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OHAfTEB Pass

I. The Peince and the Pkiend 1

II. Etymology of the Rtje de la Jussienne . 9

Chapter I. The Prince And The Friend

We may 161116011361 that the Due de Guise had invited the Due d'Anjou to meet him in the streets of Paris on the evening of the League. That invitation had disturbed the prinee. He had reflected, and after reflection he surpassed the serpent in prudence. However, as his interest seemed to require that he should see with his own eyes whatever might take place that evening, he decided to accept the invitation ; but he determined not to go out of his palace unless he was well accompanied. Therefore the duke went to seek his sword, which was Bussy d'Amboise. The duke must have been seized by strong apprehensions before making up his mind to that step. Since his deception of Bussy in regard to M. de Monsoreau, Bussy had kept himself away from him ; and Francois admitted to himself that were he in Bussy's place, and supposing that in taking his place he took his courage, he should feel more than contempt for a prince who should have betrayed him so cruelly. Bussy, like all fine natures, felt sorrow more vividly than pleasure ; for it is rare that a man intrepid in danger, cold and calm in the face of fire and sword, does not give way to grief more easily than a coward. Those from whom a woman can draw tears most easily are those most to be feared liy men. Bussy had seen Diane received at court as Comtesse de Monsoreau, and as such admitted by the queen into the circle of her maids of honor , he had seen a thousand curious eyes fixed on her unrivalled beauty, which he had, so to speak, discovered and rescued from the tomb in which it was buried. During the whole evening he had fastened his ardent gaze on her. She did not once look at him ; and he, unjust, like every man in love, failed to consider that perhaps she was suffering because she did not dare to meet his sympathizing glance.

" Oh," said he to himself, seeing that he waited uselessly for a look, " women have skill and audacity only when they want to deceive a guardian, a husband, or a mother ; they are awkward and cowardly when they have simply a debt of gratitude to pay. They fear so much to seem to love, they attach so exaggerated a value to their least favor, that they do not mind breaking their lover's heart if such be their humor. Diane might have said to me franklj', ' I thank you for what you have done for me, but I do not love you.' The blow would have killed or cured me. But no, she prefers letting me love her hopelessly ; but she has gained nothing by it, for I no longer love her, I despise her."

And he went away with rage in his heart.

" 1 am mad," thought he, " to torment myself about a person who disdains me. But why does she disdain me, or for whom ? Not, surely, for that long livid skeleton, who, always by her side, covers her incessantly with his jealous glances. If I wished it, in a quarter of an hour I could hold him mute and cold under my knee with ten inches of steel in his heart ; and if I cannot be loTed,

THE PRINCE AND THE FRIEND. 3

I could at least be terrible and hated. Oh, her hatred, rather than her indifference ! Yes, but to act thus would be to do what a Qu^lus or a Maugiron would do if they knew how to love. Better to resemble that hero of Plutarch whom I have so much admired, — the young Antiochus, dying of love and never avowing it, nor uttering a complaint. Yes, I will be silent, — I, who have contended in close conflict with all the strong fighting men of the time, who have seen Crillon (the brave CriUon himself) disarmed before me, holding his life at my mercy, — yes, I will stifle my grief in my soul. Nothing is impossible to me, Bussy, who, like Crillon, am surnamed the ' brave ; ' and all that those heroes have done I will do."

On saying to himself these words, Bussy relaxed his clinched hands, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and went slowly to the door. He summoned all his endurance and gentleness, and went out with a smile on his lips, calmness on his brow, and a volcano in his heart. It is true that, meeting the Due d'Anjou on his way, he turned away his head ; for he knew that with all the firmness of his soul, he could not smile upon, or even greet, the prince who called him his friend and had so odiously betrayed him. In passing, the prince called him by name, but Bussy appeared not to hear him.

Bussy returned home. He placed his sword on a table, took his poniard from its sheath, unfastened his cloak and doublet, and sat down in a large armchair, leaning his head against a coat-of-arms designed on its back. His attendants saw that he was preoccupied ; they thought he wished to rest, and withdrew.

Bussy did not sleep ; he dreamed. He spent several hours in that way without noticing that at the other end of the chamber a man, sitting, like himself, was watching him attentively, without movement or speech. At length an icy shiver shook Bussy's shoulders, and his eyes wandered • the observer did not stir. Then the count's teeth chattered ; his arms stiffened ; his head slipped along the back of his chair and fell on his shoulder. Then the man watching him rose from his chair, uttered a sigh, and approached him. "Monsieur the Count," said he, "you are in a fever."

The count raised his face, empurpled by the fever's heat. "Ah, it is you, Eemy," said he.

"Yes, Count, I was waiting here for you."

" Here ! and why ? "

" Because one does not long remain in the place where he is suffering."

" Thanks, my friend," said Bussy, pressing the young man's hand.

R6my held in his own that terrible hand, now more feeble than that of a child, and pressed it to his heart with affection and respect. " Now," said he, " the question is whether you wish to continue in this condition. Do you wish the fever to increase until it overcomes you 1 Then remain as you are. Do you wish to conquer it? Then go to bed and have some one read to you from a good book from which you may draw example and strength."

The count had nothing in the world to do but to obey ; he obeyed. So, then, all his friends who came to visit him found him in bed.

All the next day R^my remained with the count. He exercised a double function, as physician for the body and physician for the soul. He had refreshing drinks for the one, and pleasant words for the other. But on the following day — the day on which M. de Guise came to the Louvre — Bussy looked for him in vain.

THE PRINCE AND THE FBIEND. 5

" Poor lad ! " thought he, " he is tired and wants to enjoy the air, the sun, and the springtime. And then doubtless Gertrude expected him. She is but a femme de chwmhre, but she loves him ; and a femme de chambre who loves is better tlian a queen who does not.''

The day passed, and Rdmy did not return. Bussy became angry and impatient. " Oh ! " cried he, " I, who stiU believed in gratitude and friendship, will henceforth believe in nothing."

Towards evening he heard voices in his antechamber, and a servant entered, saying, " It is Monseigneur le Due d'Anjou."

" Let him enter," said Bussy, frowning.

The duke, on entering the room, which was without lights, said, " It is too dark here, Bussy."

Bussy did not answer ; disgust closed his mouth.

" Are you really ill," said the duke, " that you do not answer ? "

" I am really ill."

"Then that is why I have not seen you for two days 1 "

" Yes, Monseigneur."

The prince, piqued at these short answers, took two or three turns round the room, looking at the sculptures that stood out in the dim light, and feeling of the upholstery.

" You seem to me well lodged, Bussy," said he.

Bussy did not reply.

"Bussy must be very ill," said the duke to an attelidant who stood by; "why was not Miron called? The king's doctor is not too good for Bussy."

The servant shook his head in a manner that arrested the duke's attention.

"Come, Bussy, are you in grief?" asked the duke, almost obsequiously.

" I do not know."

The duke approached, becoming more and more gracious as he was rebuffed. " Come, speak to me frankly, Bussy," said he.

" What am I to say, Monseigneur ? "

"You are angry with met"

"I ! for what? Besides, it is of no use to be angry with princes ; what good could that do ? "

The duke was silent.

"But," said Bussy, "we are losing time in preambles ; to the point, Monseigneur ! You have need of me, I suppose ? "

" Ah, M. de Bussy ! "

" Yes, doubtless ; do you think I believe that you come here through friendship, — you, who love no one 1 "

" Oh, Bussy, to say such things to me ! "

" Well, be quick, Monseigneur, what do you want 1 When one serves a prince, and he dissimulates to the extent of calling you his friend, one must pay for the dissimulation by being ready to sacrifice everything, even life. Speak!"

The duke colored ; but it was too dark for Bussy to observe that fact. " I wanted nothing of you, Bussy, and you deceive yourself in thinking my visit interested. I desire only, seeing the fine evening, and that all Paris is out to sign the League, that you should accompany me a little about the streets."

Bussy looked at him. " Have you not AurUly to go with you ] "

"A lute-player!"

" Ah, Monseigneur, you do not mention all his qualities ; I believed that he fulfilled other functions for you. Besides, you have a dozen other gentlemen ; I hear them in the antechamber."

THE PRINCE AND THE FRIEND. 7

The portiere was gently raised.

"Who is there?" said the duke, haughtily. "Who enters unannounced where I am ? "

"I, R^my," replied the young man, without any emharrassment.

"WhoisEemy?"

" R^my, Monseigneur, is the doctor," said the young man.

" Eemy," said Bussy, " is more than the doctor, Monseigneur, — he is the friend."

" Ah ! " said the duke, feeling the hlow.

"You heard what Monseigneur asks?" said BuSsy, preparing to get out of bed.

" Yes, that you should accompany him ; but — "

" But what ? " said the duke.

"But you will not accompany him. Monsieur."

" And why so 1 " cried the duke.

" Because it is too cold out of doors."

" Too cold ! " cried the duke, surprised that any one should dare to oppose him.

" Yes, too cold. Therefore I, who answer for M. Bussy's life to his friends, and especially to myself, must forbid him to go out." Bussy none the less continued his movement to get out of bed, but Emmy's hand found his and pressed it significantly.

"Very well," said the duke, " if the risk be so great, he must stay." And he turned angrily to the door.

Bussy did not move. The duke came back to the bed. " So," he said, " it is decided ; you will not risk your self?"

" Monseigneur, you hear that the doctor forbids me."

" You ought to see Miron ; he is a great doctor."

" I prefer my friend."

"Then adieu."

"Adiou, Monseigneur."

The duke went out with a great noise. He had hardly departed when Eemy, who had followed him with his eyes till he had gone from the hotel, hastened to his patient, saying, " Now, Monsieur, get up at once, if you please."

" What for ? "

" To come out with me. This room is too warm."

" You said just now to the duke that it was too cold outside."

" The temperature has changed since."

" So that — " said Bussy, with curiosity.

" So that now I am convinced that the air will do you good."

" I do not understand."

"Do you understand the medicines I give you? Yet you take them. Come, get up ; a walk with M. d'Anjou would be dangerous, with the doctor it will be beneficial. Have you lost confidence in me t If so, send me away."

" Well, as you wish it." And he rose, pale and trembling.

" An interesting paleness," said R^my ; "the handsome invalid."

" But where are we going t "

" To a place where I have analyzed the air to-day."

"And this air?"

" Is a sovereign remedy for your complaint, Monseigneur."

Bussy dressed, and they went out.

ETYMOLOGY OF THE RUE DE LA JUSSIENNE. 9

Chapter II. Etymology Op The Eub De La Jussienne

R^MY took his patient by the arm, and led him by the Rue Coquilliere down to the rampart.

"It is strange," said Bussy ; "you take me near the marsh of the Grange Bateliere, and call it wholesome."

" Oh, Monsieur, a little patience ; we are going to turn round by the Rue Pagavin, and get into the Rue Montmartre, — you will see what a fine street that is."

" As if I did not know it."

" Well, so much the better ; I need not lose time in showing you its beauties, and I will lead you at once into a pretty little street."

Indeed, after going a few steps down the Rue Montmartre, they turned to the right.

" This," said R^my, " is the Rue de la Gypecienne, or Egyptienue, as you prefer, — a street which the people are already beginning to call ' Rue de la Gyssienne,' and which before long they will call ' Rue de la Jussienne,' because it is softer, and the tendency in language is, as you go towards the south, to multiply the vowels. You ought to know that, Monseigneur, — you, who have been in Poland."

" Very likely ; but as I can't suppose that we have come here to take a course in philology, come, tell me, where are we going "i "

" Do you see that little church 1 " said R6my. " How nicely it is situated ! I dare say you never remarked it before.''

" No, I did not know it."

" Well, now that you have seen the exterior, let us enter and look at the windows; they are very curious."

There was such a pleased smile on the young man's face that Bussy felt sure that he must have some other reason for wishing him to enter than to look at windows which it was too dark to see. There was, however, something else to see, — for the interior of the church was lighted up for service ; there were some of those naive paintings of the sixteenth century, such as Italy, thanks to its fine climate, stUl preserves, while with us, moisture and vandalism have effaced those traditions of a past age, those evidences of a faith which no longer exists. The artist had painted in fresco for Fran9ois I., and by order of that king, the life of Saint Mary the Egyptian. Now, among the most interesting scenes of that life, the artist, simple-minded, and a great lover of truth, — historical, if not anatomical, — had selected and placed conspicuously in the chapel that critical moment when Saint Mary, having no money to pay the boatman, offers herseK in payment for her passage.

It is, however, but just to say that notwithstanding the veneration of the faithful for Mary the Egyptian, converted, many honest women of the quarter thought that the artist might have put that work in some other place, or at least might have treated his subject in a different manner ; and the reason which they gave — or rather, which they did not give — was that certain details in that fresco attracted too often the eyes of the shopclerks whom their employers brought to the church on Sundays and fSte-days.

Bussy looked at Kemy, who, becoming for the moment a shop-clerk, gave close attention to that painting.

"Are you expecting," said Bussy, "to awaken in me

ETYMOLOGY OF THE RUE DE LA JUSSIENNE. 11

Anacreontic ideas with your chapel of Ste. Marie I'Egyptienne'! If so, you have mistaken your subject; you should bring hither monks and students."

" Come, you had some other object in bringing me here than to make me look at the knees of Saint Mary the Egyptian.''

"Ma foil no."

" Then let us go."

" Wait a moment ; the service is closing. If we go out now we shall disturb the faithful."

" Now let us go," said Bussy ; " they are moving ; " and he moved towards the door, visibly indifferent and absent-minded.

" Well," said R^my, " here you are going away without taking the holy water. Where the devil is your head % "

Bussy, obedient as a child, directed his course towards the holy-water font.

Eemy took advantage of the opportunity to make a sign to a woman, who, upon that signal, went in the same direction that Bussy had taken. So at the moment when the count extended his hand towards the font, another hand, somewhat large and red, but the hand of a woman, was extended towards his own, and its fingers were dipped in the holy water. Bussy's eyes naturally wandered from the hand, large and red, to the face of the woman. Then he recoiled and turned pale, for he recognized Gertrude, halfconcealed as she was by a veil. She saluted him and passed on ; but behind her came a figure which, although closely veiled, made his heart beat fast. R^my looked at him, and Bussy knew now why he had brought him to this church. Bussy followed the lady, and R6my followed him. Gertrude had walked on before until she came to an alley closed by a door. She opened it and let her mistress pass. Bussy followed, and the two others disappeared.

It was half-past seven in the evening, and near the beginning of May ; the air began to have the feeling of spring, and the leaves were beginning to unfold themselves. Bussy looked round him, and found himself in a little garden fifty feet square, surrounded by high walls covered with vines and moss. The first lilacs which had begun to open in the morning sun sent out their sweet emanations ; and the young man felt tempted to think that so much perfume and warmth and life came to him only from the presence of the woman he loved so tenderly.

On a little wooden bench sat Diane, twisting in her fingers a sprig of wall-flower, which she had picked without knowing what she did. As Bussy approached her she raised her head and said timidly, " Monsieur the Count, all deception would be unworthy of us ; if you found me at the church of Ste. Marie I'Egyptienne, it was not chance that brought you there."

" No, Madame ; Eemy took me out without my knowing where I was going, and I swear to you that I was ignorant — "

" You do not understand me, Monsieur. I know well that M. Eemy brought you there, by force, perhaps."

" No, Madame, not by force ; I did not know that he was going to take me to see any one."

" That is a harsh speech," said Diane, sadly, and with tears in her eyes. " Do you mean that had you known, you would not have come 1 "

" Oh, Madame ! "

" It would have been but just, Monsieur ; you did me a great service, and I have not thanked you. Pardon me, and receive all my thanks."

ETYMOLOGY OF THE RDE DE LA JUSSIENNE. 13

" Madame — " Bussy stopped ; he felt so overcome that he had neither words nor ideas.

"But I wished to prove to you," continued Diane, " that I am not ungrateful nor forgetful. It was I who begged M. Eemy to procure for me the honor of this interview ; it was I who sought for it. Forgive me if I have displeased you."

" Oh, Madame ! you cannot think that."

" I know," continued Diane, who was the strongest, because she had prepared herself for this interview, "how much trouble you had in fulfilling my commission ; I know all your delicacy. I know it and appreciate it, believe me. Judge, then, what I must have suffered from the idea that you would misunderstand the sentiments of my heart."

" Madame, I have been ill for three days.''

"Oh, I know," cried Diane, with a rising color; "and I suffered more than you, for M. R^my — he deceived me, no doubt — made me believe — "

"That your forgetfulness caused it. Oh, it is true ! "

" Then I have been right to do as I have done, — to see you, to thank you for your kindness, and to swear to you an eternal gratitude. Do you believe that I speak from the bottom of my heart 1 "

Bussy shook his head sadly and did not reply.

" Do you doubt my words 1 " said Diane.

" Madame, those who feel a kindness for any one show it when they have the opportunity. You knew I was at the palace the night of your presentation, you knew I was close to you, you must have felt my looks fixed on you ; yet you never raised your eyes to me, you never let me know by a word, a sign, or a gesture, that you were aware of my presence. Bijit perhaps you did not recognize me, Madame ; you have seen me only twice." Diane replied

14 LA DAME DE MONSOEBAU.

with so sad a glance of reproach that Bussy was moved by it.

" Pardon, Madame," said he ; " you are not an ordinary woman, and yet you act like them. This marriage — "

"You know I was forced to it."

" Yes, but it was easy to break."

"Impossible, on the contrary."

" Did you not know that near you watched a devoted friend 1 "

" It was that especially that made me fear."

"And you did not think of what my life would be when you belonged to another. But perhaps you kept the name of Monsoreau from choice 1 "

" Do you think so ? " murmured Diane ; " so much the better." And her eyes filled with tears.

Bussy walked up and down in great agitation. " In short," he said, "I am to become what I was before; that is to say, a stranger to you." • "Alas!" '

" Your silence says so."

" I can only speak by my silence."

" At the Louvre you would not see me, and now you will not speak to me."

" At the Louvre I was watched by M. de Monsoreau ; and he is jealous."

" Jealous ! What does he want then 1 Mon Dieu I whose happiness can he envy, when all the world is envying his ? "

" I tell you he is jealous ; for the last two or three days he has seen some one wandering round our new abode."

" Then you have left the Eue St. Antoine ? "

" What ! " cried Diane, thoughtlessly, " then it was not you 1 "

ETYMOLOGY OF THE RUE DE LA JUSSIENNE. 15

" Madame, since your marriage was publicly announced,

— since that evening at the Louvre, where you did not deign to look at me, — I have been in bed, devoured by fever ; so you see that your husband could not be jealous of me, at least."

"Well, Monsieur the Count, if it be true that you had any desire to see me, you must thank this unknown man ; for knowing M. de Monsoreau as I know him, this man made me tremble for you, and I wished to see you and say to you, ' Do not expose yourself so, Monsieur the Count ; do not make me more unhappy than I am.' "

" Reassure yourself, Madame ; it was not I."

" Now let me finish what I have to say. In the fear of this man — whom I do not know, but whom M. de Monsoreau does, perhaps — he exacts that I should leave Paris ; so that," said Diane, holding out her hand to Bussy, " you may look upon this as our last meeting. Monsieur the Count. To-morrow we start for Mdridor."

" You are going, Madame 1 "

" There is no other way to reassure M. de Monsoreau,

— no other way for me to be at peace. Besides, I myself detest Paris, the world, the court, and the Louvre. I wish to be alone with my souvenirs of my happy past ; perhaps a little of my former happiness wiU return to me there. My father will accompany me, and I shall find there Monsieur and Madame de Saint-Luc, who expect me. Adieu, M. de Bussy."

Bussy hid his face in his hands. " All is over for me,'' he murmured.

" "What do you say 1 " said Diane.

" I say, Madame, that this man exiles you ; that he takes from me the only hope left to me, — that of breathing the same air as yourself, of seeing you sometimes, of touching your dress as yon pass. Oh, this man is my mortal enemy, and if I perish for it, I will destroy him with my own hands ! "

" Oh, Monsieur the Count ! "

" The wretch ! it is not enough for him that you are his wife, — you, the most beautiful and most charming of creatures ; but he is still jealous. Jealous ! The devouring monster would absorb the whole world ! "

" Oh ! calm yourself. Count ; mon Dieu 1 he is excusable, perhaps."

" He is excusable ! you defend him, Madame ? "

" Oh, if you knew ! " cried Diane, covering her face with her hands, as if she feared that notwithstanding the darkness Bussy might see her blushes.

" If I knew ! Oh, Madame, I know one thing, — he who is your husband is wrong to think of the rest of the world."

" But ! " cried Diane, in a broken voice, "if you were wrong, Monsieur the Count, — if he were not ? "

And the young woman, touching with her cold hand the burning ones of Bussy, rose and fled among the sombre alleys of the garden, seized Gertrude's arm and dragged her away, before Bussy, astonished and overwhelmed with delight, had time to stretch out his arms to retain her. He uttered a cry and tottered ; Remy arrived in time to catch him in his arms and make him sit down on the bench that Diane had just left.

D'fiPERNON HAS HIS DOUBLET TORN. 17

Chapter III

HOW D'ipERNON HAD HIS DOUBLET TORN, AND HOW SCHOMBERG WAS STAINED BLUE.

While M. la Huriere accumulated signatures ; while CMcot cousigned Gorenflot to the Corne d'Abondance ; while Bussy returned to life in the happy little garden full of perfume and love, — Henri, annoyed at all he had seen in the city, and furious against his brother, whom he had seen pass in the Eue St. Honore, aooompanied by MM. de Guise and Mayenne, and a train of gentlemen whom M. de Monsoreau appeared to direct, — Henri, we say, reentered the Louvre, accompanied by Maugiron and Quelus. He had gone out with all four of his friends ; but at a short distance from the Louvre, Schomberg and D'Epernon had profited by the first crush to disappear, counting on some adventures in such a turbulent night. Before they had gone one huudred yards D'Epernon had passed his sword-sheath between the legs of a citizen who was running, and who tumbled down in consequence ; and Schomberg had pulled the cap off the head of a young and pretty woman. But both had badly chosen their day for attacking these good Parisians, generally so patient ; for a spirit of revolt was prevalent in the streets. The bourgeois rose, crying, " Down with the heretic ! " and sprang upon D'Epernon. The young woman cried out, " Down with the favorite ! " which was still worse ; and her husband, who was a dyer, launched his apprentices on Schomberg. Schomberg was brave; therefore he stopped, put his hand on his sword, and spoke in a high tone. D'Epernon was prudent ; he fled.