Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by theWeb Archive (New York Public Library)

  Transcriber's Notes:

  1. Page scan source: https://www.archive.org/details/snowball00weymgoog (New York Public Library)

  FLUNG A SNOWBALL AT ME. _Page 11_.]

  THE SNOWBALL

  BY

  STANLEY J. WEYMAN

  AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," "UNDER THE RED ROBE," "MY LADY ROTHA," ETC. ETC.

  ILLUSTRATED

  NEW YORK THE MERRIAM COMPANY 67 Fifth Avenue

  Copyright, 1895, by THE MERRIAM COMPANY

  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

  * * *

  Flung a snowball at me. _Frontispiece_.

  He dropped his napkin.

  "Your scribe might do for me."

  She sprang forward.

  It was the king.

  "Are you coming out there?"

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  Illustrated, Square 32mo, Cloth, 40c.

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  No. 6

  I.--A Man and His Model. By Anthony Hope.

  II.--The Body-Snatcher. By Robert Louis Stevenson.

  III.--The Silence of the Maharajah. By Marie Corelli.

  IV.--Some Good Intentions and a Blunder.

  V.--After To-Morrow. By the Author of "The Green Carnation."

  VI.--The Snowball. By Stanley J. Weyman.

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  _For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent post-paid upon receipt of price by_

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  THE SNOWBALL.

  The slight indisposition from which the Queen suffered in the springof 1602, and which was occasioned by a cold caught during herlying-in, by diverting the King's attention from matters of State, hadthe effect of doubling the burden cast on my shoulders. Though themain threads of M. de Biron's conspiracy were in our hands as early asthe month of November of the preceding year, and steps had beenimmediately taken to sound the chief associates by summoning them tocourt, an interval necessarily followed during which we had everythingto fear; and this not only from the despair of the guilty, but fromthe timidity of the innocent who, in a court filled with cabals andrumors of intrigues, might see no way to clear themselves. Even theshows and interludes which followed the Dauphin's birth, and made thatChristmas remarkable, served only to amuse the idle; they could notdisperse the cloud which hung over the Louvre, nor divert those who,on the one side or the other, had aught to fear.

  In connection with this period of suspense I recall an episode, bothcharacteristic in itself, and worthy, I think, by reason of itsoddity, to be set down here; where it may serve for a preface to thosemore serious events, attending the trial and execution of M. de Biron,which I shall have presently to relate.

  I had occasion, about the end of the month of January, to see M. duHallot. The weather was cold, and partly for that reason, partly froma desire to keep my visit, which had to do with La Fin's disclosures,from the general eye, I chose to go on foot. For the same reason Itook with me only two armed servants, and a confidential page, the sonof my friend Arnaud. M. du Hallot, who lived at this time in a housein the Faubourg St. Germain, not far from the College of France,detained me long, and when I rose to leave insisted that I should takehis coach, as snow had begun to fall and already lay an inch deep inthe streets. At first I was unwilling to do this, but reflecting thatsuch small services are highly appreciated by those who render them,and attach men more surely and subtly than the greatest bribes, Ifinally consented, and, taking my place with some becomingexpressions, bade young Arnaud find his way home on foot.

  The coach had nearly reached the south end of the Pont au Change, whena number of youths ran by me, pelting one another with snowballs, andshouting so lustily that I was at a loss which to admire more--thesilence of their feet or the loudness of their voices. Aware that ladsof that age are small respecters of persons, I was not surprised tosee two or three of them rush on to the bridge before us, and evencontinue their Parthian warfare under the very feet of the horses. Theresult was, however, that the latter presently took fright at thatpart of the bridge where the houses encroach most boldly on theroadway; and, but for the care of the running footman, who hastened totheir heads, might have done some harm either to the coach or thepassersby.

  As it was, we were brought to a stop while one of the wheels wasextricated from the kennel, into which it had become wedged. Smilingto think what the King--for he, strangely warned by Providence, wasall his life long timid in a coach--would have said to this, I went toopen the curtains, and had just effected this to a certain extent,when one of a crowd of idlers who stood on the raised pavement besideus deliberately lifted up his arm and flung a snowball at me.

  The missile flew wide of its mark by an inch or two only. That I wasamazed at such audacity goes without saying, but in my doubt of whatit might be the prelude--for the breakdown of the coach in that narrowplace, the haunt of the rufflers and vagrants of every kind, might bea part of a concerted plan--I fell back into my place. The coach, asit happened, moved on with a jerk at the same moment; and before I hadwell digested the matter, or had time to mark the demeanor of thecrowd, we were clear of the bridge and rolling past the Chatelet.

  A smaller man might have stopped to revenge, and to cook a sprat havepassed all Paris through the net. But remembering my own youthfuldays, when I attended the College of Burgundy, I set down the freak tothe insolence of some young student, and, shrugging my shoulders,dismissed it from my thoughts. An instant later, however, observingthat the fragments of the snowball were melting on the seat by my sideand wetting the cushion, I raised my hand to brush them away. In theact I saw, to my surprise, a piece of paper lying among the _debris_.

  "Ho, ho!" said I to myself. "This is a strange snowball! I have heardthat the apprentices put stones in theirs. But paper! Let me see whatthis means."

  The morsel, though moistened by contact with the snow, remainedintact. Unfolding it with the greatest care--for already I began todiscern that here was something out of the common--I found written onthe inner side, in a clear, clerkly hand, the words, "_Beware ofNicholas!_"

  It will be remembered that Simon Nicholas was at this time secretaryto the King, and so high in his favor as to be admitted to theknowledge of all but his most private affairs. Gay, and of a veryjovial wit, he was able to commend himself to Henry by amusing him;while his years, for he was over sixty, seemed some warranty for hisdiscretion, and at the same time gave younger sinners a feeling ofsuperior worth, since they might repent and he had not. Often incontact with him, I had always found him equal to his duties, andthough too fond of the table and of all the good things of this life,neither given to babbling nor boasting. In a word, one for whom I hadmore liking than respect.

  A man in his position, however, possesses such stupendousopportunities for evil that, as I read the warning so cunninglyconveyed to me, I sat aghast. His office gave him at all times thatready access to the King's person which is the aim of conspiratorsagainst the lives of sovereigns; and, short of this supreme treachery,he was master of secrets which Biron's associates would give all togain. When I add that I knew Nicholas to be a man of extravaganthabits and careless life, and one, moreover, who, if rumor did notwrong him, had lost much in that rearrangement of the finances which Ihad lately effected without even the King's privity, it will be seenthat those words, "Beware of Nicholas," were calculated to occasion methe most profound thought.

  Of the person who had conveyed the missive to me I had unfortunatelyseen nothing; though I believed him to be a man, and young. But thecircumstances, which seemed to indicate the extreme need of secrecy,gave me a hint as to my own conduct. Accordingly, I smoothed my brow,and on the coach stopping at the Arsenal descended with my usual faceof preoccupation.

  At the foot of the staircase my _maitre-d'-hotel_ met me.

  "M. Nicholas, the King's secretary, is here," he said. "He has beenwaiting