The Chaplet of Pearls by Charlotte M. Yonge (i am reading a book .txt) 📕

should tell them he was reserved for you. Eh! M. le Baron is not going now. Supper is about to be served, and if M. le Baron would let me array him with this ruff of Spanish point, and wax the ends of his belle moustache—-’

‘It is late,’ added Eustacie, laying her hand on his arm; ‘there may be wild men about—he may be desperate! Oh, take care!’

‘Ma mie, do you not think me capable of guarding myself from a wild cat leap of a dying man? He must not be left thus. Remember he is a Ribaumont.’

Vindictiveness and revenge had their part in the fire of Eustacie’s nature. Many a time had she longed to strangle Narcisse; and she was on the point of saying, ‘Think of his attempts on that little one’s life—think of your wounds and captivity;’ but she had not spent three years with Isaac Gardon without learning that there was sin in giving way to her keen hatred; and she forced herself to silence, while Berenger said, reading her face, ‘Keep it back, sweet heart! Make it not harder for me. I would as soon go near a dying serpent, but it were barbarity to leave him as Osbert describes.’

Berenger was too supremely and triumphantly happy not to be full of mercy; and as Osbert guided him to the hut where the miserable man lay, he felt little but compassion. The scene was worse than he had expected; for not only had the attendants fled, but plunderers had come in their room, rent away the coverings from the bed, and torn the dying man from it. Livid, nearly naked, covered with blood, his fingers hacked, and ears torn for the sake of the jewels on them, lay the dainty and effeminate tiger-fop of former days, moaning and scarcely sensible. But when the mattress had been replaced, and Berenger had lifted him back to it, laid a cloak over him, and moistened his lips, he opened his eyes, but only to exclaim, ‘You there! As if I had not enough to mock me! Away!’ and closed them sullenly.

‘I would try to relieve you, cousin,’ said Berenger.

The answer was a savage malediction on hypocrisy, and the words, ‘And my sister?’

‘Your sister is in all honour and purity at the nunnery of Lucon.’

He laughed a horrible, incredulous laugh. ‘Safely disposed of ere you cajoled la petite with the fable of your faithfulness! Nothing like a Huguenot for lying to both sides;’ and then ensued another burst of imprecations on the delay that had prevented him from seizing the fugitives—till he—till he felt as if the breath of hell were upon him, and could not help vindicating himself, vain though he knew it to be: ‘Narcisse de Ribaumont,’ he said gravely, ‘my word has never been broken, and you know the keeping of it has not been without cost. On that word believe that Madame de Selinville is as spotless a matron as when she periled herself to save my life. I never even knew her sex till I had drawn her half drowned from the sea, and after that I only saw her in the presence of Dom Colombeau of Nissard, in whose care I left her.’

Narcisse’s features contorted themselves into a frightful sneer as he muttered, ‘The intolerable fool; and that he should have got the better of me, that is if it be true—and I believe not a word of it.’

‘At least,’ said Berenger, ‘waste not these last hours on hating and reviling me, but let this fellow of mine, who is a very fair surgeon, bind your wound again.’

‘Eh!’ said Narcisse, spitefully, turning his head, ‘your own rogue? Let me see what work he made of le baiser d’Eustacie. Pray, how does it please her?’

‘She thanks Heaven that your chief care was to spoil my face.’

‘I hear she is a prime doctress; but of course you brought her not hither lest she should hear HOW you got out of our keeping.’

‘She knows it.’

‘Ah! she has been long enough at court to know one must overlook, that one’s own little matters may be overlooked.’

Berenger burst out at last, ‘Her I will not hear blasphemed: the next word against her I leave you to yourself.’

‘That is all I want,’ said Narcisse. ‘These cares of yours are only douceurs to your conceited heretical conscience, and a lengthening out of this miserable affair. You would scoff at the only real service you could render me.’

‘And that is—-’

‘To fetch a priest. Ha! ha! one of your sort would sooner hang me. You had rather see me perish body and soul in this Huguenot dog-hole! What! do you stammer? Bring a psalm-singing heretic here, and I’ll teach him and you what you MAY call blasphemy.’

‘A priest you shall have, cousin,’ said Berenger, gravely; ‘I will do my utmost to bring you one. Meanwhile, strive to bring yourself into a state in which he may benefit you.’

Berenger was resolved that the promise should be kept. He saw that despair was hardening the wretched man’s heart, and that the possibility of fulfilling his Church’s rites might lead him to address himself to repentance; but the difficulties were great. Osbert, the only Catholic at hand, was disposed to continue his vengeance beyond the grave, and only at his master’s express command would even exercise his skill to endeavour to preserve life till the confessor could be brought. Ordinary Huguenots would regard the desire of Narcisse as a wicked superstition, and Berenger could only hurry back to consult some of the gentlemen who might be supposed more unprejudiced.

As he was crossing the quadrangle at full speed, he almost ran against the King of Navarre, who was pacing up and down reading letters, and who replied to his hasty apologies by saying he looked as if the fair Eurydice had slipped through his hands again into the Inferno.

‘Not so, Sire, but there is one too near those gates. Nid de Merle is lying at the point of death, calling for a priest.’

‘Ventre Saint-Gris!’ exclaimed the King, ‘he is the very demon of the piece, who carved your face, stole your wife, and had nearly shot your daughter.’

‘The more need of his repentance, Sire, and without a priest he will not try to repent. I have promised him one.’

‘A bold promise!’ said Henry. ‘Have you thought how our good friends here are likely to receive a priest of Baal into the camp?’

‘No, Sire, but my best must be done. I pray you counsel me.’

Henry laughed at the simple confidence of the request, but replied, ‘The readiest way to obtain a priest will be to ride with a flag of truce to the enemy’s camp—they are at St. Esme—and say that M. de Nid de Merle is a prisoner and dying, and that I offer safe-conduct to any priest that will come to him—though whether a red-hot Calvinist will respect my safe-conduct or your escort is another matter.’

‘At least, Sire, you sanction my making this request?’

‘Have you men enough to take with