I rode sullenly on, my eyes between my horse's ears. Pierrebon, who loved to wag his tongue, once or twice tried to open a talk, but finding his efforts useless dropped away back. It was not possible to go fast, as the horses were worn, and had to be saved for the stretch of nearly six leagues that lay between us and Poitiers, which, however, I had made up my mind to reach ere the gates were closed for the night. Despite all our care we were delayed by Pierrebon's nag casting a shoe, and this meant a stop for nearly an hour at a small hamlet, the name of which I forget. At length matters were righted, and we continued our journey. The day was hot and overcast. Towards sunset the clouds increased, and ever and again the rumbling of thunder gave warning of an approaching storm. We were, however, near Poitiers by this, and could see the spires of the churches and the black mass of the city. I drew rein for a moment to look, and almost felt as if my task were done, when Pierrebon exclaimed:

"Allons, monsieur! it has come!"

And with a vengeance, too. First a few warm drops, then a blaze of lightning, a crash of thunder, and then rain in torrents. It became dark, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we could find our way. But at length we reached the Pont Joubert, and passing the Chapel of the Holy Virgin, raised in memory of the miraculous preservation of the city during the war of the hundred years, we entered Poitiers. It is true we had reached it, but it seemed as if our difficulties had only begun. What with the darkness and the wind blowing the rain straight in our faces, so that we could barely see, it would have been hard for us to have found our way anywhere, even if we knew the city, but neither Pierrebon nor I had been in Poitiers before. In the basement of the guard-tower flanking the gate lights were burning, and a group of soldiers were sitting at a table playing at dice, whilst a few stray travellers were huddled together at the entrance, waiting, perhaps, for the storm to pass, and continually peering out into the darkness from their shelter, if such it could be called. I made my way there, and had to shout twice ere I was heard, so great was the noise of the tempest. Finally the ancient of the gate came up, and I asked him for the nearest inn. He answered, civilly enough:

"'Tis but a little way, monsieur. Go straight down the Rue du Pigeon Blanc, past Ste. Radegonde, and the Filles de Notre Dame, there in the place St. Simplicien——"

"But I know nothing of Poitiers. How am I to find my way?"

To this he shrugged his shoulders and laughed; but at this juncture a boy stepped forth out of the group at the door and offered to guide us to the inn. This offer I accepted, and with a word of thanks to the ancient we went on—the last thing we heard being hoarse orders shouted out to close the gates. Our way was lit by continuous flashes of lightning, and by one of these, lasting longer than usual, I saw on a hill which overlooked the Church of Ste. Radegonde, her right hand outstretched as if invoking a blessing on the city, the colossal Virgin of Poitiers all shining with light—light that seemed to flame back from the statue against the storm. So impressive was it that Pierrebon crossed himself, and the boy sank on his knees in the water that hummed along the street with an "Ave, ave!"

The sight was one I have never forgotten, and has often given me subject for reflection, so that I am firmly convinced that even if a God did not exist the imagination of man would conjure one up for his worship.

It was lucky that we found a guide, for, short as the distance was, I doubt if we would have found our way that night to the hostel of the Elephant, for so the inn was called. Once there I gave the boy a coin, bidding him get something to eat, for he looked as though he needed it, and told him to wait, as I would require him shortly. I determined to halt there until the storm had subsided a little, and inquired where Montluc resided. He had but lately come, I was informed, and was for the present temporarily lodged in the priory of the Capuchins. So, taking the opportunity whilst I waited for the rain to diminish, I had some refreshment, and attended to my arm, which was still painful. I then made arrangements with the landlord for another horse, as nothing would have induced me to ride my own poor beast farther that night. This being settled, I waited for half an hour or so, when the storm somewhat abated, though the wind was still high, and there was a sharp drizzle. Then mounting the hired horse, and giving the boy a lantern I had borrowed, I bade him guide me to the priory of the Capuchins.

On we went, the wind and rain in our faces. By good luck the lantern held out, though its light was not much better than that of a glowworm. We picked our way through narrow streets swimming with water, past gutters babbling like mountain streams, and made a snail's progress through that infernal night. Now and again a broad sheet of lightning blazed athwart the darkness, showing the black and uneasy clouds overhead, and giving a momentary glimpse of tall, ghostly towers, of gabled roofs and pointed windows, and of houses that seemed to lean forward and form arcades, below which the crooked, glistening streets wound. As we were passing a large church—I found out later that it was St. Croix—the bells began to sound compline, and then from every steeple and spire in the city the chime was echoed, and borne across the night in strange sweetness by the storm. My little guide made his way bravely, and at length—it seemed an age—we reached the priory of the Capuchins. Lights were burning everywhere, and there was a huge log fire spluttering at the gate, which was still open. The arched passage beyond the gate, which led to the forecourt, was full of men, not hooded Capuchins, but men-at-arms, and it was easy to see that the priory had been turned into a camp. I explained that I bore despatches from Paris for M. de Montluc, and the words acted like magic. I was told to leave my horse to the boy, and was led along the galleries that bounded the cloisters of the forecourt. They were full of men, but all orderly and quiet, as may be imagined with Montluc at hand. At length we reached the hall, and there I was asked to wait until the General was informed of my arrival. All dripping and wet as I was, and unheeding the glances cast at me by those who were there, I sat down on a bench near the fireplace, in which, on account of the damp, a fire had been lit, and glowered into the flames, the blue smoke rising in little columns from my drenched clothes. No one spoke to me, nor did I address anyone, and I was struck by the extraordinary silence that was preserved. Men spoke in whispers, and even when a man-at-arms passed, his step was as light as that of a monk.

"Monsieur," said a voice, "will you have the goodness to follow me?"

I looked up, and saw an officer wearing the red and white sash of Randan's Light Horse, my old comrades, and the sight of the colours after so many years affected me to such a degree that at first I was unable to move, and the officer had to repeat his request. Then I arose, and followed him up what seemed an interminable stair. At last we halted before a door, and here to the knock we heard a sharp "Enter." Stepping in, I found myself before Montluc, and apologised for appearing in the drenched condition I was in. He took no notice of me, however, but kept walking up and down the cabinet like a tiger. He was in demi-mail, the collar of the Order at his neck, and as he paced the room with a halting step I observed with interest and respect the great soldier who in forty years of glorious service had but twice seen the Court. His defence of Siena was still ringing through Europe; but back upon that one saw the field of Pavia, the campaign in Naples, the defence of Marseilles, the siege of Perpignan, and the glorious campaign of Italy, which ended in the crown of Cerisolles, and where, but for him, the day was lost. I had served at Cerisolles myself; but though I had seen Montluc I had never known him. Years had, however, seemed to make no impression upon him; and, tall and lean, with long grey moustaches, and glittering, grey-green eyes, he looked like a fierce and starving cat as he restlessly limped to and fro.

At last he suddenly stopped, and, resting a hand on the hip broken at
Chieri, asked me abruptly:

"I am told you have brought despatches from Paris?"

"Monsieur!" And taking out the packet I had been entrusted with I handed it to him.

He received it in silence, and sitting down at a table littered with papers examined the seals. Then drawing his poniard he was about to cut open the packet when he arrested himself, saying:

"I see it is from the Queen."

"Monsieur, it was given to me by her Majesty herself, and when you have read it I have a message for you."

"The Queen must trust you."

"She has in this case, monsieur."

He smiled grimly, and opened the packet. As he read his face assumed so malign and fierce an aspect that I had little difficulty in persuading myself of the truth of the stories of savage cruelty that I had heard of him. When he had finished he set down the paper, and asked calmly enough:

"Your message, monsieur?"

I told him, he taking it down word for word, and placing the paper carefully in a drawer, out of which he drew a parchment roll.

"You see this, monsieur? It is my patent as lieutenant of the South. After nearly forty years of service it was given to me. I have held it a month—and now—it is waste-paper." And with that he flung it into the drawer, which he shut with a clash.

"They have need of me in Italy again, they say; and when I am gone, mark my words, these psalm-singing Huguenots, these Chrysostoms, whom I have made skip like the hills in their own hymn, will be in Poitiers in a week." And he laughed harshly as he went on: "They fear I shall turn against them, and throw in my lot with these others—I—Blaise de Montluc! Tell them I am a soldier of my King, that I am but a poor gentleman of the South, who when his time is done will hang up his sword in his Chateau of Estillac, and die there, unless God answers his prayer and lets him die on the field."

I saw before me the sudden breaking of great hopes, and, as I then thought, the ruin of a great career, and stammered out: "Monsieur, you will soon be back."

He smiled, and then, as if pushing all aside from his mind: "This will at any rate make a chapter of my commentaries. I am writing them in the style of Caesar, whom I hope to surpass in this. At present, I have carried them as far as the sieges of Parma and La Mirandole by the armies of the Holy Father and the Emperor." With this he pointed at a pile of manuscript that lay on the table, as he added, with true Gascon conceit: "It is better that they who make history should write it rather than leave it to some scoundrel clerk, as I hear Vieilleville is doing."

He seemed to have forgotten his misfortune in the contemplation of his writing, and on my applauding his sentiment, he, looking at my arm, which was still in its sling, asked how I had hurt it. I told him briefly, and he listened in silence, until I gave him information of De Ganache and the Huguenots at Richelieu. Then he stopped me.

"Are you sure they were there last night?"

"Yes, and probably till late to-day."

"Then we will have most of them here as our guests, monsieur, in a couple of days at the latest. I want De Ganache badly, and would like much to finish with him ere they finish with me."

I thought of Diane, and in my heart sent up a prayer that, on this occasion at least, the Huguenots might escape Montluc's claws; and the General went on:

"I see, monsieur, the Queen has recommended you as one to be trusted entirely—and the Queen is not easily deceived. You are, she says, a citizen of Paris, and have borne arms—where?"

"In the Milanese, monsieur. I was at Cerisolles with Monsieur d'Enghien."

"Good! And after that?"

"I did not serve, monsieur."

We looked hard at each other, and a dry but not unkindly smile sat on his lips.

"Would you care to see Italy again?"

"If the Queen has no further need for me I am ready."

"We will leave it so, then. In the meantime, you may, perhaps, have a little commission to execute for me, or rather for the Queen. That will keep you employed until you finally decide. It may need using your sword. Does your wound trouble you?"

"It will be healed in less than a week."

"Well, go now and rest. You are being lodged here, of course?"

"I have secured a lodging at the Elephant, monsieur."

"Then to-morrow you must come here. I will see to that, for I like to lay hands on a man when I want him." And with this he struck a gong, and the officer who had brought me in appeared.

"Sarlaboux," said the General, "let Monsieur Broussel be conducted safely to his inn, and see that no harm befalls him."

I was about to take my leave when Montluc stopped me.

"A word!— That little story of yours in connection with your wound, monsieur, has interested me. I will give it a place in my commentaries." And he took up his pen as I retired, followed by Sarlaboux.

I may add that, many years after, it was my good fortune to see a copy of the old Marshal's commentaries, which had been made for his brother, Monseigneur the Bishop of Valence. By some strange chance, for he rarely forgot anything, he had omitted my story, nor was there any mention of the secret communication I made to him; and, perhaps, this was due to design. He was a great soldier and a great man, whose life may be summed up in the motto of his house: Deo duce, ferro comite.