The march was over, the pursuers left behind, and the Count of Morseiul had pitched his tents in a strong position, with some shepherds' huts and one or two cottages and farm-houses in the midst of his camp. A nunnery of no great extent, situated upon a little eminence, was within the limits of his position, and a small chapel belonging thereunto, nearly at the bottom of the hill, and commanding the passage of a stream and morass, was occupied by a strong body of his followers, under Herval and Virlay, while the Marquis du Bar, who had been slightly wounded in the course of that day's strife, insisted upon fixing his quarters on the most exposed side of the camp, where any attack was likely to take place.

No attempt had been made to take possession of the nunnery, as it was only occupied by women, and as the Count was aware that in case of need, he could obtain entrance in a moment. At the same time he could fully depend not only upon the courage and firmness, but upon the vigilance of Du Bar, and he therefore looked upon his small force as completely in security. Provisions, too, had been found in abundance, and the people of the neighbouring country were somewhat better disposed towards the Huguenot cause, than those of the district which they had just left.

His men, however, had suffered tremendously, even in the brief struggle which had taken place with the overpowering force of the Catholics. Of his own troop, not more than thirty men were found capable of action at the end of that day, and, at least, one third of the whole Huguenot force was unfit for service. This was a lamentable prospect, as the insurgents had no points of strength to fall back upon, and had not the leaders been animated by the consciousness of having performed great actions in that day's contest and having held at bay the royal army with a force six times inferior in number, the proposal of dispersing and carrying on the warfare by desultory efforts in the woods, which was suggested in one of their little councils, would certainly have been adopted.

In the mean time, however, the spirit of the men was kept up, and their resolution fortified, by the prayers and exhortations of the various ministers who accompanied the camp; and on going round to the different quarters just after nightfall, the Count found some bodies of the Protestants still engaged in their religious exercises, some just concluded, but all less depressed at heart than he was himself.

When he had done his round, he paused before the door of one of the farm-houses--the best and most comfortable--and dismissing the men who had followed, he turned to enter. There was a slight degree of hesitation, however, seemed to come over him as he did so, and he remained for some moments with his hand upon the latch. He at length raised it, and entered the kitchen of the farm-house, where the family of the proprietor were assembled round the ample hearth, on which was a full supply of blazing wood. At that very moment, speaking to the mistress of the house, was ClÉmence's attendant, Maria; but ClÉmence herself was not present, and on inquiring for her, the Count was told that she was in an upper chamber, to which the woman immediately led him.

Albert of Morseiul followed her step by step, and when the door opened, he saw ClÉmence sitting at the table, with her head resting on her hand, and her eyes turned towards the fire; but with such a look of deep sadness and painful thought, as made his heart ache to see and to know that he could not change it.

"Here is the Count de Morseiul," said the maid; and instantly ClÉmence started up, and turned towards the door, while the Count entered, and the maid retired. The face of ClÉmence de Marly assumed two or three different expressions in a moment. There was joy to see him, there was doubt, there was apprehension; but she advanced towards him at once, and the look of love was not to be doubted. He took the hands that she held out to him, he kissed them tenderly and often: but still there was deep sadness on his brow, as there was in his heart, and his first words were, "Oh, ClÉmence, at what a moment have you come to me at last!"

"Albert," she said in reply, "I have much to say to you. Since I have been here, and seen what I have seen, I have found many excuses for your conduct; and I have learned to think that what I wrote briefly I may have written harshly and unkindly, and to blame myself as much, nay more than you: believing, though I had no time to explain why I could not come at the moment as I could have wished, yet, that I should still have added, such words as might show you that I was yours unchanged, however much I might judge that you had acted rashly, unadvisedly, and unlike yourself. I have determined to tell you all this at once, Albert, and, acknowledging that I blame myself, to shelter myself from all reproaches on your part in your kindness and generosity."

"Thanks, thanks, dearest ClÉmence," replied the Count, pressing her to his heart; "this is, indeed, balm after such a day as this: but I think, my ClÉmence, when you hear all, you will yourself exculpate me from blame,--though I fear that the charge of ingratitude which others may bring against me, will never be done away in the less generous minds of the world in general, without a terrible sacrifice. You I know, ClÉmence, will believe every word I tell you."

"Oh, every word!" she exclaimed; "to doubt you, Albert, were to doubt truth itself."

"Well, then, believe, ClÉmence," he said, "when I tell you, that till this morning,--till this very morning,--I had not the slightest idea whatsoever that my liberation was attributable to the King. Not only I, but all my domestics, every attendant that I have, my man Riquet himself, all believed that it was through an artifice of his that I had been set at liberty. Had I thought otherwise, upon my word, my first act would have been to fly to Versailles, to express my thanks, whatever my after conduct might have been."

He then explained to her every thing that had taken place, and the mistake under which he had himself laboured throughout.

"What confirmed me in the belief that the whole of Riquet's story was perfectly correct," he said, "was the fact that Besmaux, when he set me at liberty, observed that the order under which he did it, was not quite in the usual form, together with some remarks that he made upon there being no carriage sent for me with the order."

"Alas! alas!" cried ClÉmence, wringing her hands, "it was my weakness; it was my foolish fears and anxiety, that produced all this mischief. Listen to my tale now, Albert, and forgive me, forgive me for what I have done."

She then related to her lover almost all that had taken place between the King, herself, and Madame de Maintenon. We say almost, because she did not relate the whole; but though Albert of Morseiul saw it, he divined from what she did tell, that there were matters which she was bound not to divulge. Perhaps he divined the important truth itself, and at all events he did not love her a bit the less for a concealment which had no want of confidence in it.

"On the following morning," she said, "at the hour that the King had appointed, I did not fail to be in attendance. I found him writing; but it was soon over, and he handed me the paper, saying, 'There, lady, we have judged the cause that you have at heart as favourably as you judged ours last night. Tell him,' he added, 'when you see him, that--though we cannot alter the strict laws, which we have found it necessary to make, for his sake--we will grant him all that may reasonably make him happy, either in our own land, or in another!'"

"And I have borne arms against him," cried the Count, clasping his arms together.

"Yet hear me out, Albert," continued ClÉmence, "for the fault is mine. The order was for your immediate liberation. I took it eagerly, thanked the King, and retired, well knowing that it ought to be countersigned by Louvois, and sent through his office. But during the evening before, on the occasion of something that was said, he gave me such a fiend-like look of revenge, that I knew he would seek your destruction, if not mine. I was well aware, too, that in many an instance he has interrupted the King's clemency, or his bounty; and weakly, most weakly, I sent the order without his signature--ay, and without a moment's delay, by a servant belonging to the Duc de RouvrÉ. Thus, thus it was, that I, in my eagerness for your safety, have plunged you into new dangers,--dangers from which, alas! I fear that there is scarcely a possible means of escape."

The Count looked down upon the ground for a moment, and he then replied, "I will write to the King myself, ClÉmence. It is very possible that he will not even read the letter of a rebel with arms in his hand. But still it will be a satisfaction to me to do so. I must first get to the sea side, however, in order that I may place poor Riquet in security, for were the tale told and he afterwards discovered, I fear that no tortures would be considered too horrible to punish the daring act that he committed."

"I, too, will write," replied ClÉmence. "I will write and tell the whole to one, who, though she will refuse at first, I know, to do any thing in our behalf, yet will not fail, calmly and quietly, to labour in our favour, thinking that she owes something to me. I will tell her the whole; I will tell her distinctly, Albert; and if you will procure it for me I will send her even the forged order that you mention, with the attestation of the man who brought it back from Paris."

Albert of Morseiul pressed her to his heart, and she added, "At all events, Albert, we shall be able to fly. We are now not far from the sea; ships can easily be procured, and we may be happy in another land."

Albert of Morseiul kissed her cheek for his only reply: but his heart was sad, and he could scarcely command even a smile to countenance the false hope she had expressed. His own determinations were taken, his own resolutions formed; but he thought it better and more kind not to make them known to ClÉmence de Marly till the moment arrived for putting them in execution.

While they were yet speaking, the attendant again came into the room to inform the Count that three persons waited below to see him, and on going down he found Riquet, with one of the Protestants attached to the Marquis du Bar, and a gentleman, who appeared to be an inferior officer in the royal service. The two latter instantly stepped forward when he appeared.

"Monsieur du Bar," said the Protestant soldier, "has sent you this gentleman, bearing a flag of truce, from the Chevalier d'Evran. He carries a letter to yourself, and a letter to the lady from Thouars."

The Count bowed to the stranger, and begged to see the letter to himself. It was simply addressed to the Count de Morseiul, and he opened it with some emotion, for it was strange to see the hand of Louis d'Evran, writing to him as from one adversary to another. The style and tone of the letter, however, though it was very short, were precisely as if nothing had occurred to interrupt their intimacy, or array them hostilely against each other. It ran--

"Dear Albert,

"I write to you simply to know whether I am to regard the communication made to me, on your part, by an English gentleman, called Sir Thomas Cecil, as formal and definitive, as I must be made aware of that fact before I can transmit it to the court. I trust and hope that good results may proceed from it: but you must not forget that it is an awful risk. For my part I will do my best to quiet the province with as little harshness as possible, and with that object I accepted, or rather may say, solicited this command. In every respect, however, my duty must be done to the King, and shall be so done to the utmost. You never in your life fought better than you did this morning. Your defence of the heights was quite a Turenne affair; but you made a mistake in your morning movement to the left, which showed me your flank. Perhaps, however, you had some reason for it, for I think there was a fresh corps came up towards the close of the affair. Look to yourself, dear Albert, for be you sure that I shall give you no breathing time; and so God speed you!

"Louis d'Evran.

"Post Scriptum. I find myself called upon by my duty, to require you formally to send back la belle ClÉmence to her good friend de RouvrÉ, and to address a letter to her upon the subject of her return."

The Count had read this epistle with a thoughtful and a somewhat frowning brow. It was quite characteristic of the Chevalier d'Evran, but yet there was something in it that did not please him. He turned, however, to the officer courteously, saying,--

"The Chevalier d'Evran notifies to me, that he has sent a letter to Mademoiselle de Marly, and seems to leave it to me to deliver it. I would rather, however, that you did so yourself, if that lady will permit me to introduce you to her, when you can bear her answer from her own mouth. Riquet," he said, "go up and inquire, whether Mademoiselle de Marly will grant this gentleman a few minutes' audience."

A short pause ensued: for ClÉmence hesitated for some time. At length, however, Riquet returned with an answer in the affirmative, and the Count led the officer to her presence.

"I am commanded, Madame," said the stranger, "by Monsieur le Chevalier d'Evran, lieutenant-general of the province, to deliver you this letter, and to say, that, at any time to-morrow which you will name, he will send a proper carriage and attendants, to convey you back to the town of Thouars, from which he understands that you were forcibly carried away, some night ago."

ClÉmence merely bowed her head, and held out her hand for the letter, which she opened and read. A faint smile came over her countenance as she proceeded, and when she had done, she handed the epistle to her lover, asking, "What shall I do or say?"

"Nay, I can give you no advice," replied the Count. "In this matter, ClÉmence, you must act by your own judgment: advice from me, situated as you are now, would bear somewhat the character of dictation. Do you wish me to read the letter?"

"Certainly," she replied. "My mind will be easily made up as to the answer."

The Count then proceeded to read the letter, which was merely one of form; and began--

"Mademoiselle,

"I am urged by Monsieur le Duc de RouvrÉ, and feel it a part of my duty, to apply to you immediately to return to the care and protection of that gentleman and the Duchess, under whose charge and guardianship you have been placed by the King. Although we are fully informed that you were carried away from the town of Thouars without your own consent and approbation, we feel sure, from the high character and reputation of the Count de Morseiul, though now unfortunately in open rebellion, that he will be most anxious you should return, and will do all that he can to facilitate the arrangements for that purpose. Such being the case, let me exhort you, Mademoiselle, to make all haste to quit the camp of a body of men in open insurrection, and to place yourself under the protection of legitimate authority.

"I have the honour to be,

"Mademoiselle,

"Your devoted servant,

"Louis d'Evran."

The Count returned the letter with no other comment than, "It is strange;" and ClÉmence paused for a moment, gazing upon the back of the letter, but evidently occupied by deep thoughts.

She then turned to the officer, who had remained standing, and said, "I will not detain you, Sir, to write, as my answer must be merely what the Chevalier d'Evran expects. You will inform him--notwithstanding that it may seem bold of me to say so--that although I was certainly not brought here with my consent, I, nevertheless, am here by my consent; and as I have long been disposed to return to that faith in which I was originally instructed, and have for some time embraced it upon sincere conviction, I cannot consent to place myself in a situation where the exercise of the reformed religion will be denied to me; but must, on the contrary, remain with those who will protect and support me in my adherence to what I consider the only pure and true faith."

"In short, Madam," replied the officer, "I am to tell the Chevalier that you are a Huguenot?"

"Exactly, Sir," replied ClÉmence; "and that I have been so for some time."

The officer showed an inclination to pause, and to add something to what had been said; but the Count stopped him.

"You are, Sir," he said, "I think but the bearer of a letter; nothing in that has been shown us giving you at all the title of an envoy. You have, therefore, but to bear back the reply which this lady has given."

"And your own, Sir," said the officer, "which I have not received."

"It is as simple as her own, Sir," replied the Count. "Assure the Chevalier d'Evran of my best regard; tell him he may trust entirely and fully to the proposal made to him on my part, to which he alludes, as far at least as I myself am concerned. In respect, however, to what will satisfy the other leaders, who are in arms for the maintenance of their just liberties, and for the attainment of immunity in worshipping God according to their own consciences, he must deal with themselves. In that I cannot, and do not interfere, and have only to support them with my sword and counsels till such time as they have obtained their rights, or are satisfied with any arrangement proposed."

"I shall not fail," replied the officer, "to convey these messages distinctly;" and thus saying, he bowed, and left the room, followed by the Count of Morseiul, who, giving directions that his eyes should be properly bandaged, placed him in the hands of the Protestant soldier who had accompanied him, and of the guard which was waiting without. He then made a sign to Riquet to follow him up stairs, and bade his valet repeat to ClÉmence de Marly all that had occurred respecting his liberation from the Bastille.

"And now, Riquet," he said, when the man had given a much more straight-forward and decided statement than he usually made, "it is my intention, as soon as possible, to lay the whole of these facts before the King, feeling it due to my own honour to show him that I have not been so ungrateful as he thinks. As the act, however, which you have committed might prove very dangerous to you, if you should fall into the hands of the Catholic party, I shall take care, before I give this account, that you have an opportunity of seeking refuge in another land. I know that all countries are to you alike: and I will ensure that you shall be provided with full means of obtaining for yourself comfort and repose."

"Sir," said the man, with some feeling, "all countries, as you say, are to me alike. But such is not the case with regard to all masters. Please God, I will never serve another but yourself. If you quit the country, I will quit it with you: if you remain, I will remain. I am already--am I not?--in arms against the crown. I am just as much a rebel riding after you from place to place, and every now and then firing a musket when I think nobody sees me, as if I were at the head of the whole business, and people called it the rebellion of Riquet. You may therefore lay the whole statement before the King if you please, and I will myself write down the plain facts, in fewer words than a paper drawn up by a notary's clerk without a fee. I have no fear, Sir, of gathering together upon my shoulders a few more stray crimes and misdemeanours. That does not lie in the way of my cowardice. My neck is thin and long, and whether it be the axe or the cord that has to do with it, it will neither give the cord nor the edge much trouble; while I have always one consolation, which is, that if the experiment of hanging should prove disagreeable, it cannot be tried upon me twice. I will go and get the paper directly, Sir, which the man, Peter, brought back again. I will put down all his sayings and doings, and all my own; and the King, who is said to have a high taste in all branches of skill, ought to declare when he sees the order for your liberation which I manufactured, that there is not a piece of mosaic like it in all Versailles, and grant me a high reward for such a specimen of dexterity in my art."

"I fear, you deceive yourself, Riquet," replied the Count; but the man shook his head. "No, Sir, I do not," he said, "I assure you. All things considered and well weighed, I do not think that I run a bit more risk by this matter being told to the King, than if it never reached his ears."

Thus saying he left the room, and Albert of Morseiul turned to other and sweeter thoughts. "Dear, dear ClÉmence," he said, gazing tenderly upon her, "you have now, indeed, chosen your part as I could expect ClÉmence to do, and by the words that you have this day spoken, you have swept away every feeling in my bosom that could give me a moment's pain."

"Hush, Albert, hush," said ClÉmence. "I know the kind of pain to which you allude. But you should never have entertained it. Love, Albert,--the love of a heart such as yours, ought never to doubt."

"But, dear ClÉmence," replied the Count, "is it possible for love to be satisfied while there is any thing touching its affection concealed?"

ClÉmence smiled, but shook her head; and as she was about to reply, a single musket shot was heard disturbing the tranquillity which had fallen over the camp. The Count listened, and his ear caught the distant sounds of "Alerte! Alerte!" followed almost immediately afterwards by a more general discharge of musketry. ClÉmence had turned very pale.

"Fear not, dear ClÉmence," he said, "this is merely a night attack upon some of our quarters which will soon be repelled, for I have taken sufficient precautions. I will see what it is, and return immediately."

Thus saying he left her, and ClÉmence, with a heart full of strong and mingled emotions, leaned her head upon the little table and wept.