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

upon other contracts of matrimony. The further arrangements which Berenger had undertaken to sell his lands in Normandy, and his claim on the ancestral castle in Picardy, should be carried out, and deeds sent for his signature so soon as he should be of age. In the meantime, the Chevalier courteously imparted to his fair cousin the marriage of his daughter, Mademoiselle Diane de Ribaumont with M. le Comte de Selinville, which had taken place on the last St. Martin’s day, and of his niece, Mademoiselle Eustacie de Ribaumont de Nid de Merle with his son, who had received permission to take her father’s title of Marquis de Nid de Merle. The wedding was to take place at Bellaise before the end of the Cardinal, and would be concluded before this letter came to hand.

Lastly, there was an ill written and spelt letter, running somewhat thus—

‘Monseigneur,—Your faithful servant hopes that Monsieur le Baron will forgive him for not returning, since I have been assured by good priests that it is not possible to save my soul in a country of heretics. I have done everything as Monsieur commanded, I have gone down into Anjou, and have had the honour to see the young lady to whom Monsieur le Baron charged me with a commission, and I delivered to her his letter, whereupon the lady replied that she thanked M. le Baron for the honour he had done her, but that being on the point of marriage to M. le Marquis de Nid de Merle, she did not deem it fitting to write to him, nor had she any tokens to send him, save what he had received on the St. Barthelemy midnight; they might further his suit elsewhere. These, Monsieur, were her words, and she laughed as she said them, so gaily that I thought her fairer than ever. I have prevailed with her to take me into her service as intendant of the Chateau de Nid de Merle, knowing as she does my fidelity to the name of Ribaumont. And so, trusting Monseigneur will pardon me for what I do solely for the good of my soul, I will ever pray for his welfare, and remain,

‘His faithful menial and valet, ‘LANDRY OSBERT.’

The result was only what Lord Walwyn had anticipated, but he was nevertheless shocked at the crushing weight of the blow. His heart was full of compassion for the youth so cruelly treated in these his first years of life, and as much torn in his affections as mangled in person. After a pause, while he gathered up the sense of the letters, he laid his hand kindly on his grandson’s arm, and said, ‘This is a woeful budget, my poor son; we will do our best to help you to bear it.’

‘The only way to bear it,’ said Berenger, lifting up his face, ‘is for me to take horse and make for Anjou instantly. She will hold out bravely, and I may yet save her.’

‘Madness,’ said his grandfather; ‘you have then not read your fellow’s letter?’

‘I read no letter from fellow of mine. Yonder is a vile forgery. Narcisse’s own, most likely. No one else would have so profaned her as to put such words into her mouth! My dear faithful foster-brother—have they murdered him?’

‘Can you point to any proof that it is forged?’ said Lord Walwyn, aware that handwriting was too difficult an art, and far too crabbed, among persons of Osbert’s class, for there to be any individuality of penmanship.

‘It is all forged,’ said Berenger. ‘It is as false that she could frame such a message as that poor Osbert would leave me.’

‘These priests have much power over the conscience,’ began Lord Walwyn; but Berenger, interrupting his grandfather for the first time in his life, cried, ‘No priest could change her whole nature. Oh! my wife! my darling! what may they not be inflicting on her now! Sir, I must go. She may be saved! The deadly sin may be prevented!’

‘This is mere raving, Berenger,’ said Lord Walwyn, not catching half what he said, and understanding little more than his resolution to hasten in quest of the lady. ‘You, who have not mounted a horse, nor walked across the pleasance yet!’

‘My limbs should serve me to rescue her, or they are worth nothing to me.’

Lord Walwyn would have argued that he need not regret his incapacity to move, since it was no doubt already too late, but Berenger burst forth—‘She will resist; she will resist to the utmost, even if she deems me dead. Tortures will not shake her when she knows I live. I must prepare.’ And he started to his feet.

‘Grandson,’ said Lord Walwyn, laying a hand on his arm, ‘listen to me. You are in not state to judge for yourself. I therefore command you to desist from this mad purpose.’

He spoke gravely, but Berenger was disobedient for the first time. ‘My Lord,’ he said, ‘you are but my grandfather. She is my wife. My duty is to her.’

He had plucked his sleeve away and was gone, before Lord Walwyn had been able to reason with him that there was no wife in the case, a conclusion at which the old statesman would not have arrived had he known of the ceremony at Montpipeau, and all that had there passed; but not only did Berenger deem himself bound to respect the King’s secret, but conversation was so difficult to him that he had told very little of his adventures, and less to Lord Walwyn than any one else. In effect, his grandfather considered this resolution of going to France as mere frenzy, and so it almost was, not only on the score of health and danger, but because as a ward, he was still so entirely under subjection, that his journey could have been hindered by absolutely forcible detention; and to this Lord Walwyn intended to resort, unless the poor youth either came to a more rational mind, or became absolutely unable to travel.

The last—as he had apprehended—came to pass only too surely. The very attempt to argue and to defend Eustacie was too much for the injured head; and long before night Berenger full believed himself on the journey, acted over its incidents, and struggled wildly with difficulties, all the time lying on his bed, with the old servants holding him down, and Cecily listening tearfully to his ravings.

For weeks longer he was to lie there in greater danger than ever. He only seemed soothed into quiet when Cecily chanted those old Latin hymns of her Benedictine rule, and then—when he could speak at all—he showed himself to be in imagination praying in Eustacie’s convent chapel, sure to speak to her when the service should be over.