“You shall not do it, while I am here. You shall not shed more of that blood which is now issuing from the wound you hare already inflicted.”

  “Bah! do you know this wretch?”

  “That wretch is M. le Duc de Mayenne, a prince equal in rank to many kings.”

  “All the more reason. And who are you?”

  “He who has saved your life, monsieur.”

  “And who, if I do not deceive myself, brought me a letter from the king three days ago.”

  “Precisely.”

  “Then you are in the king’s service?”

  “I have that honor.”

  “And yet you save M. de Mayenne? Permit me to tell you, monsieur, that that is not being a good servant.”

  “I think differently.”

  “Well, perhaps you are right. What is your name?”

  “Ernanton de Carmainges.”

  “Well, M. Ernanton, what are we to do with this great carcase?”

  “I will watch over M. de Mayenne, monsieur.”

  “And his follower, who is listening there?”

  “The poor devil hears nothing; I have bound him too tightly, and he has fainted.”

  “M. de Carmainges, you have saved my life to-day, but you endanger it furiously for the future.”

  “I do my duty to-day; God will provide for the future.”

  “As you please, then, and I confess I dislike killing a defenseless man. Adieu, monsieur. But first, I will choose one of these horses.”

  “Take mine; I know what it can do.”

  “Oh! that is too generous.”

  “I have not so much need as you have to go quickly.”

  Chicot made no more compliments, but got on Ernanton’s horse and disappeared.

  CHAPTER XXXVII.

  ERNANTON DE CARMAINGES.

  Ernanton remained on the field of battle, much embarrassed what to do with the two men, who would shortly open their eyes. As he deliberated, he saw a wagon coming along, drawn by two oxen, and driven by a peasant. Ernanton went to the man and told him that a combat had taken place between the Huguenots and Catholics, that four had been killed, but that two were still living. The peasant, although desperately frightened, aided Ernanton to place first M. de Mayenne and then the soldier in the wagon. The four bodies remained.

  “Monsieur,” said the peasant, “were they Catholics or Huguenots?”

  “Huguenots,” said Ernanton, who had seen the peasant cross himself in his first terror.

  “In that case there will be no harm in my searching them, will there?”

  “None,” replied Ernanton, who thought it as well that the peasant should do it, as the first passer-by. The man did not wait to be told twice, but turned out their pockets. It seemed that he was far from disappointed, for his face looked smiling when he had finished the operation, and he drove on his oxen at their quickest pace, in order to reach his home with his treasure.

  It was in the stable of this excellent Catholic, on a bed of straw, that M. de Mayenne recovered his consciousness. He opened his eyes, and looked at the men and the things surrounding him with a surprise easy to imagine. Ernanton immediately dismissed the peasant.

  “Who are you, monsieur?” asked Mayenne.

  Ernanton smiled.

  “Do you not recognize me?” said he.

  “Yes, I do now; you are he who came to the assistance of my enemy.”

  “Yes, but I am he who prevented your enemy from killing you.”

  “That must be true, since I live; unless, indeed, he thought me dead.”

  “He went away knowing you to be alive.”

  “Then he thought my wound mortal.”

  “I do not know; but had I not opposed him, he would have given you one which certainly would have been so.”

  “But then, monsieur, why did you aid him in killing my men?”

  “Nothing more simple, monsieur; and I am astonished that a gentleman, as you seem to be, does not understand my conduct. Chance brought me on your road, and I saw several men attacking one; I defended the one, but when this brave man — for whoever he may be, he is brave — when he remained alone with you, and would have decided the victory by your death, then I interfered to save you.”

  “You know me, then?” said Mayenne, with a scrutinizing glance.

  “I had no need to know you, monsieur; you were a wounded man, that was enough.”

  “Be frank; you knew me?”

  “It is strange, monsieur, that you will not understand me. It seems to me that it is equally ignoble to kill a defenseless man, as six men to attack one.”

  “There may be reasons for all things.”

  Ernanton bowed, but did not reply.

  “Did you not see,” continued Mayenne, “that I fought sword to sword with that man?”

  “It is true.”

  “Besides, he is my most mortal enemy.”

  “I believe it, for he said the same thing of you.”

  “Do you think me dangerously wounded?”

  “I have examined your wound, monsieur, and I think that, although it is serious, you are in no danger of death. I believe the sword slipped along the ribs, and did not penetrate the breast. Breathe, and I think you will find no pain in the lungs.”

  “It is true; but my men?”

  “Are dead, all but one.”

  “Are they left on the road?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have they been searched?”

  “The peasant whom you must have seen on opening your eyes, and who is your host, searched them.”

  “What did he find?”

  “Some money.”

  “Any papers?”

  “I think not.”

  “Ah!” said Mayenne, with evident satisfaction. “But the living man; where is he?”

  “In the barn, close by.”

  “Bring him to me, monsieur; and if you are a man of honor, promise me to ask him no questions.”

  “I am not curious, monsieur; and I wish to know no more of this affair than I know already.”

  The duke looked at him uneasily.

  “Monsieur,” said Ernanton, “will you charge some one else with the commission you have just given me?”

  “I was wrong, monsieur, I acknowledge it; have the kindness to render me the service I ask of you.”

  Five minutes after, the soldier entered the stable. He uttered a cry on seeing the duke; but he put his finger on his lip, and the man was silent.

  “Monsieur,” said Mayenne to Ernanton, “my gratitude to you will be eternal; and, doubtless, some day we shall meet under more favorable circumstances. May I ask to whom I have the honor of speaking?”

  “I am the Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges, monsieur.”

  “You were going to Beaugency?”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “Then I have delayed you, and you cannot go on to-night.”

  “On the contrary, monsieur, I am about to start at once.” — ”For Beaugency?”

  “No, for Paris,” said Ernanton; “somewhat unwillingly.”

  The duke appeared astonished.

  “Pardon,” said he; “but it is strange that going to Beaugency, and being stopped by an unforeseen circumstance, you should return without fulfilling the end of your journey.”

  “Nothing is more simple, monsieur; I was going to a rendezvous for a particular time, which I have lost by coming here with you; therefore I return.”

  “Oh! monsieur, will you not stay here with me for two or three days? I will send this soldier to Paris for a surgeon, and I cannot remain here alone with these peasants, who are strangers to me.”

  “Then let the soldier remain with you, and I will send you a doctor.”

  “Do you know the name of my enemy?”

  “No, monsieur.”

  “What! you saved his life, and he did not tell you his name?”

  “I did not ask him.”

  “You did not ask him?”

  “I have saved your life also, monsieur; have I asked you your name? But, in exchange, you both know mine.”

  “I see, monsieur, there is nothing to be learned from you; you are as discreet as brave.”

  “I observe that you say that in a reproachful manner; but, on the contrary, you ought to be reassured, for a man who is discreet with one person will be so with another.”

  “You are right! your hand, M. de Carmainges.”

  Ernanton did quietly as he was asked.

  “You have blamed my conduct, monsieur,” said Mayenne; “but I cannot justify myself without revealing important secrets.”

  “You defend yourself, monsieur, when I do not accuse.”

  “Well! I will only say that I am a gentleman of good rank, and able to be of use to you.”

  “Say no more, monsieur; thanks to the master whom I serve, I have no need of assistance from any one.”

  “Your master, who is he?”

  “I have asked no questions, monsieur.”

  “It is true.”

  “Besides, your wound begins to inflame; I advise you to talk less.”

  “You are right; but I want my surgeon.”

  “I am returning to Paris, as I told you: give me his address.”

  “M. de Carmainges, give me your word of honor that if I intrust you with a letter it shall be given to the person to whom it is addressed.”

  “I give it, monsieur.”

  “I believe you; I am sure I may trust you. I must tell you a part of my secret. I belong to the guards of Madame de Montpensier.”

  “Oh! I did not know she had guards.”

  “In these troublous times, monsieur, every one guards himself as well as he can, and the house of Guise being a princely one — ”

  “I asked for no explanation, monsieur.”

  “Well, I had a mission to Amboise; when on the road I saw my enemy; you know the rest.” — ”Yes.”

  “Stopped by this wound, I must report to the duchesse the reason of my delay.”

  “Well?”

  “Will you therefore put into her own hands the letter I am about to write?”

  “I will seek for ink and paper.”

  “It is needless, my soldier will get my tablets.”

  He instructed the soldier to take them from his pocket, opened them by a spring, wrote some lines in pencil, and shut them again. It was impossible for any one who did not know the secret to open them without breaking them.

  “Monsieur,” said Ernanton, “in three days these tablets shall be delivered.”

  “Into her own hands?”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  The duke, exhausted by talking, and by the effort of writing the letter, sank back on his straw.

  “Monsieur,” said the soldier, in a tone little in harmony with his dress, “you bound me very tight, it is true, but I shall regard my chains as bonds of friendship, and will prove it to you some day.”

  And he held out a hand whose whiteness Ernanton had already remarked.

  “So be it,” said he, smiling; “it seems I have gained two friends.”

  “Do not despise them; one has never too many.”

  “That is true,” said Ernanton; and he left them.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  THE STABLE-YARD.

  Ernanton arrived at Paris on the third day. At three in the afternoon he entered the Louvre, among his comrades. The Gascons called out in surprise at seeing him, and M. de Loignac looked gloomy, and signed to him to enter a little room, where he always gave his private audiences.

  “This is nice behavior, monsieur,” said he; “five days and nights absent; and you whom I thought so well of.”

  “Monsieur, I did what I was told to do.”

  “What were you told to do?”

  “To follow M. de Mayenne, and I have followed him.”

  “For five days and nights?”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “Then he has left Paris?”

  “He left that same evening, and that seemed to me suspicious.”

  “You are right, monsieur, go on.”

  Ernanton related clearly and energetically all that had taken place. When Ernanton mentioned the letter:

  “You have it, monsieur?” asked De Loignac.

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “Diable! that deserves attention; come with me, I beg of you.”

  Ernanton followed De Loignac to the courtyard of the Louvre. All was preparing for the king’s going out, and M. d’Epernon was seeing two new horses tried, which had been sent from England, as a present from Elizabeth to Henri, and which were that day to be harnessed to the king’s carriage for the first time.

  De Loignac approached D’Epernon.

  “Great news, M. le Duc,” said he.

  “What is it?” said D’Epernon, drawing to one side.

  “M. de Carmainges has seen M. de Mayenne lying wounded in a village beyond Orleans.”

  “Wounded!”

  “Yes, and more, he has written a letter to Madame de Montpensier, which M. de Carmainges has in his pocket.”

  “Oh! oh! send M. de Carmainges to me.”

  “Here he is,” said De Loignac, signing to Ernanton to advance.

  “Well, monsieur, it seems you have a letter from M. de Mayenne.”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “Addressed to Madame de Montpensier?”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “Give it to me,” and the duke extended his hand.

  “Pardon, monsieur, but did you ask me for the duke’s letter?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You do not know that this letter was confided to me.”

  “What matters that?”

  “It matters much, monsieur; I passed my word to the duke to give it to Madame la Duchesse herself.”

  “Do you belong to the king, or M. de Mayenne?”

  “To the king.”

  “Well! the king wishes to see the letter.”

  “Monsieur, you are not the king.”

  “I think you forget to whom you speak, M. de Carmainges.”

  “I remember perfectly, monsieur, and that is why I refuse.”

  “You refuse?”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “M. de Carmainges, you forget your oath of fidelity.”

  “Monsieur, I have sworn fidelity only to one person, and that is the king; if he asks me for the letter, he must have it, but he is not here.”

  “M. de Carmainges,” said the duke, growing very angry, “you are like the rest of the Gascons; blind in prosperity, your good fortune dazzles you, and the possession of a state secret is a weight too heavy for you to carry.”

  “The only thing I find heavy, monsieur, is the disgrace into which I seem likely to fall; not my fortune, which my refusal to obey you renders, I know, very precarious; but, no matter; I do what I ought to do, and no one, excepting the king, shall see this letter, but the person to whom it is addressed.”

  “De Loignac,” cried D’Epernon, “place M. de Carmainges in arrest at once.”

  “It is certain that will prevent me from delivering the letter for a time, but once I come out — ”

  “If you never do come out?”

  “I shall come out, monsieur; unless you have me assassinated. Yes, I shall come out, the walls are less strong than my will, and then — ”

  “Well?”

  “I will speak to the king.”

  “To prison with him, and take away the letter,” cried D’Epernon, beside himself with rage.

  “No one shall touch it,” cried Ernanton, starting back and drawing from his breast the tablet of M. de Mayenne, “for I will break it to pieces, since I can save it in no other way; M. de Mayenne will approve my conduct, and the king will pardon me.”

  The young man was about to execute his threat, when a touch arrested his arm. He turned and saw the king, who, coming down the staircase behind them, had heard the end of the discussion.

  “What is the matter, gentlemen?” said he.

  “Sire,” cried D’Epernon, furiously, “this man, one of your Forty-five Guardsmen, of which he shall soon cease to form part, being sent by me to watch M. de Mayenne, in Paris, followed him to Orleans, and received from him a letter for Madame de Montpensier.”

  “You have received this letter?” asked the king of Ernanton.

  “Yes, sire, but M. d’Epernon does not tell you under what circumstances.”

  “Well, where is this letter?”

  “That is just the cause of the quarrel, sire. M. de Carmainges resolutely refuses to give it to me, and determines to carry it to its address.”

  Carmainges bent one knee before the king. “Sire,” said he, “I am a poor gentleman, but a man of honor. I saved the life of your messenger, who was about to be assassinated by M. de Mayenne and six of his followers, for I arrived just in time to turn the fortune of the combat.”

  “And M. de Mayenne?”

  “Was dangerously wounded.”

  “Well, after?”

  “Your messenger, sire, who seemed to have a particular hatred of M. de Mayenne — ”

  The king smiled.

  “Wished to kill his enemy; perhaps he had the right, but I thought that in my presence, whose sword belongs to your majesty, this vengeance became a political assassination, and — ”

  “Go on, monsieur.”

  “I saved the life of M. de Mayenne, as I had saved that of your messenger.”

  D’Epernon shrugged his shoulders with a scornful smile.

  “Go on,” said the king.

  “M. de Mayenne, reduced to one companion, for the four others were killed, did not wish to separate from him, and, ignorant that I belonged to your majesty, confided to me a letter to his sister. I have this letter, sire, and here it is; I offer it to your majesty who has the right to dispose of it and of me. My honor is dear to me, sire, but I place it fearlessly in your hands.”

  Ernanton, so saying, held out the tablets to the king, who gently put them back.

  “What did you say, D’Epernon?” said he; “M. de Carmainges is an honest man and a faithful servant?”

  “What did I say, sire.”

  “Yes; I heard you pronounce the word ‘prison.’ Mordieu! on the contrary, when one meets a man like M. de Carmainges, it is reward we should speak of. A letter, duke, belongs only to the bearer and to the person to whom it is sent. You will deliver your letter, M. de Carmainges.”