M. Bryan De Monsoreau

It was more than joy, it was almost delirium, which agitated Bussy when he had acquired the certainty that the lady of his dream was a reality, and had, in fact, given him that generous hospitality of which he had preserved the vague remembrance in his heart. He would not let the young doctor go, but, dirty as he was, made him get into the litter with him; he feared that if he lost sight of him, he too would vanish like a dream. He would have liked to talk all night of the unknown lady, and explain to Rémy how superior she was even to her portrait; but Rémy, beginning his functions at once, insisted that he should go to bed: fatigue and pain gave the same counsel and these united powers carried the point.

The next day, on awaking, he found Rémy at his bedside. The young man could hardly believe in his good fortune, and wanted to see Bussy again to be sure of it.

“Well!” said he, “how are you, M. le Comte?”

“Quite well, my dear Esculapius; and you, are you satisfied?”

“So satisfied, my generous protector, that I would not change places with the king. But I now must see the wound.”

“Look.” And Bussy turned round for the young surgeon to take off the bandage. All looked well; the wound was nearly closed. Bussy, quite happy, had slept well, and sleep and happiness had aided the doctor.

“Well,” said Bussy, “what do you say?”

“I dare not tell you that you are nearly well, for fear you should send me back to the Rue Beauheillis, five hundred paces from the famous house.”

“Which we will find, will we not, Rémy?”

“I should think so.”

“Well, my friend, look on yourself as one of the house, and today, while you move your things, let me go to the fête of the installation of the new chief huntsman.”

“Ah! you want to commit follies already.”

“No, I promise to be very reasonable.”

“But you must ride.”

“It is necessary.”

“Have you a horse with an easy pace?

“I have four to choose from.”

“Well, take for today the one you would choose for the lady of the portrait you know.”

“Know! Ah, Rémy, you have found the way to my heart forever; I feared you would prevent me from going to this chase, or rather this imitation of one, and all the ladies of the Court, and many from the City, will be admitted to it. Now, Rémy, this lady may be there. She certainly is not a simple bourgeoise — those tapestries, that bed, so much luxury as well as good taste, show a woman of quality, or, at least, a rich one. If I were to meet her there!”

“All is possible,” replied Rémy, philosophically.

“Except to find the house,” sighed Bussy. “Or to penetrate when we have found it.”

“Oh! I have a method.”

“What is it?”

“Get another sword wound.”

“Good; that gives me the hope that you will keep me.”

“Be easy, I feel as if I had known you for twenty years, and could not do without you.”

The handsome face of the young doctor grew radiant with joy.

“Well, then,” said he, “it is decided; you go to the chase to look for the lady, and I go to look for the house.”

“It will be curious if we each succeed.”

There had been a great chase commanded in the Bois de Vincennes, for M. de Monsoreau to enter on his functions of chief huntsman. Most people had believed, from the scene of the day before, that the king would not attend, and much astonishment was expressed when it was announced that he had set off with his brother and all the court. The rendezvous was at the Point St. Louis. It was thus they named a cross-road where the martyr king used to sit under an oak-tree and administer justice. Everyone was therefore assembled here at nine o’clock, when the new officer, object of the general curiosity, unknown as he was to almost everyone, appeared on a magnificent black horse. All eyes turned towards him.

He was a man about thirty-five, tall, marked by the smallpox, and with a disagreeable expression. Dressed in a jacket of green cloth braided with silver, with a silver shoulder belt, on which the king’s arms were embroidered in gold; on his head a cap with a long plume; in his left hand a spear, and in his right the éstortuaire [Footnote: The éstortuaire was a stick, which the chief huntsman presented to the king, to put aside the branches of the trees when he was going at full gallop.] destined for the king, M. de Monsoreau might look like a terrible warrior, but not certainly like a handsome cavalier.

“Fie! what an ugly figure you have brought us, monseigneur,” said Bussy, to the Duc d’Anjou, “are these the sort of gentlemen that your favor seeks for out of the provinces? Certainly, one could hardly find such in Paris, which is nevertheless as well stocked with ugliness. They say that your highness made a great point of the king’s appointing this man.”

“M. de Monsoreau has served me well, and I recompense him,” replied the duke.

“Well said, monseigneur, it is rare for princes to be grateful; but if that be all, I also have served you well, and should wear the embroidered jacket more gracefully, I trust, than M. de Monsoreau. He has a red beard, I see also, which is an additional beauty.”

“I never knew that a man must be an Apollo, or Antinous, to fill an office at court.”

“You never heard it; astonishing!”

“I consult the heart and not the face — the services rendered and promised.”

“Your highness will say I am very envious; but I search, and uselessly, I confess, to discover what service this Monsoreau can have rendered you.”

“You are too curious, Bussy,” said the duke, angrily.

“Just like princes,” cried Bussy, with his ordinary freedom, “they ask you everything; but if you ask a question in return, you are too curious.”

“Well! go and ask M. de Monsoreau, himself.”

“Ah! you are right. He is but a simple gentleman, and if he do not reply, I shall know what to say.”

“What?”

“Tell him he is impertinent.” And, turning from the prince, Bussy approached M. de Monsoreau, who was in the midst of the circle.

Bussy approached, gay and smiling, and his hat in his hand.

“Pardon, monsieur, but you seem all alone. Is it that the favor which you enjoy has already made you enemies?”

“I do not know, monsieur, but it is probable. But, may I ask, to what I owe the honor that you do me in invading my solitude?”

“Ma foi, to the great admiration that M. le Duc d’Anjou has inspired in me for you.”

“How so?”

“By recounting to me the exploit for which you were made chief huntsman.”

M. de Monsoreau grew so frightfully pale, that the marks in his face looked like black spots on his yellow skin; at the same time he looked at Bussy in a manner that portended a violent storm. Bussy saw that he had done wrong; but he was not a man to draw back; on the contrary, he was one of those who generally repair an indiscretion by an impertinence.

“You say, monsieur,” said Monsoreau, “that the Duke recounted to you my last exploit?”

“Yes, monsieur, but I should much like to hear the story from your own lips.”

M. de Monsoreau clasped his dagger tighter in his hand, as though he longed to attack Bussy.

“Ma foi, monsieur,” said he, “I was quite disposed to grant your request, and recognize your courtesy, but unfortunately here is the king arriving, so we must leave it for another time.”

Indeed, the king, mounted on his favorite Spanish horse, advanced rapidly towards them. He loved handsome faces, and was therefore little pleased with that of M. de Monsoreau. However, he accepted, with a good grace, the éstortuaire which he presented to him, kneeling, according to custom. As soon as the king was armed, the chase commenced.

Bussy watched narrowly everyone that passed, looking for the original of the portrait, but in vain; there were pretty, even beautiful and charming women, but not the charming creature whom he sought for. He was reduced to conversation, and the company of his ordinary friends. Antragues, always laughing and talking, was a great amusement.

“We have a frightful chief huntsman,” said he to Bussy, “do you not think so?”

“I find him horrible; what a family it must be if his children are like him. Do you know his wife?”

“He is not married.”

“How do you know?”

“From Madame de Vendron, who finds him very handsome, and would willingly make him her fourth husband. See how she keeps near him.”

“What property has he?”

“Oh! a great deal in Anjou.”

“Then he is rich?”

“They say so, but that is all; he is not of very good birth. But see, there is M. le Duc d’Anjou calling to you.”

“Ah! ma foi, he must wait. I am curious about this man. I find him singular, I hardly know why. And such an odd name.”

“Oh! it comes from Mons Soricis; Livarot knows all about that. — Here, Livarot; this Monsoreau ——”

“Well.”

“Tell us what you know about him ——”

“Willingly. Firstly, I am afraid of him.”

“Good, that is what you think; now tell us what you know.”

“Listen. I was going home one night ——”

“It begins in a terrible manner.”

“Pray let me finish. It was about six months ago, I was returning from my uncle D’Entragues, through the wood of Méridor, when all at once I heard a frightful cry, and I saw pass, with an empty saddle, a white horse, rushing through the wood. I rode on, and at the end of a long avenue, darkened by the approaching shades of night, I saw a man on a black horse; he seemed to fly. Then I heard again the same cry, and I distinguished before him on the saddle a woman, on whose mouth he had his hand. I had a gun in my hand — you know I aim well, and I should have killed him, but my gun missed fire.”

“We............