He tried to learn more, but could extract nothing further from her. The next day, Aurilly, who seemed to doubt her story, spoke of Anjou, of Beaugé, and Méridor. Gertrude declared these names to be perfectly unknown to her. Then he avowed that he came from the Duc d’Anjou, who had seen and fallen in love with me; then came magnificent offers for both of us, for her, if she would introduce the prince into my house, and for me, if I would receive him.
“Every evening M. de Monsoreau came, to hear what was going on, and remained from eight o’clock to midnight, and it was evident that his anxiety was great. On Saturday evening he arrived pale and agitated.
“‘You must promise to receive the duke on Tuesday or Wednesday,’ said he. ‘Promise! and why?’ ‘Because he has made up his mind to come in, and he is just now on the best terms with the king; we have nothing to expect from him.’ ‘But before then will anything happen to help me?’ ‘I hope so. I expect from day to day the event which is to place the duke in my power. But tomorrow I must leave you, and must go to Monsoreau.’ ‘Must you?’ cried I with a mixture of joy and terror. ‘Yes, I have there a rendezvous which is indispensable to bring about the event of which I speak.’ ‘But if you fail, what are we to do?’ ‘What can I do against a prince, if I have no right to protect you, but yield to bad fortune?’
“‘Oh! my father! my father!’ cried I. The count looked at me. ‘What have you to reproach me with?’ said he. ‘Nothing, on the contrary.’ ‘Have I not been a devoted friend, and as respectful as a brother?’ ‘You have behaved throughout like a gallant man.’ ‘Had I not your promise?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Have I once recalled it to you?’ ‘No.’ ‘And yet you prefer to be the mistress of the duke, to being my wife?’ ‘I do not say so, monsieur.’ ‘Then decide.’ ‘I have decided.’ ‘To be Countess of Monsoreau?’ ‘Rather than mistress of the duke.’ ‘The alternative is flattering. But, meanwhile, let Gertrude gain time until Tuesday.’ The next day Gertrude went out, but did not meet Aurilly. We felt more frightened at his absence than we had done at his presence. Night came, and we were full of terror. We were alone and feeble, and for the first time I felt my injustice to the count.”
“Oh! madame!” cried Bussy, “do not be in a hurry to think so, his conduct conceals some mystery, I believe.”
“All was quiet,” continued Diana, “until eleven o’clock. Then five men came out of the Rue St Antoine, and hid themselves by the Hôtel des Tournelles. We began to tremble; were they there for us? However, they remained quiet, and a quarter of an hour passed; then we saw two other men approach. By the moonlight Gertrude recognized Aurilly. ‘Alas! mademoiselle; it is they,’ cried she. ‘Yes,’ cried I, trembling, ‘and the five others are to help them.’ ‘But they must force the door,’ said Gertrude, ‘perhaps the neighbors will come and help us.’ ‘Oh! no, they do not know us, and they will not fight against the duke. Alas! Gertrude, I fear we have no real defender but the count.’ ‘Well! then, why do you always refuse to marry him?’ I sighed.”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE MARRIAGE
“The two men approached the window. We gently opened it a little way, and heard one say, ‘Are you sure it is here?’ ‘Yes, monseigneur, quite sure,’ said the other. ‘It is the fifth house from the corner of the Rue St. Paul.’ ‘And you are sure of the key?’ ‘I took the pattern of the lock.’ I seized Gertrude’s arm in terror. ‘And once inside’ he went on, ‘the servant will admit us; your highness has in your pocket a golden key as good as this one.’ ‘Open, then.’ We heard the key turn in the lock but all at once the ambushed men rushed forward, crying, ‘a mort! a mort!’ I could not understand this, only I saw that unexpected help had come to us, and I fell on my knees, thanking Heaven. But the prince had only to name himself, when every sword went back into the scabbard, and every foot drew back.”
“Yes, yes,” said Bussy, “it was for me they came, not for the prince.”
“However, this attack caused the prince to retire, and the five gentlemen went back to their hiding-place. It was evident that the danger was over for that night, but we were too unquiet to go to bed. Soon we saw a man on horseback appear, and then the five gentlemen immediately rushed on him. You know the rest, as the gentleman was yourself.”
“On the contrary, madame, I know only that I fought and then fainted.”
“It is useless to say,” continued Diana, with a blush, “the interest that we took in the combat so unequal, but so valiantly sustained. Each blow drew from us a shudder, a cry, and a prayer. We saw your horse fall, and we thought you lost, but it was not so; the brave Bussy merited his reputation. At last, surrounded, menaced on all sides, you retreated like a lion, facing your foes, and came to lean against our door; the same idea came to both of us, to go down and open to you, and we ran towards the staircase; but we had barricaded the door, and it took us some minutes to move the furniture, and as we arrived on the stairs, we heard the door shut. We stopped, and looked at each other, wondering who had entered. Soon we heard steps, and a man appeared, who tottered, threw up his arms, and fell on the first step. It was evident that he was not pursued, but had put the door, so luckily left open by the duke, between him and his adversaries. In any case we had nothing to fear; it was he who needed our help. Gertrude ran and fetched a lamp, and we found you had fainted, and carried you to the bed. Gertrude had heard of a wonderful cure made by a young doctor in the Rue Beautrellis, and she offered to go and fetch him. ‘But,’ said I, ‘he might betray us.’ ‘I will take precautions’ said she. She took money and the key, and I remained alone near you, and – praying for you.”
“Alas!” said Bussy, “I did not know all my happiness, madame.”
“In a quarter of an hour Gertrude returned, bringing the young doctor with his eyes bandaged.”
“Yes, it was at that moment I recovered my senses and saw your portrait, and thought I saw you enter,” said Bussy.
“I did so; my anxiety was stronger than my prudence. The doctor examined your wound and answered for your life.”
“All that remained in my mind,” said Bussy, “like a dream, and yet something told me,” added he, laying his hand upon his heart, “that it was real.”
“When the surgeon had dressed your wound, he drew from his pocket a little bottle containing a red liquor, of which he put some drops on your lips. He told me it was to counteract the fever and produce sleep, and said that the only thing then was to keep you quiet. Gertrude then bandaged his eyes again, and took him back to the Rue Beautrellis, but she fancied he counted the steps.”
“He did so, madame.”
“This supposition frightened us. We feared he would betray us, and we wished to get rid of every trace of the hospitality we had shown you. I gathered up my courage; it was two o’clock, and the streets were deserted; Gertrude was strong, and I aided her, and between us we carried you to the Temple. Luckily we met no one, but when we returned, I fainted with emotion.”
“Oh! madame!” cried Bussy, “how can I ever repay you for what you have done for me?”
There was a moment’s silence, and they heard the clock of St. Catherine’s church strike. “Two o’clock,” cried Diana, “and you here!”
“Oh! madame, do not send me away without telling me all. Suppose that God had given you a brother, and tell this brother what he can do for his sister.”
“Alas! nothing now; it is too late.”
“What happened the next day?” said Bussy; “what did you do on that day when I thought constantly of you, without feeling
