island was uninhabited, flat, and only offering along its entire coast, one very unsafe creek for vessels. Although it is extremely fertile, and pomegranates, orange and fig trees, grow there in the open air, no one had thought of taking up his abode there, and we are not aware whether a change has since taken place.
A very important fortress, which, at a later date, attained a melancholy reputation as a state prison, was erected on the island, the greater portion of which it occupied.
This fort was composed of three towers, connected together by terraces, which time had covered with a yellowish moss, while a wide deep moat surrounded the walls.
A few years prior to the beginning of our story, in 1635, the Spaniards had seized it by surprise.
The Cardinal, in order to prevent the repetition of such a calamity, had judged it advisable to protect the fort from a coup de main, by placing there a garrison of fifty picked soldiers, commanded by a major performing the duties of governor. He was an old officer of fortune, whom this post served as a retreat, and who, far from the cares of the world, led a perfect canonical life, thanks to a tacit understanding with the smugglers, who alone cast anchor in these parts.
The officer who commanded the fort at this moment was an old gentleman, tall, thin, and wizened, with harsh features, who had had a leg and arm cut off. His name was Monsieur de l'Oursière; he was constantly scolding and abusing his subordinates, and the day when he left the Crown regiment, in which he held the rank of major, was kept as a holiday by the whole regiment, officers and men; so cordially was the worthy man detested.
Cardinal de Richelieu was a good judge of men; in selecting Major de l'Oursière to make him governor of Sainte Marguerite, and metamorphose him into a gaoler, he had found the exact post which suited his quarrelsome temper, and his cruel instincts.
It was on this amiable personage that the Count de Barmont would have to be dependant for doubtless a considerable period; for, if the Cardinal Minister easily shut the gate of a state prison on a gentleman, to make up for it, he was never in a hurry to open it again, and a prisoner, unless something extraordinary occurred, was almost safe to die forgotten in his dungeon, except when his Eminence had a whim to have his head cut off in broad daylight.
After a number of countersigns had been exchanged with a profuseness of caution which bore witness to the good guard and strict discipline maintained by the governor, the prisoner and his escort were at length introduced into the fortress, and admitted to the Major's presence.
The Major was just finishing his breakfast, when a Cardinal's messenger was announced to him: he buttoned his uniform, put on his sword and hat, and ordered the messenger to be shown in.
François Bouillot entered, followed by the Count, bowed, and presented the order of which he was the bearer.
The governor took it, and read it through; then he turned to the Count, who was standing motionless a few paces in the rear, made him a slight bow, and addressed him in a dry voice, and with a rough accent.
"Your servant, sir," he said to him: "are you the Count de Barmont, whose name is written on this paper?"
"Yes, sir," the Count answered, bowing in his turn.
"I am sorry, sir, truly sorry," the Major resumed; "but I have strict orders with reference to you, and a soldier only knows his duty; still, believe me, sir, hum, hum, that I shall try to reconcile my natural humanity with the rigour that is recommended to me, hum, hum, I know how gentlemen ought to behave to each other, sir; be assured of that."
And the governor, doubtless satisfied at the speech he had just uttered, smiled, and drew himself gracefully up.
The Count bowed, but made no answer.
"You shall be conducted to your apartment at once, sir," the Major went on; "hum, hum! I wish it was handsomer, but I did not expect you; hum, hum, and you know how things are—hum, hum, we will manage to lodge you more comfortably hereafter; la Berloque," he added, turning to a soldier standing near the door, "conduct this gentleman, hum, hum, to room No. 8, in the second turret; hum, hum, I believe it is the most habitable one; your servant, sir, your servant, hum, hum!"
And after having thus unceremoniously dismissed the Count, the Major went into another room.
M. de Barmont, accompanied by Bouillot and the guards, who had brought him, followed the soldier.
The latter led them through several passages, and up various stairs, and then stopped before a door, garnished with formidable bolts.
"It is here," he said.
The Count then turned to Bouillot, and affectionately offered him his hand.
"Farewell, my old friend," he said to him in a gentle but firm voice, while a vague smile played round his lips.
"Farewell, till we meet again," Bouillot said, with a stress on the words. Then he took leave of him, and withdrew, with his eyes full of tears.
The door closed with a mournful sound on the prisoner.
"Oh!" the old servant muttered, as he pensively went down the turret stairs, "Woe to those who venture to oppose the Count, if ever he leaves his prison again! And he shall do so, I swear it, even if I must risk my life in securing his escape."
CHAPTER V.
A BACKWARD GLANCE.
The family of the Count de Barmont Senectaire was one of the most ancient and noble in Languedoc; their origin went back to an antiquity so remote, that we may declare without fear of contradiction that it was lost in the mist of ages.
A Barmont Senectaire fought at Bouvines by the side of Philip Augustus.
The chronicle of Joinville mentions a Barmont Senectaire, knight banneret, who died of the plague at Tunis, in 1270, during the second crusade of King Louis IX.
Francis I. on the evening of the battle of Marignano, gave the rank of Count on the battlefield itself to Euguerrand de Barmont Senectaire, captain of one hundred men at arms, to reward him for his grand conduct and the sturdy blows he had seen him deal during the whole period of that combat of giants.
Few noble families have such splendid title deeds among their archives.
The Counts de Barmont were always military nobles, and they gave France several celebrated generals.
But in the course of time, the power and fortune of this family gradually diminished: during the reign of Henri III. it was reduced to a condition bordering on poverty. Still, justly proud of a stainless past, they continued to carry their heads high in the province, and if the Count de Barmont endured hard privations in order to support his name worthily, nothing of this was visible externally, and everybody was ignorant of the fact.
The Count had attached himself to the fortunes of the King of Navarre as much through the hope of regaining a position through the war, as through admiration of this prince, whose genius he had probably divined. A brave soldier, but young, impetuous, and handsome, the Count had several affairs of gallantry. One among others with a lady of the Town of Cahors, affianced to a very rich Spanish noble, whom he succeeded
