Norman put his bride upon horseback and proceeded to Brie, each carrying behind them a valise, containing a variety of articles which would doubtless greatly edify the reader to learn, but which unfortunately cannot now be detailed at full length, the schedule having been lost some years after by one of their collateral descendants in the great fire of London, where it had found its way in consequence of the revocation of the edict of Nantes. All that can be affirmed with certainty is, that in the valise of the Norman were three shirts and a half with falling collars, according to the fashion of that day; a pourpoint or doublet of blue velvet, (which was his best,) and a cloak to match; also (of the same stuff) a haut-de-chausses, which was a machine then used for the same purpose as a pair of breeches now-a-days; and over and above all the rest was his Astrologer’s robe and grey beard, folded round a supernumerary brace of pistols, and a small stiletto. Into the Lady’s wardrobe we shall not inquire: suffice it to say, that it accompanied its mistress safe from Brie to Troyes, where, putting up at the Grand Soleil, the Norman began his perquisitions concerning Fontrailles.

Now having left all my friends and acquaintances at sixes and sevens, I shall close this volume; and if the reader be interested in their fate, he may go on to the next, in which I mean utterly to annihilate them all, leaving nothing behind but the sole of the Count de Blenau’s shoe, with FINIS at the bottom of the page.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

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