Chicot the Jester, Alexandre Dumas père [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

had received the blows given to Mayenne.

"You laugh, M. Chicot."

"I do, animal."

"Then I shall live?"

"Perhaps."

"You would not laugh if your Gorenflot was about to die."

"It does not depend upon me, but on the king; he alone has the power of life and death."

At this moment lights appeared, and a crowd of embroidered dresses and swords shining in the light of the torches.

"Ah! Chicot! my dear Chicot, how glad I am to see you," cried the king.

"You hear, good M. Chicot," whispered Gorenflot, "this great prince is glad to see you."

"Well?"

"Well! in his happiness he would not refuse you a favor; ask for my pardon."

"What! from Herod?"

"Oh! silence, dear M. Chicot."

"Well! sire, how many have you caught?" said Chicot, advancing.

"Confiteor," said Gorenflot.

"Not one," said Crillon, "the traitors must have found some opening unknown to us."

"It is probable."

"But you saw them?" said the king.

"All."

"You recognized them, no doubt?"

"No, sire."

"Not recognized them?"

"That is to say, I recognized only one."

"Who was that?"

"M. de Mayenne."

"M. de Mayenne, to whom you owed----"

"Yes, sire; we are quits."

"Ah! tell me about that, Chicot."

"Afterwards, my son; now let us think of the present."

"Confiteor," repeated Gorenflot.

"Ah! you have made a prisoner," said Crillon, laying his large hand on the monk's shoulder.

Chicot was silent for a minute, leaving Gorenflot a prey to all the anguish of such profound terror that he nearly fainted again.

At last Chicot said, "Sire, look well at this monk."

"The preacher Gorenflot," cried Henri.

"Confiteor, confiteor," repeated he.

"Himself," said Chicot.

"He who----"

"Just so," interrupted Chicot.

"Ah, ah!"

Gorenflot shook with terror, for he heard the sounds of swords clashing.

"Wait," said Chicot, "the king must know all." And, taking him aside, "My son," said he, "thank God for having permitted this holy man to be born thirty-five years ago, for it is he who has saved us all."

"How so?"

"It was he who recounted to me the whole plot, from the alpha to the omega."

"When?"

"About a week ago; so that if ever your majesty's enemies catch him he will be a dead man."

Gorenflot heard only the last words, "a dead man"; and he covered his face with his hands.

"Worthy man," said the king, casting a benevolent look on the mass of flesh before him, "we will cover him with our protection."

Gorenflot perceived the nature of the look, and began to feel relieved.

"You will do well, my king," said Chicot.

"What must we do with him?"

"I think that as long as he remains in Paris he will be in danger."

"If I gave him guards."

Gorenflot heard this proposition of Henri's. "Well!" thought he, "I shall get off with imprisonment; I prefer that to beating, if they only feed me well."

"Oh! no, that is needless," said Chicot, "if you will allow me to take him with me."

"Where?"

"Home."

"Well! take him, and then return to the Louvre."

"Get up, reverend father," said Chicot.

"He mocks me," murmured Gorenflot.

"Get up, brute," whispered Chicot, giving him a sly kick.

"Ah! I have deserved it," cried Gorenflot.

"What does he say?" asked the king.

"Sire, he is thinking over all his fatigues and his tortures, and when I promised him your protection, he said, 'Oh! I have well merited that.'"

"Poor devil!" said the king, "take good care of him."

"Oh! be easy, sire, he will want for nothing with me."

"Oh! M. Chicot, dear M. Chicot," cried Gorenflot, "where am I to be taken to?"

"You will know soon. Meanwhile, monster of iniquity, thank his majesty."

"What for?"

"Thank him, I tell you."

"Sire," stammered Gorenflot, "since your gracious majesty----"

"Yes," interrupted Henri, "I know all you did for me, in your journey from Lyons, on the evening of the League, and again to-day. Be easy, you shall be recompensed according to your merits."

Gorenflot sighed.

"Where is Panurge?" said Chicot.

"In the stable, poor beast."

"Well! go and fetch him, and return to me."

"Yes, M. Chicot."

And the monk went away as fast as he could, much astonished not to be followed by guards.

"Now, my son," said Chicot, "keep twenty men for your own escort, and send ten with M. Crillon to the Hotel d'Anjou and let them bring your-brother here."

"Why?"

"That he may not escape a second time."

"Did my brother----"

"Have you repented following my advice to-day?"

"No, par le mordieu."

"Then do what I tell you."

Henri gave the order to Crillon, who set off at once.

"And you?" said Henri.

"Oh! I am waiting for my saint."

"And you will rejoin me at the Louvre?"

"In an hour; go, my son."

Henri went; and Chicot, proceeding to the stables, met Gorenflot coming out on his ass. The poor devil had not an idea of endeavoring to escape from the fate that he thought awaited him.

"Come, come," said Chicot, "we are waited for." Gorenflot made no resistance, but he shed many tears.


CHAPTER XCIII.

WHERE CHICOT GUESSES WHY D'EPERNON HAD BLOOD ON HIS FEET AND NONE IN HIS CHEEKS.

The king, returning to the Louvre, found his friends peacefully asleep, except D'Epernon, whose bed was empty.

"Not come in yet; how imprudent," murmured the king to Chicot, who had also returned, and was standing with them by their beds. "The fool; having to fight to-morrow with a man like Bussy, and to take no more care than this. Let them seek M. d'Epernon," said he, going out of the room, and speaking to an usher.

"M. d'Epernon is just coming in, sire," replied the man.

Indeed, D'Epernon came softly along, thinking to glide unperceived to his room.

On seeing the king he looked confused.

"Ah! here you are at last," said Henri; "come here and look at your friends. They are wise! they understand the importance of the duel to-morrow; but you, instead of praying and sleeping like them, have been running about the streets. Corbleu; how pale you are! What will you look like to-morrow?"

D'Epernon was indeed pale, but at the king's remark he colored.

"Now go to bed," continued Henri, "and sleep if you can."

"Why not?"

"Much time you will have. You are to fight at daybreak; and at this time of year the sun rises at four. It is now two; you have but two hours to sleep."

"Two hours well employed go a long way."

"You will sleep, then?"

"Well, sire!"

"I do not believe it."

"Why not?"

"Because you are agitated; you think of to-morrow."

"I will sleep, sire, if your majesty will only let me."

"That is just," said Chicot.

Indeed D'Epernon undressed and got into bed, with a calm and satisfied look, that seemed, both to the king and Chicot to augur well.

"He is as brave as a Casar," said the king.

"So brave that I do not understand it," said Chicot.

"See, he sleeps already."

Chicot approached the bed to look.

"Oh!" said he.

"What is it?"

"Look," and he pointed to D'Epernon's boots.

"Blood!"

"He has been walking in blood."

"Can he be wounded?" said the king, anxiously.

"Bah! he would have told us; and, besides, unless he had been wounded like Achilles in the heel----"

"See, the sleeve of his doublet is also spotted. What can have happened to him?"

"Perhaps he has killed some one to keep his hand in."

"It is singular. Well, to-morrow, at least----"

"To-day, you mean."

"Well! to-day I shall be tranquil."

"Why so?"

"Because those cursed Angevins will be killed."

"You think so, Henri?"

"I am sure of it; my friends are brave."

"I never heard that the Angevins were cowards."

"No, doubtless; but my friends are so strong; look at Schomberg's arm; what muscle!"

"Ah! if you saw Autragues's! Is that all that reassures you?"

"No; come, and I will show you something."

"Where?"

"In my room."

"And this something makes you confident of victory?"

"Yes."

"Come, then."

"Wait, and let me take leave of them. Adieu, my good friends," murmured the king, as he stooped and imprinted a light kiss on each of their foreheads.

Chicot was not superstitious, but as he looked on, his imagination pictured a living man making his adieux to the dead.

"It is singular," thought he. "I never felt so before--poor fellows."

As soon as the king quitted the room, D'Epernon opened his eyes; and, jumping out of bed, began to efface, as well as he could, the spots of blood on his clothes. Then he went to bed again.

As for Henri, he conducted Chicot to his room, and opened a long ebony coffer lined with white satin.

"Look!" said he.

"Swords!"

"Yes! but blessed swords, my dear friend."

"Blessed! by whom?"

"By our holy father the Pope, who granted me this favor. To send this box to Rome and back, cost me twenty horses and four men."

"Are they sharp?"

"Doubtless; but their great merit is that they are blessed."

"Yes, I know that; but still I should like to be sure they are sharp."

"Pagan!"

"Let us talk of something else."

"Well, be quick."

"You want to sleep?"

"No, to pray."

"In that case we will talk. Have you sent for M. d'Anjou?"

"Yes, he is waiting below."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Throw him into the Bastile."

"That is very wise: only choose a dungeon that is deep and safe--such for example, as those which were occupied by the Constable de St. Paul, or Armagnac."

"Oh! be easy."

"I know where they sell good black velvet, my son."

"Chicot! he is my brother."

"Ah! true; the family mourning is violet. Shall you speak to him?"

"Yes, certainly, if only to show him that his plots are discovered."

"Hum!"

"Do you disapprove?"

"In your place I should cut short the conversation, and double the imprisonment."

"Let them bring here the Duc d'Anjou," said the king.

A minute after the duke entered, very pale and disarmed. Crillon followed him.

"Where did you find him?" asked the king.

"Sire, his highness was not at home, but I took possession of his hotel in the king's name, and soon after he returned, and we arrested him without resistance."

"That is fortunate." Then, turning to the prince, he said, "Where were you, monsieur?"

"Wherever I was, sire, be sure it was on your business."

"I doubt it."

Francois bowed.

"Come, tell me where you were while your accomplices were being arrested."

"My accomplices!"

"Yes; your accomplices."

"Sire, your majesty is making some mistake."

"Oh! this time you shall not escape me; your measure of crime is full."

"Sire, be moderate; there is certainly some one who slanders me to you."