It was with great difficulty that I made my way back to the army, for by this time CondÉ had effected his junction with the Duke of Loraine, and Turenne had encamped between Limei and the Yeres river, resting on the Seine on one side and on a thick wood on the other. The enemy's force, amounting to three times his own, straitened the marshal's camp in every direction; and, shut in the angle formed by the confluence of the Seine and the Yeres, there seemed no possibility of escape for Turenne and his army. I know not to the present day if this position was or was not taken up through an oversight on the part of Turenne; and I am rather inclined to think it was, as at the time there were not provisions in the camp for four days, and the horses were almost entirely without forage; but if it was a fault, it was one of those glorious ones which sometimes to a man of genius prove more advantageous than the best laid plan. The result is well known. Turenne planted himself there between the enemy and Paris, threw bridges across the Seine, opened a communication with the neighbouring country, obtained provisions and forage notwithstanding all the efforts of his adversaries to prevent him, and kept a force of treble the number of his own army at bay during six weeks.

It was about the fourth day after the camp was formed that I returned from the Court; but as the whole open country was at that time in the hands of the enemy, I had very nearly been taken by a strong party on the return from foraging. Strange to say, also, I had well nigh again fallen into the hands of Gaspard de Belleville, who commanded the escort, having been at one time within two hundred yards of him. Nothing but my horse's speed saved me; for being close pursued by some cravates attached to the foragers, I was obliged to swim the river, which, however, was done with ease, and I found myself in security on the other bank.

Monsieur de Villardin welcomed me with every sign of joy, and immediately asked what Monsieur le Tellier had done for me. He smiled when I told him, saying that he had hoped the Court would have shown me some more substantial mark of favour.

"However," he added, "the King no doubt gave you the barony, which costs nothing but parchment and wax, because he had nothing else to give. As to the pension of three thousand crowns, as I know there has not been such a sum in the royal treasury for many months, you must not calculate upon that."

On examining our camp, I found that Monsieur de Villardin, who kept the open field, though some of the officers had been fortunate enough to obtain quarters in the little hamlets, had caused his tent to be divided into four small apartments, of which he assigned me one; and as our time passed very dully without any event of importance to occupy our attention, I had no excuse even to myself for delaying longer the communication which I had promised Suzette to make. The Duke behaved to me not only as a father, but as a kind and affectionate one; and whenever we were not engaged in some military duty, we were either sitting together in the division of the tent which he called his saloon, or walking along the banks of the rivers, mingling various subjects of conversation with observations upon the enemy's movements, of which we caught a sight from time to time. I thus had plenty of opportunities for telling my tale, had I been able to make up my mind to do so; but the more my affection for Monsieur de Villardin increased, the more proofs, of tenderness and regard he gave me, the less willing I became to wring his heart by all the long details of so painful a theme.

Thus again I let day after day slip by, till one morning, as we were walking slowly along towards ChÂteau Ablon, which Turenne had taken some time before by a coup de main, the Duke afforded me himself an opportunity of introducing the subject, which I felt must not be longer neglected, if I ever intended to perform my task.

"Do you know, De Juvigny," he said, addressing me by the name which he always now gave me, "I have taken a sort of thirst lately to see my little Laura. She will be a good deal changed by this time since I last saw her. Did you not think," he added, in a sort of under tone, "did you not think that she was growing very like her mother?"

"I think she was, my lord," I replied; "and God grant that she may have both her mother's virtues and her mother's beauty!"

"Without her sorrows," said Monsieur de Villardin, in the same low tone, raising his eyes towards the sky, and adding, what from the moving of his lips I thought a prayer. "Without her sorrows," he again repeated, louder, "and, oh! without any of her father's faults."

"Forgive me, my lord," I said, feeling that now was the moment, if ever, "forgive me if I do a bold thing, and attempt to offer you consolation upon your private sorrows."

He shook his head with a bitter and melancholy smile, replying, "Consolation, my dear boy, is in vain. I have sought it in every source--religion--philosophy--time--activity--danger; and I have never found it. It is the alchemist's elixir of life, a specious name, which can only be believed by those who have never tried it."

"Nevertheless, my lord," I persevered in saying, "I think you may find consolation in some facts which I have to tell you; especially if, as your words just now implied, a part of your grief proceeds from the memory of some faults which you imagine to have existed in your conduct towards your deceased lady."

"All! all!" said the Duke; "all proceeds from those fatal memories; and I am afraid, De Juvigny, that you can in no degree assuage the burning of a heart, whose thoughts you cannot see."

"Still I must entreat you to listen to me," I rejoined; "for a man can scarcely be considered guilty, for having committed actions which he was urged on to perform by the basest conspiracy to deceive him and to mislead his better judgment; and when such evidence was adduced to make him think the innocent guilty, as might well create suspicion against an angel of heaven."

My words at once showed him that I had something more to communicate than mere ordinary topics of ineffectual consolation, which fall upon the dull ear, but never reach the heart; and he soon became more eager to hear than I was to tell. Turning round quickly, he paused, and gazed at me as if he would have searched my very soul, to gather at once what I was about to relate; and then exclaimed, "Speak! speak! speak, young man!" in a tone and with a manner that almost made me fear the effect which Suzette's confession might have upon his reason.

I pointed, however, to the sentinels close by, who were gazing with some sort of wonder at his vehemence; and recovering command over himself, he walked on with me, with his eyes bent upon the ground, while I proceeded in a low and calm voice, in order that the tidings I had to give might be fully understood, without irritating his imagination by all the adjuncts of emphasis and gesture.

"You remember, my lord," I said, "that I told you, when we were together in Paris, on the day of the massacre at the HÔtel de Ville, that I had been saved and well treated by Suzette, who is now the wife of Gaspard de Belleville. I told you, too, that he behaves to her in the most brutal manner; but I have not found an opportunity of telling you, till this moment, that she related to me the whole scheme by which she and her base husband contrived to deceive you and render you miserable. From a feeling, partly of remorse, partly, I believe, of hatred to her present tyrant, and partly in consequence of a vow which she made to her confessor, she charged me to detail the whole to you, word for word, and she gave me this billet, in order to make you yield full credit to the whole I have to tell. I have preserved that billet through everything," I added, putting it into his hands, "though I do not think you would have doubted my word even had I not possessed it."

Monsieur de Villardin took it eagerly out of my hand, and read it over with a straining eye; but instantly turning to me, he exclaimed, "It tells me nothing--speak on! speak on! I would believe you of course without that--speak on!"

He had become deadly pale, however; and I paused, apprehensive of more painful consequences if I proceeded, saying, "Had I not better wait, my lord, till you are more calm? The subject is too painful to you. Had I not better wait?"

"Perhaps you had," replied Monsieur de Villardin, who felt how much he was shaken; "perhaps you had. I will soon recover from this, my dear boy; and when I can lend my rational senses to the consideration of what you have to tell me, instead of my passions, which are now engaged, I will tell you--perhaps to-night. Now give me your arm:" and with a slow step he turned back to his tent, where, shutting himself up in the inner division, he remained for some time alone.

At night, however, after returning from some other occupation, I found him much more calm; for the constant struggles he had long been obliged to maintain against his own feelings had given him the power of quelling their most turbulent efforts, after a short space given to reflection.

"Now, De Juvigny," he said, almost as I entered the tent, "now I am capable of listening to your tidings, whatever they may be; so speak on--I can hear you like a rational being now."

As I saw that he was really prepared, I proceeded more boldly, and related to him, word for word, as far as my memory served me, the account which had been given to me by Suzette. This I was permitted to do uninterrupted, for, with his head leaning upon his arm, and his hand shading his eyes, he listened, without question or comment of any kind whatsoever, till I had finished all that I had to say. Even for some minutes afterwards he remained still buried in deep thought, though the words, "Fiends!--incarnate fiends!" which once or twice broke from his lips, showed that his mind was busy with the tale of deceit and villany which I had just related.

"You have, indeed," he said at length, "given me consolation; or, perhaps, as I had better call it, you have afforded to me the means of palliating, to my own mind, the errors that I have committed. I had but one palliation before--the consciousness," and he lowered his voice as he spoke, "the consciousness of having acted under mental aberration. It was consolatory to me to know that I had been a madman; and now," he continued, with a bitter smile, "it is still more consolatory to me to know that I was a fool--a gross and egregious fool! What must be the state of a man's heart when such convictions can be such a relief!"

"I think, my lord," I replied, willing to do all that I could to soften the sting, "I think that any one might have been deceived by such a base and deep-laid scheme as that by which you were betrayed."

"Nay, nay," he added, "I was a fool, a consummate fool, in everything, and in none less than in thinking that my feelings, and my designs, and my weaknesses, were all hidden within my own bosom, when they seem to have been as plain to yourself and to those two false and cruel wretches as they were to the eyes of Heaven. Do not strive to persuade me that I was not blind and foolish. It is, I tell you, it is a consolation to me to know that I was so. Deep, eternal, everlasting regret will still continue my portion throughout life. Every unkind word, every harsh look, every ungenerous and cruel action, with which I afflicted the heart of her who is now a saint in heaven, will rise up night after night, and day after day, before my memory, and render the sky that overhangs me and the world around dark and gloomy for ever. Each action, each look, each word, each smile of her who is now no more, will be remembered with sad and inconsolable regret; but, nevertheless, that I was myself deceived--that my own wild and mad suspicions were not all--that I was fooled and played upon, and made to act a part my better nature disavows--this, this, I acknowledge, presses part of the poison out of the wound, and softens the sting of remorse. I thank you for your tidings, De Juvigny," he added, laying his hand kindly upon my arm, "I thank you from my very heart. Your voice always brings me comfort, and your arm always renders me service."

He paused for a moment or two again, and then asked me one or two questions concerning Suzette, to which I replied as clearly, but as briefly, as I could, for I thought it better to change the painful subject for some other as fast as possible, and, having administered the medicine, to let time work out its effect in silence. He seemed, however, to take a pleasure himself in dwelling upon the theme, now that it had once been spoken of between us. "Her whole story," he added, alluding to Suzette, "is so minutely consistent with every circumstance which I remember, that I cannot doubt it in the least. To confess one weakness more, I acknowledge that it is no small comfort to my mind to find every circumstance that deceived me, susceptible of a clear and satisfactory explanation; to see every cloud of doubt wafted away from the remembrance of one who now will live for ever enshrined in my heart, not the less loved, not the less adored, that bitter sorrow for her fate, and deep contrition for my faults, embalm her memory, and wash her tomb with tears."

I was delighted to find that what I told produced such an effect; for, to say the truth, I had been like an unskilful physician, and knew not at the time that I administered it, whether the cup which I had presented to Monsieur de Villardin would prove a poison or an antidote. It had evidently become the latter, and I doubted not that every hour which passed would increase its power. I saw, too, that, in some degree, Suzette had shrewdly divined the true state of Monsieur de Villardin's feelings; and that, however much he might be convinced before that he had deeply wronged his wife, his mind would never have rested satisfied till all the mysterious circumstances, which at first aroused his suspicions, had been explained as clearly as they were at present. From the first effect of the tidings I had given, I was led to expect more beneficial results than they afterwards produced. Monsieur de Villardin certainly was calmer from that day forward; the sting of remorse was, as he had said, softened; a part of the load was off his head, but still the deep and bitter melancholy continued. I could see a slight difference--a shade less in the darkness of the gloom that oppressed him, but that was all. He was not so often found sitting alone, immersed in sad and frowning thought. I saw him more frequently with a book in his hand; and events of less importance than heretofore would rouse him into activity and exertion. Yet he was never what can be called cheerful; despondency remained the general character of his mind, and he still seemed to find that relief in moments of danger and excitement, which showed that calm thought was little less painful than heretofore.

Three weeks of almost perfect inactivity, however, succeeded, and, with the exception of an occasional unimportant skirmish with the enemy, we passed our time in idleness in the camp. In the meanwhile, events were in preparation, which were destined to change the aspect of political affairs. A schism had taken place between the Prince de CondÉ and the leaders of the Fronde: the Duke of Nemours had been killed by his brother-in-law, the Duke of Beaufort, in a duel; the Parisians were gradually becoming heartily sick of turbulence and faction, which they found only served--as turbulence and faction always do--to promote the views of a few intriguing individuals at the sacrifice of commerce, industry, and the public good; and the Court, negotiating with all parties, had by this time obtained such a preponderance, that it seemed likely to be received with open arms in Paris, if the army of Turenne could, by any means, be extricated from its present position, and brought nearer to the capital.

At length an express order arrived for Turenne to endeavour, on the very first favourable opportunity, to decamp and join the Court; and that great general--knowing that his movements were no longer watched by the keen eye of CondÉ, who had gone back in person to Paris, in the belief that the royal army could not escape--determined to attempt his retreat at once. On the morning of the fourth of October, orders were sent to the officer who commanded in the town of Corbeil, to raise some redoubts on the heights near that place, and bridges having been thrown across the river, we waited till night, and then began our march in silence. We hastened on as fast as possible till we got between the Seine and the forest of Senard, when, both our flanks being covered, we could advance in security. From this point we proceeded more slowly, still looking out, however, for our enemy, who never appeared; and, to tell the truth, we might have marched in any direction we liked, for we had arrived at Corbeil, and were safe in our new position long before the Duke of Loraine even perceived that we had quitted our former camp. A longer and more difficult march, however, was before us, for we had now to join the Court at Mantes, and to cross a great extent of country in presence of an infinitely superior force. Whether the Duke of Loraine was deceived in regard to our movements, or whether he did not choose to act in the absence of the Prince de CondÉ, I cannot tell; but certain it is that we were suffered to proceed without interruption, and arrived in the neighbourhood of Senlis without having to fire a shot.

The presence of the army and the safety of its troops were not the greatest advantages which the Court derived from this extraordinary retreat. The mismanagement of the Duke of Loraine, and the absence of the Prince de CondÉ from his army, at a moment when his presence was so much required, ruined entirely the already sinking reputation of the faction opposed to the Court. The Parisians, who had long begun to hate it, now added contempt to detestation; and we heard at Mantes that CondÉ himself had been actually hooted in the streets of the capital, before he quitted it to rejoin his troops. Tremendous autumnal rains had now succeeded: both provisions and forage had by this time been exhausted in the neighbourhood of the Prince's camp; and, after one of the most inglorious campaigns that he ever made, CondÉ found himself obliged to retreat upon Laon, passing within a few miles of our forces at Senlis.

All was now joy and satisfaction for the moment; but, as neither officers nor men had received any pay for a considerable time, it became probable that, should the expectations which they entertained of receiving their arrears from the Court be disappointed, they would speedily drop away and leave the King without the means of defence. Under these circumstances, it became absolutely necessary that the Court should venture to return to the capital; but it was not without long discussions and persuasions that Turenne induced the Queen and her ministers to comply. At the time that this was proposed, Monsieur de Villardin and myself had just reached Mantes; and, for a day or two, all was uncertainty and confusion, different reports spreading through the town every hour--now that we were to set off directly--now that the Queen had positively refused to trust herself in Paris--now that we were to wait for messengers from the capital ere any plan could be finally adopted.

At length, however, the order to prepare for the journey was given; and, shortly after, the King, the Queen, the ministers, with a long train of ladies and gentlemen, set out in carriages which had once been splendid, but were so no longer, while guards, officers, attendants, and courtiers on horseback, made up a procession of nearly a mile in length.

In this order we reached St. Germains, when again uncertainty seized upon all our movements; and for three days I do not think any one had the slightest idea whether the next day would see us on our road forward to Paris or back to Mantes. The bolder counsels of Turenne, however, prevailed; and on the fourth day we once more began our march, with the addition of a great number of the inhabitants of St. Germains on foot, who swelled the cortege without increasing its splendour; for, to say the truth, such was the poverty of the Court and all about it, such was the difficulty which every nobleman experienced in procuring remittances from his estates, however near or however distant, and such was the battered and travel-soiled equipage of all the officers and military followers, that it was very difficult to say which was the shabbiest in appearance, the rabble of carriages, of horsemen, or of pedestrians. We wound on, however, towards the capital, contrary to the opinion of many who were obliged to form part of the cavalcade, till we arrived within a few miles of Paris; but, in the midst of the Bois de Boulogne, we were met by a party of cavaliers from the city, who came up at full gallop, and calling to the front horsemen to stop, approached respectfully to the side of the Queen's carriage. They now besought her Majesty and the ministers to think well what they were doing before they brought the young King into the capital; they represented in strong terms the troubled state of the city, and they assured their hearers that the Duke of Orleans, who had been declared by the Parliament Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, was actually arranging a plan for seizing upon the monarch's person, and causing a general revolt in the metropolis.

Of course such tidings spread terror and dismay amongst the greater part of those who formed the royal procession; but upon examination it was found, that the messengers who bore this threatening intelligence--several of whom were known--might be reasonably suspected, as belonging generally to the party of the Fronde, which had everything to apprehend from the reception of the Court in Paris. Nevertheless, the risk was certainly great.

An instant order was now given for the procession to halt, and for all persons, except the ministers and a few of the general officers, to withdraw to a certain distance from the royal carriage. This was immediately done, and the Queen held a sort of council in the midst of the Bois de Boulogne. I heard afterwards that the voices of all, generals and ministers alike, with the exception of Turenne and Monsieur de Villardin, were given in favour of an immediate return to St. Germains. Those two officers, however, so strongly exposed all the weakness and folly of such a step, that the Queen herself and the young King both declared their resolution to proceed, suspecting, what I believe really was the case, that the augurs of evil, by whom we had been joined, had been sent out on purpose to terrify the Court, if possible, and prevent it from taking a step which would be ruinous to the party of the Fronde.

As soon as this was decided, we once more commenced our march, and ere long were within sight of the gates of Paris. An immense multitude of all ages, classes, and descriptions, were at that very moment streaming forth from the city; and I could see, as I rode along, more than one anxious face protruded from the carriages, to examine the crowd which we were now rapidly approaching. I dare say that the memory of the massacre at the HÔtel de Ville was at that very moment strong in the minds of all. We advanced with apparent boldness, however, into the very midst of the crowd. Several stragglers, it seems, had found their way forward, and had informed the people that an attempt had been made to prevent the King from entering Paris, but that he had determined to trust himself in the hands of his subjects. Nevertheless, for a moment or two, as we came up, there was a dead silence, which, I confess, appeared to me somewhat ominous, till the royal carriage was in the heart of a multitude, consisting of certainly not less than a hundred thousand persons: but, at that instant, a loud and universal shout of "Vive le Roi!" burst from every tongue, and doubt and apprehension were all at an end for ever.