The Chaplet of Pearls by Charlotte M. Yonge (have you read this book .TXT) 📖

‘Better leave me,’ said Humfrey; ‘they cannot keep me when you are out of their clutches.’

‘Help me, Humfrey,’ said Berenger, beginning to lift his foster-brother to the saddle, but there the poor man wavered, cried out that his head swam, and he could not keep his seat, entreating almost in agony to be taken down.

‘Lean on me,’ said Berenger, putting his arms round him. ‘There! you will be able to get to the Grange du Temple, where you will be in safe shelter.’

‘Sir, sir,’ cried Aime, ready to tear his hair, ‘this is ruin! My lady meant you to make all speed to La Rochelle and there embark, and this is the contrary way!’

‘That cannot be helped,’ said Berenger; ‘it is the only safe place for my foster-brother.’

Aime, with childish petulance, muttered something about ingratitude in crossing his lady’s plans; but, as no one attended to him, he proceeded to unfasten his horse, and then exclaimed, half crying, ‘Will no one help me?’

‘Not able to saddle a horse! a pretty fellow for a cavalier!’ exclaimed Philip, assisting, however, and in a few minutes they were all issuing from a low side gate, and looking back with bounding hearts at the drooping banner on the keep of Nid-de-Merle.

Only young Aime went with bowed head and drooping look, as though pouting, and Berenger, putting Osbert’s bridle into Humfrey’s hand, stepped up to him, saying, ‘Hark you, M. de Selinville, I am sorry if we seemed to neglect you. We owe you and your lady all gratitude, but I must be the judge of my own duty, and you can only be with me if you conform.’

The young seemed to be devouring his tears, but only said, ‘I was vexed to see my lady’s plan marred, and your chance thrown away.’

‘Of that I must judge,’ said Berenger.

They were in a by-lane, perfectly solitary. The whole country was at the funeral. Through the frosty air there came an occasional hum or murmur from Berenger, or the tinkle of a cow-bell in the fields, but no human being was visible. It was certain, however, that the Rotrous, being Huguenots, and no vassals of Nid-de-Merle, would not be at the obsequies; and Berenger, walking with swift strides, supporting Osbert on his horse, continued to cheer him with promises of rest and relief there, and listened to no entreaties from Philip or Humfrey to take one of their horses. Had not Osbert borne him on his shoulders through the butchery at Paris, and endured three years of dungeon for his sake?

As for Philip, the slow pace of their ride was all insufficient for his glee. He made his horse caracole at every level space, till Berenger reminded him that they might have far to ride that night, and even then he was constantly breaking into attempts at shouting and whistling as often repressed, and springing up in his stirrups to look over the high hedges.

The Grange was so well concealed in its wooded ravine, that only when close upon the gate the party became aware that this farm-yard, usually so solitary, formed an exception to the general desertion of the country. There was a jingle and a stamp of horses in the court, which could hardly be daylight echoes of the Templars. Berenger feared that the Guisards might have descended Rotrou, and was stepping forward to reconnoiter, while young De Selinville, trembling, besought him not to run into danger, but to turn and hasten to La Rochelle. By this time, however, the party had been espied by two soldiers stationed at the gate, but not before Berenger had had time to remark that they did not wear either the gold fleur-de-lys like his late guards, or the white cross of Lorraine; nor had they the strange air of gay ferocity usual with the King’s mercenaries. And almost by instincts, at a venture, he made the old Huguenot sign he had learnt form his father, and answered, ‘For God and the Religion.’

The countersign was returned. ‘Bearn and Bourbon is the word to-day, comrade,’ replied the sentinel. ‘Eh quoi! have you had an encounter, that you bring a wounded man?’

‘Not wounded, but nearly dead in a Guisard prison,’ said Berenger, with an unspeakable sense of relief and security, as the sentries admitted them into the large walled court, where horses were eating hay, being watered and rubbed down; soldiers snatching a hasty meal in corners; gentlemen in clanking breastplates coming in and out of the house, evidently taking orders from a young man in a gray and silver suit, whose brown eagle face, thin cheeks, arched nose, and black eyes of keenest fire, struck Berenger at once with a sense of recognition as well as of being under a glance that seemed to search out everybody and everything at once.

‘More friends!’ and the tone again recalled a flood of recollections. ‘I thank and welcome you. What! You have met the enemy—where is he?’

‘My servant is not wounded. Sire,’ said Berenger, removing his hat and bending low. ‘This is the effect of long captivity. We have but just escaped.’

‘Then we are the same case! Pardon me, sir, I have seen you before, but for once I am at fault.’

‘When I call myself De Ribaumont, your Grace will not wonder.’

‘The dead alive! If I mistake not, it was in the Inferno itself that we last met! But we have broken through the gates at last! I remember poor King Charles was delighted to hear that you lived! But where have you been a captive?’

‘At Nid-de-Merle, Sire; my kinsmen accused me of treason in order to hinder my search for my wife. We escaped even now during the funeral of the Chevalier.’

‘By favour of which we are making our way to Parthenay unsuspected, though, by my faith, we gather so like a snowball, that we could be a match for a few hundreds of Guisards. Who is with you, M. de Ribaumont?’

‘Let me present to your Majesty my English brother, Philip Thistlewood,’ said Berenger, drawing the lad forward, making due obeisance, though entirely ignorant who was the plainly-dressed, travel-soiled stranger, so evidently a born lord of men.

‘An Englishman is ever welcome,’ was his gracious reception.

‘And,’ added Berenger, ‘let me also present the young De Selinville, to whom I owe my escape. Where is he, Philip?’

He seemed to be busy with the horses, and Berenger could not catch his eye.

‘Selinville! I thought that good Huguenot house was extinct.’

‘This is a relation of the late Count de Selinville, my cousin’s husband, Sire. He arranged my evasion, and would be in danger at Nid-de-Merle. Call him, Philip.’

Before this was done, however, the King’s attention was otherwise claimed, and turning to one of his gentlemen he said, ‘Here, d’Augigne, I present to you an acquaintance made in Tartarus. See to his entertainment ere we start for Parthenay.’

Agrippa d’Aubigne, still young, but grave and serious-looking greeted M. de Ribaumont as men meet in hours when common interests make rapid friendships; and from him Berenger