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little Clement Verdon should stand behind him and his sister, where he could see nothing, while Gaspard de Nidermerle, with an emphatic ‘Moi, je suis getilhomme,’ put the stranger before himself and looked over his head, as he could easily do, being two or three years older.

Well, I lost my chance; I never saw the great ox wreathed with flowers, nor the little boy on his back, nor all the butchers with their cleavers round him, nor the procession of the trades, the fishwomen, dames des halles, as they called them, all in their white caps and short petticoats, singing a ballad in honour of the Duke of Beaufort, the faggot-carriers with sticks, the carpenters with tools, all yelling out songs in execration of Cardinal Mazarin, who had actually entered France with an army, and vituperating with equal virulence the Big Beard, as they called the President Mole.

They told me the sight had been wonderful, but what was that to me when Clement Darpent stood before me? He looked then and worn, and almost doubtful how to address me; but Lady Ommaney said, in her hearty way:

‘Come, come, young folks, you have enough to say to one another. Sit down there and leave the ox to the children and us old folks in our second childhood. You believe and old woman now, M. Darpent?’

‘You never distrusted me?’ I demanded.

He said he had never distrusted my heart, but that he had heard at all hands of the arrangement with M. de Poligny, whose lawyer had actually stopped proceedings on that account. My brother had indeed assured him that he did not mean to consent; and he ought, he allowed, to have rested satisfied with that assurance, but—He faltered a little, which made me angry. The truth was that some cruel person had spoken to him as if my dear Eustace and his protection would soon be removed; and while Solivet was at hand, Eustace, in his caution, he refrained from such intercourse with Clement as could excite suspicion. Besides, he was a good deal away at St. Germain with the Duke. All this I did not understand. I was vexed with Clement for having seemed to doubt us, and I did not refrain from showing my annoyance that he should have accepted any kind of office in the rotten French State. It seemed to me a fall from his dignity. On this he told me that it was not purchased, and it was serving under a true and loyal man, whom he felt bound to support. If any one could steer between the Prince and the Cardinal, and bring some guarantee for the people out of the confusion, it was the Keeper of the Seals, the head of the only party who cared more for the good of the country than their private malice and hatred.

‘And,’ he said diffidently, ‘if under M. Mole’s patronage, the steps could be gained without loss of honour or principle, you remember that there is a noblesse de la robe, which might remove some of Madame de Ribaumont’s objections, though I do not presume to compare it with the blood of the Crusaders.’

I am ashamed to say that I answered, ‘I should think not!’ and then I am afraid I reproached him for bartering the glorious independence that had once rendered him far more than noble, for the mere tinsel show of rank that all alike thought despicable. How I hate myself when I recall that I told him that if he had done so for my sake he had made a mistake; and as for loyalty rallying round the French Crown, I believed in no such thing; they were all alike, and cared for nothing but their ambitions and their hatreds.

Before anything had been said to soften these words—while he was still standing grave and stiff, like one struck by a blow—in came the others from the window. Meg, in fact, could not keep Cecile d’Aubepine back any longer from hindering such shocking impropriety as out tete-a-tete. We overheard her saving her little girl from corruption by a frightful French fib that the gentleman in black was Mademoiselle de Ribaumont’s English priest.

I am sure out parting need have excited no suspicions. We were cold and grave and ceremonious as Queen Anne of Austria herself, and poor Lady Ommaney looked from one to the other of us in perplexity.

I went home between wrath and shame. I knew I had insulted Clement, and I was really mortified and angry that he should have accepted this French promotion instead of fleeing with us, and embracing our religion. I hated all the French politics together a great deal too much to have any comprehension of the patriotism that made him desire to support the only honest and loyal party, hopeless as it was. I could not tell Meg about our quarrel; I was glad Eustace was away at the English’s ambassador’s. I felt as if one Frenchman was as good, or as bad, as another, and I was more gracious to M. de Poligny than ever I had been before that evening.

My mother had a reception in honour of its being Mid-Lent week. Solivet was there, and, for a wonder, both the d’Aubepines, for the Count had come home suddenly with message from the Prince of Conde to the Duke of Orleans.





CHAPTER XXIX. — MADAME’S OPPORTUNITY (Annora’s Narrative)

The Prince of Conde and Cardinal Mazarin were in arms against one another. The Queen and her son were devoted to Mazarin. The loyal folk in Paris held to the King, and were fain to swallow the Cardinal because Conde was in open rebellion. Monsieur was trying to hold the balance with the help of the Parliament, but was too great an ass to do any such thing. The mob was against everybody, chiefly against the Cardinal, and the brutal ruffians of the Prince’s following lurked about, bullying every one who gave them umbrage, with some hope of terrifying the Parliament magistrates into siding with them.

It was therefore no great surprise to Eustace and Sir Francis Ommaney the next evening, when they were coming back on foot from the Louvre, to hear a scuffle in one of the side streets.

They saw in a moment half of dozen fellows with cudgels falling on a figure in black, who vainly struggled to defend himself with a little thin walking rapier. Their English blood was up in a moment two masked figures and hearing them egging on their bravoes with ‘Hola, there! At him! Teach him to look at a lady of rank.’

The little rapier had been broken. A heavy blow had made the victim’s arm fall, he had been tripped up, and the rascals were still belabouring him, when Eustace and Sir Francis sprang in among them, crying, ‘Hold, cowardly rascals!’ striking to the right and left, though with the flat of their swords, of which they were perfect masters, for even in their wrath they remembered that these rogues were only tools. And no doubt they were not recognized in the twilight, for one of the masked gentlemen exclaimed:

‘Stop, sir! this is not a matter for gentlemen. This is the way we punish the insolence of fellows whose muddy blood would taint the swords of a noble.’

At the same moment Eustace saw that the victim, who had begun to raise himself, was actually Clement Darpent. He knew, too, the voice from the mask, and, in hot wrath,

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