

FROM THE REVIEWS OF

### Rapier for Revenge

"Romance, swashbuckling adventure, colorful background and mystery are just a few of the ingredients to round out this exciting historical novel for young readers. . . . The major ingredient that makes this book superior to most historical novels is the addition of French theater history. . . . Boys and girls (and even Moms and Dads) will find this a thrilling story, richly presented particularly with respect to the background of this era in French history." —Baton Rouge, LA _Advocate_

"Miss Butler sets a fast-paced story in the romantic 17th century. . . . The colorful background of the period and the boy's mastery of the gentleman's weapon of defense make this an enthralling story for the young." —Buffalo, NY _Courier Express_

"A tension-filled climax . . . in itself makes the novel worth reading. Fresh, unusual, exciting, this book is easily one of the best of the season." —Greensboro, NC _News_

### Rapier for Revenge

by

Mildred Allen Butler

Copyright © 1969 by Mildred Allen Butler

All rights reserved. For information contact sle@sylviaengdahl.com

Funk & Wagnalls edition (hardcover) published in 1969

Ad Stellae Books edition (ebook) published in 2013

This edition distributed by Smashwords

Cover art © by Canicula / Dreamstime

### CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Armand de Lys

Chapter 2: A Hint of the Future

Chapter 3: Play Acting

Chapter 4: The Testing

Chapter 5: The Plot

Chapter 6: The Great City

Chapter 7: The Man with the Monstrous Nose

Chapter 8: A Novice in Paris

Chapter 9: An Actor in Paris

Chapter 10: Disaster

Chapter 11: Cardinal Richelieu

Chapter 12: Prisoner

Chapter 13: The Escape

Chapter 14: The Pursuit

Chapter 15: The King's Justice

Author's Note

About the Author

List of Illustrations

Illus: King Louis XIII

Illus: Gaston d'Orléans (Monsieur)

Illus: Cyrano de Bergerac

Illus: Chateau de Chambord

Cardinal Richelieu

Illus: Chateau de Nantes

Chapter 1: Armand de Lys

The stones of the courtyard were smooth underfoot from the wear of four hundred years, and the gray towers, untouched by ivy or any green thing on this side of the chateau, rose beside them to a blue sky framed by battlements. Two boys fenced, advancing, retreating, circling one another. Armand was weary and his face burned with his effort to match his opponent, two years older and three inches taller than he. Once more he attacked, _en septi_ è _me_ this time, but Henri was too quick for him and slid his foil across to Armand's already torn tunic.

" _Touché!"_ cried Armand in despair, his hand on his breast.

"You must improve, cousin, before you are able to handle a real weapon," said Henri. "Had this foil not been buttoned, that thrust would have found your heart!"

The children who had been watching rose from the semicircle of steps that led to the great front door.

"He did his best, and you should not taunt him, Henri," said Madeleine. "After all, you are eighteen and almost a man, and Armand is only sixteen."

"Almost a man!" Henri was scornful. "Why that 'almost'"? I am off next week to train for the Duc de Cavois's Guards. I shall learn to use the four-foot rapier. But when will Armand get that chance?" The look he gave the younger boy was a sneer. "Take care, sister, that you do not champion the wrong swordsman!" With a flip of his rapier, he lifted the cape which lay on the paving, strode across the courtyard, and disappeared around the corner of the bastion.

Madeleine, dark-haired and brown-eyed, curved her serious mouth into a smile for Armand. "Do not mind him, Armand," she said. "He thinks he is important because he is the eldest. He lords it over me, too, and I am almost fifteen."

"And you are much better than Henri in our theatricals," said twelve-year-old Catherine admiringly. She handed Armand his doublet, and Julie, Armand's ten-year-old sister, took her kerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. The other cousins, fourteen-year-old Raoul, who had been a close friend to Armand ever since he and Julie had come to live at the Chateau de Ronne four years ago, and little Charles, only nine, had been cheering for him all along. Henri was not very well liked by his brothers and sisters.

Armand had set his heart on evening the score with Henri on this particular afternoon, and he had failed. He was not quite quick enough and his reach was not long enough. Now he said,

"Thank you, Madeleine. I thank you all for trying to comfort me for failing. One day Henri and I shall fence and I shall win!" He and Raoul linked arms, and with his cloak over one shoulder and his foil thrusting out behind, he walked with Raoul up the flight of stone steps into the chateau, the other children following. Inside, Armand called to a lackey to bring a basin of water to the bedchamber he shared with Raoul so that he might freshen himself before the evening meal.

"Why does Henri hate me?" he asked his cousin. "He has been like this ever since Julie and I came to live with your family. I have tried to be friendly."

"Henri cannot stand any competition," replied Raoul, "and though he has always beaten you, I think he knows that one day you will win because you grow better all the time. He wouldn't like that. He treats me in the same way, and I am his brother."

"I wouldn't feel so bad if I did not fear that your father, the Marquis, shared his dislike of me."

"Oh, I don't think he does," said Raoul. "He has been harsh and abrupt lately, but my mother says he used to be different, and he was devoted to your father."

"Yes, I remember," said Armand. "I liked him very much when your family used to visit us at Charlefont."

"And he did take you into our family—you and Julie—when your father was—" He stopped, unable to say the word.

"When my father was murdered!" finished Armand.

"We don't know that he was actually murdered," his cousin objected.

"I know it—in my heart!"

The lackey arrived with the water and Armand bathed, changed his high boots for slippers, put on clean clothes, and combed the dark hair that fell to his shoulders. He was all in green except that the gathered breeches and the sleeves of his doublet were slashed with crimson and at his neck was a white collar trimmed with lace. In attire he was as richly dressed as his cousins and other noblemen's sons. This, he realized, he owed to his uncle, coldhearted though he appeared to be.

"You will not mind, Raoul, if I stop in the library for a little while until we are called to sup?" he asked. Raoul, who was a great reader, too, usually accompanied him there.

"No, Armand, I will go to see my gerfalcon," said Raoul. "There will be hunting tomorrow and I want to be sure that my bird is ready." He was accustomed to Armand's wish to be alone sometimes.

Armand walked quietly down the stone staircase to the lower floor and pushed open the heavy, carved door that led into the room he liked to call the library. The Marquis, who had little learning, was not fond of reading. He knew no Latin or Greek and his ability to read and write French was confined to simple documents and military instructions. It had been different with his older brother. The several shelves of books were all Armand's and Julie's—though it was not likely that any girl would ever be able to read them. They came from his father's estate and were saved when all else was lost.

When all else was lost, he thought. Castle, lands, title—and independence, he added, remembering his uncle's severe manner. Sitting in the window embrasure, he envisioned again, for the thousandth time, the misfortune that had brought him and his sister to live at the Château de Ronne as wards of his uncle. Still vivid to him was the autumn day four years ago—his last at the Château de Charlefont.

On that day, Armand de Lys, son of the Comte de Charlefont, had had no premonition of disaster when he went to take an hour's ramble by the river. Before leaving the grounds, he had brought an apple to his favorite mare, Cosette, in the stables, and when he patted her shining black flank and felt her nuzzle his shoulder with her velvety nose, he had not dreamed that he was saying good-by.

The stable boy in his smock of brown fustian pulled his forelock respectfully and remarked that the mare was eager for exercise and wouldn't the young master like an evening's ride? But Armand preferred to walk—or rather, run—for he was still a child. As he leaped over the ground, pausing only at his favorite beech tree to look back at the cluster of round towers framing the chateau, pink in the setting sun, had not known that it was the last time he would see them like that. As he ran on through the gardens with their clipped hedges and the meadows that drifted yellow to the Loire, he had not had any idea that he was saying not _au revoir,_ but _adieu._

The river was low and the margin muddy; it smelled pleasantly of reeds and sodden leaves and of the fresh water of a quiet flowing stream. For a time he walked idly, exploring along the water's edge, stopping to skip flat pebbles across the sunset-tinted surface. Frogs croaked in the still pools behind the ridges of sand away from the main current. He stirred the puddles with a stick and watched the skater bugs that dotted the surface dart this way and that on their long, straddling legs. Now and again he would throw a stick upstream and follow its course as it drifted down past him. As much as anything in his stately home and its surroundings, he loved the beautiful River Loire.

The sun had set and, with twilight, a chill wind rose from the river, lifting the hair from his shoulders and fanning out his yellow-lined cape. It passed as quickly as it came, but a sudden sense of foreboding seized him, and he climbed the bank and started for home. Dusk grayed the round towers of the chateau, and the autumn beeches showed purple and dull red. The scene was no different from the day before, yet a feeling of uneasiness made him hurry, and he began to run.

As he passed through the great gate at the end of a long avenue of chestnut trees, he could see a coach drawn up in the drive. Several horsemen were riding about on the grass, their capes and plumed hats shaken by the breeze, and even at this distance he recognized, with a clutch of terror at his heart, the colors of the Cardinal's Guards. How often he had heard from his father of such visits of Richelieu's men to other chateaux where disgrace and even death had followed! People were scurrying up the steps, then down again, and as he pressed forward, panting from the long uphill run, he could hear the ring of steel on steel. There was a glint of rapiers as three or four pairs of duelists crossed swords. The horsemen charged and scattered them. Then one man fell. He was immediately taken up and thrust into the coach, which started off at a gallop, followed by its outriders.

As Armand slowed an instant, his heart pounding, a little figure came running headlong in his direction, and he sprinted to meet her, shouting:

"Julie, Julie! What has happened?"

She stumbled on the walk and he was at her side in a few strides. "Tell me!" he cried. But it was a moment before she could get her breath.

"Papa is taken! Papa is taken!" she sobbed. "He has been carried off in a coach by the Cardinal's men, and Uncle is at the back gate for you and me. He says with him we shall be safe!"

Now, four years later, in his uncle's chateau, Armand reached over from his window seat to take down the end volume on the middle shelf nearest him. He opened it to find a slip of paper tom from a larger sheet—a paper much worn with handling. On it were words he already knew by heart but read again:

My dear Son,

It is only because danger threatens that I dare commit these words to paper. You know that I have always been a most loyal subject of our King, but a power, often greater than the King's though pretending to act in his name, has determined to rob me of my lands on the excuse that my holdings are a threat to His Majesty's power. Even my life is in danger.

Such has happened to other nobles and I have been forewarned. I have friends, powerful ones, but 1 have one enemy who continually urges my destruction. If 1 come to harm it will be through him. I think I should write his name here so that, should you assume my title, you will know who is the chief enemy of our house. Beware, then, of the Duc de—

Here the note ended. Since Armand had found it on his father's writing table when he hastily packed some possessions before leaving Charlefont forever, he knew that the revelation had been interrupted by the arrival of the Cardinal's Guards on that fatal day. Otherwise his father would have secreted the note where he alone would find it—in one of the books. It was in a book that he kept it now, puzzling over the identity of his father's murderer—for the Comte de Charlefont had never returned from that ride in the coach. In spite of entreaties, he could learn nothing from his uncle.

Armand brought his thoughts back to the present and gazed out the open casement. There was no river here, only rocky hillsides—a barren landscape with few trees. Ivy clothed the wall below him on this side of the chateau—ivy with heavy trunks the thickness of his arm, covered with vines. He and Raoul had climbed down through the foliage more than once to the moat below where, in summer, they cooled off in its water kept fresh by springs. He was not looking at the scene before him now. He was thinking back to the river view out of his own window in the Charlefont of four years ago—the Charlefont that was only a ruin now.

Ever since he was twelve he had been tortured by the question his uncle would not answer: Who was the man who had captured his father, carried him off in the Cardinal's coach, and later murdered him? Each time he read the letter he said to himself: "Someday I am going to find that man and avenge my father!"

It was for this that he must be expert with the rapier. He had been learning to fence since he was six years old—first with a wand when he was little, later with foils. His father had brought him up, as all noblemen's sons were, to perfect a skill which would be necessary to save his life time after time when he went out into the world. In this year of 1640 duels were forbidden by Cardinal Richelieu, but the law was more often broken than enforced. The slightest word or gesture that a gentleman could take as an insult might bring a challenge to "an action of honor" which could easily result in a quick death or severe wound for one or both of the combatants. The son of the Comte de Charlefont must be able to protect himself. So Armand practiced and practiced, and he was bitterly disappointed that he had not yet been able to defeat his cousin Henri.

At five o'clock a gong was struck in the lower hall of the chateau. It was at this time, earlier than in court circles, that the Marquis and Marquise, their five children, nephew, and niece gathered around the long refectory table in the great hall for their evening meal. With them was the boys" tutor—a cleric lodged in the chateau—and, on this occasion, a stranger yet to be introduced. A fire burned in the huge fireplace at one end of the hall, sending flickering light over the long dining table covered with a linen cloth that touched the floor. It was early autumn and the setting sun glinted through the amber, mullioned windows; still the room was chilly.

After grace was said by the _curé,_ the Marquis introduced the stranger, who sat apart from the others below the large saltshaker that had been placed near the end of the table.

"A sort of troubadour to whom I have offered hospitality," he said. "Your name again, monsieur?"

"Michel de Marvelon," replied the stranger in such a beautiful, vibrant voice that the children turned to him with interest.

As the lackeys brought in the dishes, the Marquis questioned the children on the day's activities. Francois Valère, Marquis de Ronne, was a tall, thin man whose black hair fell to his shoulders and whose wisp of a mustache and small, pointed beard set off a face hard and stern. His doublet was of maroon velvet laced with cream-colored satin, with a white embroidered collar and a frill at the wrists. He sat at the center of one side of the table, straight and severe. The Marquise, on the other hand, had a soft, gentle face. Her disposition, which was sweet like her daughter Madeleine's, led her to try constantly to mitigate the harshness of her husband's attitude toward the children. Dressed in blue satin with a ruff that stood up in back to frame her auburn hair, she smiled at them from one side of the table opposite her lord. Armand could barely remember his mother, who died when Julie was born, and he was grateful for his aunt's tenderness for him. She was warmhearted and a lover of all that was good and beautiful. It was because of her desire for order and decorum that plates and forks were set at each place at the table at a time when even the King of France ate with his fingers.

As a lackey placed a dish before him, the Marquis addressed his youngest, Charles. "How have you occupied yourself today, my son?" he asked.

"We had our lessons before dinner, as usual, Papa, and then Catherine and I played at hunting with our bows and arrows in the copse. Later we watched Henri and Armand fence."

"And you, Raoul?" The Marquis turned to his second son, passing over the girls, whose activities held little interest for him.

"After lessons, I read for a long time—the poems of Horace. I find them very interesting, _mon père._ Later Armand and I practiced fencing and then I watched the match between Armand and Henri. After that, I took care of my hawks."

"Your interest in Latin shows you a true son of the Church, Raoul," said de Ronne. "How is he progressing, Father?" he asked the _curé._

"Well. Very well," responded the churchman. "He will do you honor when he takes religious orders."

"That is as it should be. A man should give one son to the Church—although I have already given two daughters." He sighed. His interest was in worldly things, but Clotilde and Antoinette were still dear to him.

"Now, Henri," he said, "have your uniforms been delivered? I ordered three with all the accouterments."

"They have, indeed, _mon père._ They are very fine and I shall not disgrace you when I appear in the company of Monsieur de Cavois." Henri's proud chin lifted at the same angle as his father's.

"I should hope not!" said the Marquis. "They cost me a year's revenue from my lands. A pretty penny! Armand," he said, turning to his nephew, "what progress have you to report?"

"Progress, monsieur? Well, I have studied and I have fenced and I have—remembered."

"You have been busy with the foils—so the boys have said. That is good. You need practice. No time wasted on learning the verses of that worthless fellow, Corneille, I hope."

Armand held back a protest at hearing the greatest dramatic poet of France so disparaged. "No, monsieur," he said.

"And, Henri," continued the Marquis, "in that encounter with Armand I have been hearing about—did you win?"

"I did, Papa," answered Henri. He shot a look at his cousin, his lip curling in disdain.

"Good!" The Marquis's satisfaction was evident. "But do not be too puffed up about it. And do not let it discourage you, Armand. You are improving, I know, and your time will come."

"But not with me!" said Henri.

"We shall see about that!" Armand spoke impulsively, but a glance from his aunt made him stop. Her eyes said to him: Hush! Hush! I know you and I know Henri. No open quarrels.

Almost as an afterthought, the Marquis turned to the girls. "Catherine, Madeleine, Julie—have you anything to tell me?" "A question, _mon père,"_ said Madeleine as the others remained silent. "When, exactly, does Henri leave to enter the academy?"

"One week from this day," was the answer, and Madeleine smiled a satisfied smile.

"And I, Papa, have a request to make," said Catherine. "May we have music and theatricals this evening since the troubadour is here?"

"I suppose so," answered her father. "But I have matters to attend to and I shall not be present."

The repast over, finger bowls were brought—a new elegance in manners—and when the children had dipped their fingers and dutifully wiped them on the long tablecloth, they rose and waited for the master and mistress of the house to leave the hall, trailed by the tutor. Then they gathered in a crowd around Michel de Marvelon to question him—all except Henri, who followed his father.

Madeleine called out as the two reached the door, "Do try on one of your uniforms, Henri. We'd all like to see you so magnificent."

Henri paused as if questioning whether she was mocking him, but her glance was so straightforward that he shrugged and agreed. "If you wish," he said.

Julie and Charles were looking at the troubadour and fingering his orange-colored, embroidered sleeves, which were made not of satin but of plain cloth as befitted his station in life. Raoul, noticing that Michel's long blond hair was not curled, as was the fashion, asked curiously, "You come from the provinces, I think."

"Indeed, young monsieur, from Burgundy, where I have been to visit my parents, and your father was so kind as to take me in for the night."

"I am glad you happened to come to our chateau—it is not on the main road," said Madeleine.

"I came across the fields. It is pleasant to ride that way—when it is not forbidden."

Then the questions tumbled forth. "What instrument do you play?" "Where are you going?" "Have you ever been to Court?" And Armand, attracted by the rich voice, fine bearing, and good looks of the stranger, inquired: "Are you also an actor?"

Laughing, the man held up his hand. "Please, one at a time! Yes, I am also an actor," he said, answering the last question first. "I have the honor to belong to the Théâtre du Marais, the company founded by Monsieur Montdory and Monsieur Charles le Noir. I am on my way to Paris. And I play the lute," he added, remembering the first question.

"Splendid!" cried Charles. "Will you play for us tonight?

There will be only ourselves, for we have no visitors at present. I think Mama will come but Papa does not care for theatricals."

"The Théâtre du Marais—isn't that a real theater?" asked Raoul.

"Yes, indeed," replied the actor, "with a real stage at one end of a great hall. I have also acted at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, a theater which is under the patronage of His Majesty. The best actors have performed there."

"Armand is our best actor," boasted Julie, looking at her brother affectionately.

"It is interesting to hear that you have theatricals here at the chateau," said Michel. "Many plays are performed in Paris with children in adult roles for the entertainment of the nobility. It is unusual that you stage your own performances."

"It is one of our diversions, monsieur," explained Armand, "though we have no help in performing. We are not very good at it and my uncle discourages it."

"But Mama thinks we do very well," said Catherine. "Only, Armand is the best."

"And mademoiselle," asked Michel, "does not she, too, act well?" He was looking at Madeleine.

"Very well," said Armand quickly, as Madeleine looked down and blushed. "We have done a scene from _Le Cid_ —as well as we could remember it from having attended a performance at a neighboring chateau. My uncle was very angry about it and said that it was not fitting for a nobleman's son to act—at least, to become an actor—" He stopped, embarrassed, but Michel spoke quietly, not offended: "That is what my father said when I became an actor."

"Then you—" began Raoul. But the stranger did not give him time to finish.

"Let us have an evening of song and recitation," he said, "and dancing, if that does not displease the Marquis."

"Oh, no," said Raoul. "He has us taught the latest steps so that we will not act provincial when guests come to visit us at the chateau."

A sound of boots in the corridor made them all turn. Henri took a few steps into the torchlighted hall, followed by his father. He was splendidly attired in a red tunic embroidered in gold and slashed with yellow satin, trousers beribboned at the knee and high, black boots very wide and spreading at the top. He wore a black felt hat, wide-brimmed, with three red plumes, and on his shoulders a red cape on which was blazoned, on the back and on each shoulder, a golden cross.

Armand stared at his cousin, deeply shocked. "Henri is to be one of the Cardinal's Guards!" he cried.

"Of course." The Marquis returned his look coldly. "In the company of the Duc de Cavois."

"But my father—your own brother— How can you support the authority that had him murdered, that lost us Charlefont?"

"Do not talk so wildly, Armand. And before a stranger! There are many things you do not understand. Come, Henri."

He turned abruptly and went out, and Henri followed reluctantly without the exclamations of admiration he had expected from the children. Armand looked after him, stunned. He could not believe that it was true!

Chapter 2: A Hint of the Future

Fighting his feeling of injustice, Armand joined the children and Michel in another room while the servants cleared away the remains of the supper, taking out the table as well, and setting the chairs back in rows as Raoul asked them to. The Marquise was talking earnestly to her husband in a far corner, then turned to say that she would come back as soon as the performance was ready, and swept away to her own quarters.

"What shall we play?" asked Charles who, in bright blue breeches and pourpoint, was a smaller replica of Raoul and Armand, as they, in turn, were as elaborately clothed as the Marquis. The girls, too were dressed like their elders in long skirts with overskirts gathered into poufs and bodices trimmed with lace and velvet ribbon. Their long hair was curled and was not covered, for elaborate headdresses were dying out.

Julie answered Charles's question. "Why, the last play, of course. It's the only one I can remember."

This would be one composed by Armand, since they had no others. Ever since the time they had been invited to a neighboring chateau to see a tragedy by Pierre Corneille, they had made acting plays their chief indoor amusement and had memorized lines written for them by Armand, imitating as well as they could the manner of the professional actors who had played _Le Cid._

Armand turned his attention from Henri and the Guards with difficulty at first, but he was soon engrossed in his play, for it was a passion with him. "All right," he said. "The six of us are enough without calling in any lackeys or chevaliers, and Uncle does not like us to do that. And you, Michel de Marvelon, will play an overture and music for dancing afterward, will you not?"

"That would please me very much," replied the guest. "What is the piece and what parts do you play?"

"Armand wrote it," Madeleine explained, "and it is about a King and a Prince who fight a duel over one of the Ladies in Waiting at the court. Of course, the King wins. I think kings always win—they have the power."

"Except when their ministers of state are more powerful," said Michel with feeling.

"Like the Cardinal Richelieu!" exclaimed Armand bitterly. "I did not mention the Cardinal," said the actor. He looked at Armand with warning. "It is not wise to mention names, my young friend. Always remember that."

Raoul told Michel the cast of characters in the play. "Armand plays the King and I the Prince. Madeleine is the Lady in Waiting and Catherine and Julie are her Attendants. Charles is the King's Page."

"Then I," said their new friend, smiling, "am the King's Musician. I will fetch my lute. It is with my belongings in the stable." He left the hall to get his instrument.

"It's a pity that Henri cannot take the Prince's part in the duel with the King, instead of Raoul." Madeleine was scornful when she spoke Henri's name. "It would do him good to be defeated for once."

"But he wouldn't follow the script," said Charles.

"No," said Armand disdainfully, "Henri must always win!"

"Not always." Madeleine's voice was gentle again. "Wait a few months, Armand, until Henri returns for a visit. Perhaps then it will be different."

When the actor came back, they all trooped into the great hall, divested now of its dining board, and arranged the furniture to suit the requirements of their play. At Armand's direction, lackeys brought in a small platform, placed a large chair upon it, and Madeleine draped it for a throne with a length of red velvet which she took out of a closet in the paneling. Another chair at right and left completed their setting, and for costumes they needed only their own garments, which were quite rich enough. A crown was needed, and this Madeleine brought from the closet. It was made of gilded wire embellished with a large, jeweled ornament borrowed from the Marquise, and when Armand put it on his head, he became the King.

The Marquise entered, having been informed that all was ready, and she was joined, at little Julie's insistence, by some of the chevaliers and waiting women to form an audience. Michel fingered a popular melody and sang to his own accompaniment. Then the play began.

It was short, fortunately, for the speeches which the children had had to learn were very long and in verse, in imitation of Corneille, whose rhymed couplets were in favor with the nobility. First, the King accused the Prince, who was his cousin, of paying too much attention to Clarisse, the Lady in Waiting in whom the King had shown great interest. After some talk between Clarisse and her Attendants and Clarisse and the Prince, the King challenged his cousin to a duel, which was fought upon the spot with practice foils and, as Madeleine had said, the King won. There were tears and entreaties on her part, for she loved the Prince. As he lay upon the ground, wounded, she begged the King to spare his life. His Majesty graciously agreed and the play was over. At a signal from Armand, the minstrel played and the actors bowed to the applause of their tiny audience, whose enthusiasm made up for lack of numbers.

"Very good, _mes enfants,"_ said the Marquise. "I was quite entertained, though I have seen you play the same piece before. I think, Armand, that you are by way of becoming a good poet and an even better actor. Julie and Charles did not laugh once, but kept in the spirit of the play. Madeleine, I am sure that you will use your acting ability someday—but not upon a stage. And you, Raoul, though you are destined eventually for the church, will get better and better at the art of fencing." She smiled at Michel de Marvelon. "Thank you, monsieur, for your music. Perhaps you will play for a dance?"

Michel bowed. "With the greatest of pleasure, madame." The Marquise sent a lackey to fetch several chevaliers who were lounging in the wine room so that they, with the ladies and gentlemen present, could take part in a _gaillarde._ She herself led off with one of the gentlemen in the intricate figures of the dance; some of the others acted as partners to the children, and maids and lackeys peeked in at the doors and archways to watch. A gay evening followed, but by nine o'clock the younger children were tired, for children, and adults too, usually went to bed as soon as it was dark in summer, and in winter, by seven or eight o'clock.

Before they were sent off to bed, Michel spoke to the Marquise. "May I offer my humble thanks for your hospitality, Madame la Marquise. I shall soon be joining the acting company to which I belong, and since your children enjoy the theater so much, it would be a great pleasure to us all, I am sure, to bring our next play for a performance at your chateau." Charles and Julie squealed with delight.

"I might add, madame, though it may be of no consequence, that our company is often under the patronage of Monsieur, and once played for him at the Château de Chantilly."

The children, as well as everyone in France, were aware that the only person referred to by the simple title, Monsieur, was Gaston d'Orléans, brother to their King, Louis XIII.

"Marvelous!" exclaimed Madeleine.

"But my uncle would never allow it," said Armand dejectedly. He did not dare to hope for anything that would give him so much enjoyment. To have a real theatrical company perform here in the chateau, to talk to the actors—it would be too wonderful!

"Let us ask him now," said the Marquise, for at that moment her husband entered the room. He seemed preoccupied, and after looking about the room and seeing a chevalier he had been looking for, shouted to him to come, for he had a letter to send off. Before he could leave, Catherine rushed to her father.

"Oh, Papa," she cried. "May we have the players of the Marais here for a performance of their next play? Monsieur de Marvelon answers for them that they will come if they are invited."

Noting his father's scowl, Raoul added: "They have once played for Monsieur at Chantilly and he often attends their plays in Paris."

The scowl disappeared. "Monsieur's troupe? You belong to that company?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Marquis, I have that honor."

"I had not realized. Ordinarily I should not want theatricals here, but if it is the company favored by Monsieur—and you wish it, madame?" He turned courteously to his wife, who inclined her head gracefully in reply. "Then you have my permission. I will see that an invitation is extended at once."

The three younger children clapped their hands and danced up and down; then, as a nursemaid appeared to take them to bed, took their leave politely of Monsieur de Marvelon and said they hoped to see him again very soon. The three older ones thanked the Marquis for his permission and began immediately to make plans. They found it hard to say good night to Michel, but he told them he must make an early start in the morning and excused himself.

Madeleine pressed Armand's hand. "What a wonderful opportunity—for you especially."

"Why for me especially?" he asked.

"Because you have talent and will learn a lot from professionals, and Henri cannot beat you there!"

Armand's reply was cut short by the Marquis who said: "I wish to speak to you in private, Armand." He went through a door at the left and Armand followed him. The room was a small paneled chamber with chairs and a desk. The Marquis seated himself.

"I was very much surprised at your outburst earlier this evening," he began.

Armand looked at the tiles of the floor. He had been surprised himself that he had spoken out in such a fashion, and for a moment he could think of nothing to say.

"I need hardly say that a man must not speak impulsively, if only for the sake of prudence, and you will soon be a man."

Armand looked up. "But the Cardinal has been our enemy, Uncle! I cannot understand why Henri should be trained under one of his generals. They are always fighting with the King's men."

"I am aware that you do not understand, and also that I am not going to enlighten you at this moment," said the Marquis coldly.

"But it was at the Cardinal's order that my father was arrested and our chateau destroyed," cried Armand in desperation. "I think I should know why you have changed toward him."

"You will obey my orders!" The reply was sharp. Then the Marquis spoke more gently. "I should like you to understand that I have not changed. Also, that things are not always what they seem. One day, and not too far distant, I shall explain much more to you. But, for the present, I forbid you to make any further remarks regarding Henri's training. Is that understood?"

Armand forced back an angry reply. "Yes, monsieur."

"Furthermore, I wish you to continue to practice fencing with the utmost dedication. It is important. And since Henri will not be here and Raoul is not old enough to give you the competition you need, I have engaged a fencing master who will undertake your training. You may go now."

Armand made a slight bow. "Thank you, monsieur," he said. But he did not thank his uncle in his heart.

*

For the next few weeks the children could think of little but the arrival of the theatrical company of the Théâtre du Marais. They knew it was far too early to expect it, for a new play must be prepared and played for a time at their own theater in Paris, and Michel had told them before he left that he would send word to the chateau in plenty of time for arrangements and invitations.

Although bracketed with the younger children by the Marquis, Armand and Madeleine did not consider themselves children, and longed for more and different experiences than they ever had at the Château de Ronne. Henri had already made his entrance into that exciting world of the military; perhaps he was even getting a glimpse of the great ones of Paris—King Louis XIII and his courtiers, the Queen, Anne of Austria, and the royal infant, now two years old. They envied Henri and waited impatiently for his first visit home. Madeleine thought that he might come back a much chastened young man after his first months in the Army school, where he would meet better fencers than Armand, and she looked forward to his return with as much malicious satisfaction as her kindly nature was capable of.

As the autumn passed, and then the winter, and they heard neither from Michel de Marvelon nor Henri, life went on in its accustomed routine. Armand fenced each day with his instructor and afterward with Raoul, and continued to improve. He was growing taller all the time and actually seemed to shoot up between September and Christmas. This helped with the feints and ripostes, and since he had good balance and a strong wrist, he was becoming very good indeed. The fencing master, Monsieur du Pont, was proud of him and praised him to his uncle.

"Would you care to watch this, Monsieur le Marquis? Try that over again, Armand. _En garde!_ Now, thrust _en quarte_ —" the teacher parried quickly, "—parry my thrust, then riposte _en septi_ è _me._ I parry at a disadvantage, then—a turn of the wrist and— _voila!_ You have flipped my sword from my hand and I am at your mercy. Very good. Very good. That trick may save your life someday."

"Yes, I see," said Armand.

The Marquis, watching, said, "Good!" and left them. This was not much praise. There was no way of pleasing his uncle, Armand thought, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He was glad that his instructor was kinder, though always strict. Since he had come to live at the chateau Armand had become quite attached to him. Du Pont was a young man, ten years older than his pupil, of good family, and cheerful in disposition. He made mealtimes more lively and took a real interest in the plays which the children presented. Sometimes he took a small part himself, when he was invited to. He was stopped from becoming more intimate with Armand because of the formality insisted upon by the Marquis. But Armand felt that he could be a good friend—and he might need a good friend later on.

"Is it true," he asked du Pont one day, "that if one's opponent in a duel falls, one may draw his rapier across the throat and thus kill him, although he has not been actually defeated?"

"That is the custom—even when the duel has been over a trifling affair."

"That does not seem right," said Armand. "He should be defeated by skill at arms first."

"I agree. But the code of honor permits it. Of course, the fallen one may beg for mercy."

"If that should be my fate, I would never beg for mercy," said Armand proudly.

From time to time the older boys and Madeleine had long talks about their future. They wondered what would become of them, for they had no control over their destiny. Henri, the eldest, had entered upon a career in the army, as was usual; Raoul was prepared to become a churchman, a career that suited him very well, for he was of a studious nature, and it was only as a cleric that he could pursue his studies. Besides, the Marquis would thereby be relieved of his support and might in a few years procure him a bishopric—if he had enough influence.

"But what will happen to me?" Madeleine would demand. "My father has spent so much money in getting Henri his place in the military academy and in buying his clothes and all he needs to make a good appearance that he feels very poor. Where will he get a dowry for me? My sisters Clotilde and Antoinette entered the nunnery, you know—that was before you came here, Armand, for they were much older—and it was all because my father did not have enough money for dowries for them."

"They didn't want to become nuns?" asked Armand.

"Not Clotilde, anyway. Father gave them no choice." She sighed. "Girls have little choice. I wish I were a boy."

"I think my uncle is not one to give anyone a choice," said Armand.

"We don't get a chance to find out much about the world," said Raoul. "I think few noblemen's sons are set apart as much as we are."

"If we didn't have visits from time to time from Papa's friends and their families, we shouldn't know how to behave in company." Madeleine sighed again. "I think he wants to bury us!"

"Perhaps he only wants to keep us unnoticed by the Cardinal—after what happened at Charlefont," said Raoul perceptively.

"But he has enlisted Henri in the company of the Duc de Cavois," said Armand. "There's something behind it, I'm sure, and I wish I knew what it was. He favors anything favored by Monsieur, and we know that Monsieur is often opposed to the Cardinal."

"Anyway, we are going to have the players here. He has promised. That means a big party and we shall hear the latest gossip. I can't wait!" said Madeleine. "Perhaps I shall meet some eligible suitor and I won't have to worry about being sent to a nunnery. Surely Papa can afford a dowry for one daughter and Catherine's turn won't come for a long time."

"I should hope you wouldn't have to marry just anybody," said Armand.

So they would talk, and then take to horse and ride about the countryside—not far, for they were obliged to keep within boundaries prescribed by the Marquis—or visit the mews where the hawks were kept and practice with them. The boys hunted at least once a week with the Marquis and chevaliers, and practiced fencing every day; and the girls were almost always spectators. Cloistered as they were, they knew nothing of what was going on in the world, even in their country of France, which was at this time very powerful under the iron hand of Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal Duc de Richelieu. He served a king who was not opposed to his ministry because the monarch was one of the first to recognize his ability.

Spring came at last to touch the lands of the Château de Ronne with gentle green. Swallows swooped about the towers, songbirds filled the air with sweet sounds, and the perfume of the apple orchard was delicious. Contrast it as he might with his beloved Charlefont, Armand found much beauty in this unforested land covered with green grass and pink blossoms. He was filled with longing, partly for the past and the life he had known as a little boy, but also for the future and what it might bring. By summer he would be seventeen; yet at this moment he did not know what he would do with his life or how much freedom his uncle would allow him. Whatever happened, his first duty, according to the code of honor by which he had been brought up, was to find the man who had taken his father's life and kill him if he could. This prospect made him feel important, but, of course, it was far in the future.

Chapter 3: Play Acting

"Armand! Armand!" cried Charles. "They are coming!"

Armand scrambled down the rocks which he had been climbing behind the chateau, took the path at a run, crossed the moat by a narrow footbridge, unguarded in these days, and ran to meet his cousin.

"Who is coming?" he asked, out of breath.

"The players! The players!" Charles danced up and down in his eagerness. Madeleine and Raoul dashed into the courtyard, closely followed by Catherine and Julie. They all ran to the main gate, locked and barred, before which the drawbridge was raised, leaving the wide moat between the castle and the road. Down this road came a colorful procession, eight gaily clad figures on horseback, followed by a wagon and several lackeys and grooms.

"How do you know it's the players?" asked Catherine.

"We heard they were coming today, didn't we? And from the window I could see it was Monsieur de Marvelon in front," Charles answered.

It was indeed Michel de Marvelon who rode in front, as they all could see when he reached the edge of the moat, and so that there could be no mistake, he carried a purple pennant on which was lettered Théâtre du Marais **.** He put a horn to his lips and blew a blast on it. "Halloo the Castle!" he called.

"What fun!" exclaimed Madeleine. "It's just like they used to do in the days of chivalry."

"They are actors, you know," said Raoul. "They _would_ make a dramatic entrance."

Men-at-arms appeared to unlock the gate and let down the drawbridge, and the horses and wagon clattered across.

"Greetings, my friends!" said de Marvelon to his admiring audience. "I came in front to make the introductions, though I am not the manager. But first, will you ask the Marquise if she will receive us?"

"We'll tell her at once that you are here!" They all rushed off into the chateau while the company dismounted and the castle servants held the horses and waited for word from the lady of the chateau. In a moment the major-domo appeared at the great front door at the top of the steps.

"The Marquise requests that you enter. Refreshment will be served you in the lower hall and you will be shown your quarters. She bade me tell you that you are very welcome." Little Julie's head appeared, peeking around the door frame. "Hurry!" she said. "We can't wait to see you!"

The five men and three women who comprised the acting company laughed and chattered among themselves. Castle servants led the way for the grooms, horses, and equipment, and the players followed a lackey to a side door on a level with the courtyard and entered the chateau. Their clothes were not those of the court, though from a distance, they appeared almost as lavish. The men wore doublets, full breeches, and short cloaks, buckled shoes, and hats with upturned brims trimmed with small feathers. The women's dresses were full-skirted with contrasting bodices; they wore long cloaks and little hats and their hair fell below their shoulders. But in their baggage wagon were their fine costumes, old and worn and many times retrimmed with fake jewels and imitation gold ornaments. Their plays always concerned royalty and they did their best to give the impression of splendor. This was easier when their plays were performed by candlelight.

*

The performance at the Château de Ronne was scheduled for three o'clock the same afternoon. Plays were usually performed at this time in Paris and the Marquis wished to be correct. Nearly fifty guests had been invited and by one o'clock they began to arrive, many of the gentlemen on horseback and the others in coaches with the ladies—all the titled _messieurs_ and _mesdames_ from many miles around. Some of them had started out as early as six in the morning. The younger children leaned over the railing of a little balcony on the front of the chateau to see them arrive, but Raoul, Madeleine, and Armand were stationed in the great hall with the Marquis and his lady to welcome the guests. There was some conversation after each arrival; then opportunity was given for freshening up and immediately food and drink were served. There were little meat pies, cakes, and comfits, and plenty of wine from the local vineyards.

Meanwhile the players had drawn some tapestries over the end of the room which was to be used for a stage. They had brought the properties needed and the essential furniture was supplied by the chateau. Because Armand could not restrain his eagerness to talk with the actors and see how they prepared for a performance, he asked to be excused from the receiving line and slipped between the tapestries. He was greeted by de Marvelon and introduced to the other actors and the three actresses.

"This young man writes plays himself and acts in them as well," said Michel. "Have you done any new pieces since I was here?"

"One or two, monsieur, but we do the old ones over and over. I become discouraged when I think of the play of Monsieur Corneille which we saw and, of course, I am looking forward to a real production today!"

"You have been to Paris, then?" asked the leader of the troupe.

"Alas, not to Paris! But two years ago we saw a performance of _Le Cid_ at the Château de Chenonceaux. It was a great inspiration."

"So you have played at acting?" asked the manager thoughtfully.

"Oh, he is very good," assured de Marvelon. "He is better than the usual amateur."

"Perhaps that solves one of our difficulties," said the manager. "You know, Michel, that we lack someone to play the two messengers. We had intended to double in the small parts as we have often done, but it means a change of costumes. How would you like to take a small part in our play this afternoon, young monsieur?" he asked.

Armand's face flushed with pleasure, but then he turned away dolefully. "I should love to do it, monsieur, but my uncle would be very angry."

"What do you think, Michel? Could we not disguise his face a little and give him entirely different clothes so perhaps no one would recognize him?"

"We could try," said Michel. "We'll darken his face and change his features a little. It would be a good experience for him. What do you say, Armand?"

Armand weighed the thrill of appearing with a troupe of real actors against his uncle's displeasure, and his hesitation vanished. "I'll do it," he cried. "But are there many lines? There is not much time."

"Only three or four, although you will play two different messengers—Flavius and Proculus. You can memorize them in five minutes. And you do not have to appear until the second act." The pages of script were produced and Armand glanced over the lines. "All you have to do is speak up clearly and with confidence," Michel said.

It was not much of a part, but Armand was trembling with excitement. By half-past two he had been made up in such a way that his features were somewhat disguised, his face plastered with brown grease paint and his eyebrows raised and thickened with burnt cork. A short tunic had been provided from the costume trunk and different shoes had been put on his feet. All he had to do was go over his lines until the middle of the second act.

Since it was shadowy in the great hall, though not really dark, the manager sent some lackeys for a dozen plates on which they affixed candles in a row behind their tapestry curtain. When all was ready in the audience, the Marquis sent word to the actors to begin the play. The guests grew quiet. It was a colorful audience. In their bright satin and lace, the gentlemen were even more elaborately dressed than the ladies. They had removed their hats so that all could see the stage, but with reluctance, for the large brimmed hat trimmed with many ostrich plumes was a prized possession which each gentleman wore all day, except in the presence of the King.

Madeleine had been looking everywhere for Armand and when she could not find him, she supposed that he had gone with the younger children to the minstrel's gallery, which provided a better view of the stage. She herself had been too busy playing hostess to escape the crowd of visitors, so when the curtain was drawn back to reveal the candlelighted scene, she took the nearest seat and eagerly awaited the play. She wished Armand were beside her so that they could exchange glances of appreciation as the play progressed.

The entertainment, announced the manager, would be the performance of a new play by Pierre Corneille entitled _Horatius._ It presented in dramatic form a feud between the city of Rome in its earliest days and a nearby city called Alba. The guests settled down to attend and, knowing nothing of how the Romans dressed, were not at all surprised to see the characters of the play in clothes very like what they themselves wore every day.

A discussion among the three actresses in the company opened the play. A war between the two cities was going on, and they bewailed the fact that they would suffer, whoever won, for they had loyalties on both sides. In the second act it was revealed that three Roman brothers were to fight three brothers from Alba to decide the victory. This was tragic, for they were all friends. A messenger entered to give this news. He had only four short speeches, but after his exit Madeleine paid scant attention to the rest of the scene. Surely she knew that voice! Though he looked different and had been dressed differently less than an hour before, it was certainly Armand! How wonderful that he should get a chance to play a part with real actors! She wondered what her father would say. Perhaps he would not recognize him. Perhaps he was not even listening. She looked about her and saw that some of the guests were impolite enough to talk together and not watch the play, but her father was not among them. Across the hall, she saw her mother smile at her in an understanding way. She, too, had recognized Armand! Madeleine turned her attention again upon the players, but she was less interested in the action than in whether Armand would come back to speak another line.

At the end of the third act he had not appeared, and it was necessary for the players to close the curtains for an intermission because the candles were burning low and had to be replaced. The guests moved about, lackeys passed refreshments, and Madeleine squeezed through into the corridor and up the stairway leading to the minstrel's gallery.

"Where is Armand?" asked Catherine.

"Where, indeed, silly! Didn't you see him?"

"No. Isn't he with you?" Charles asked.

Raoul looked at his sister, whose eyes were bright with excitement. "You recognized him, too," he said. "I was sure after he'd spoken a few words, for I'd been looking all over the hall for him. Isn't he lucky to be acting with Michel?" It was Michel who was playing the part of Horatius.

"Who is lucky? I don't understand," Julie said.

"Don't you know that Armand was the messenger in the play who told the brothers they had to fight their friends to the death? Don't you know your own brother's voice?" Raoul was scornful.

"Oh!" said Julie.

"I never thought to look for him on the stage!" said Charles.

"What will Papa say?" Catherine sounded frightened.

"Let's not worry about that," Raoul said. "Just be glad that Armand is having this great opportunity."

"He didn't have much to say," Catherine remarked.

"He couldn't have learned any more in a few minutes!" Madeleine cried. "He was with me until a short time before the play started."

"They're going on with the next act," Raoul said. "Here is the manager."

Madeleine decided to stay where she was when the fourth act began. She hoped there was another speech for Armand, and there was, but only one. She was thrilled by the emotion displayed by the leading actress and tried to imagine herself saying those tragic lines, but she knew she could never do it. She wasn't an actress, really, and didn't want to be. She wanted to be a gracious hostess in a big household like her mother, the Marquise. The chateau theatricals were just for fun. But Armand was really acting. Would he ever join a professional company as Michel had done?

When Armand was on stage for his one speech, he was a different messenger and differently dressed, but this time the children in the minstrel's gallery whispered to one another: "It's Armand! It's Armand!" There was a fifth act, which made the play very long, but the performance was such a treat that they were quiet and the older ones were moved almost to tears by the tragic ending. They all clapped with enthusiasm at the end.

The applause from the ladies and gentlemen was generous and when the candles had been snuffed out, the players mingled with the audience to receive congratulations. But Armand was nowhere to be seen.

"He doesn't want Papa to know he was in the play," said Raoul. "I know where to find him."

He made his way into the corridor and dashed up to the room he shared with Armand, and there he found the would- be actor doing his best to wash the brown grease from his face and the black from his eyebrows.

"Here you are!" cried Raoul. _"Ma foi,_ it was wonderful! Aren't you lucky?"

"That remains to be seen," answered Armand, vigorously scrubbing himself with a towel. "I will know after your father has called me to account."

"I'll bet he didn't notice you. Your part was so short and you looked quite different. I think only Madeleine and I recognized you. It was your voice—we both knew you by your voice."

"Anyway, it was worth it, whatever comes." Armand got quickly into his own clothes and the boys went down to the hall where supper was to be served.

"Let's pretend that you have been with me all the time," said Raoul.

"I will, unless my uncle asks me directly," Armand replied.

There was another who had recognized Armand as an actor in the play, and this one he met as he entered the great hall. It was his fencing master. "Well done, Armand," he said, smiling. "But why did you run off? I'm sure your friends would want to congratulate you."

"Oh, please, monsieur, do not tell anyone," whispered Armand. "Perhaps you have not been with us long enough to know that my uncle disapproves of theatricals in general and particularly of my interest in acting. I only hope he did not recognize me!"

"Oh, so that's the way it is. I shall not say a word. But I was proud of the way you spoke your lines clearly and without faltering. I am interested in more than fencing, you know." He went off to join the tutor, since they were in a class by themselves—not actually servants but not of sufficient rank to converse with the ladies and gentlemen. The players, of course, were permitted to mingle with the guests only because they had provided the entertainment. Should they meet any of the titled members of the audience in other circumstances, they would not be spoken to.

As Armand joined his cousins and friends of the family in the now torchlighted hall, he was loud in his praise of the performance and, as far as he could see, no one connected him with the actors. Two long trestle tables had been brought in, cloths were laid with plates and wine glasses, and chairs were set for the guests, ten on a side. A shorter table at one end was reserved for the Marquis and Marquise and their special friends. Two-tined forks and spoons were placed on the table, but there were not enough for the many guests, so some would have to make do with their fingers. The men could cut off portions with their poniards and hunting knives for themselves and their ladies. Lighted candelabras were placed on the tables and then food was brought in by the lackeys. The Marquis de Ronne did not entertain often, but when he did, he served his guests well. The first course consisted of carp with truffles; the second course was guinea hen stuffed with goose livers and chestnuts and cooked in wine; a salad of cabbage stuffed with chicken livers followed, accompanied by good French bread; and, finally, there were little cakes filled with fruit preserves. The wine which was served with the meal was diluted with water. A spiced wine, called hippocras, was the favorite.

Michel de Marvelon played his lute, accompanied by two violinists, during the supper and again later, after the tables had been removed for a dance. The children watched the dancing, reveling in the color and gaiety usually missing from their lives, and were very sorry when the time for departure came. Some of the guests stayed overnight, since they lived so far from the Château de Ronne. The younger children were taken by their nursemaid to their own quarters, and the players joined the servants in the lower hall. But Raoul, Madeleine, and Armand lingered till the last torch was removed. Before the great hall was in darkness, the Marquis returned from the foyer where he was bidding his guests good-by and spoke sharply to Armand.

"Come to my private study, Armand. I want to talk to you."

"Alas," whispered Armand to the others, "this is what I feared."

"Don't worry," Madeleine whispered back. "He can't do anything very dreadful to you."

Armand lingered as long as he dared; then, summoning a lackey with a torch, started reluctantly for his uncle's study. What would be the punishment for doing something he knew his uncle disapproved of? Would the fencing lessons stop, the lessons on which his future revenge depended? He thought not, for his uncle had encouraged them. Would he be shut up in his room for days? If he had some books, he would not mind. Would he be sent away? But where to? And then it occurred to him that this summons might not have anything to do with the play.

His uncle's first words dispelled that illusion. "I want to know, nephew, how you, the son of my brother, who should have the title of _comte_ if fate had not intervened, could stoop to mingle with common actors and take part in one of their performances."

Armand flushed. "I had hoped you would not recognize me, monsieur."

"I have sharp eyes—and ears," answered his uncle. "But I am fairly sure none of our guests noticed, else they would have spoken. That is most fortunate." He waited for Armand to reply.

"You know, monsieur, that I am very fond of acting, and this seemed a great chance. To speak a few lines with professional actors was very thrilling. I could not see any harm in it."

"Except that you were doing something you knew I would disapprove of."

Armand had nothing to say to that and looked uncomfortable under his uncle's stern gaze. Suddenly, to his astonishment, the Marquis smiled.

"You didn't have much to say, but you said it well, without fear. That I liked. I did not call you here to punish you, merely to scold you a little, for I have thought of a way in which your acting ability can be very useful."

The Marquis could not have said anything that would have surprised his nephew more. That his conduct was being not only excused, but looked upon as an advantage, was the last thing he had expected. As he remained silent, his uncle continued:

"You have wondered about my attitude toward His Eminence the Cardinal Richelieu, who was the cause of your losing a father, an estate, and a title. There are many things you do not understand, nor can I explain them to you yet. But rest assured that I have a plan, and it is something in which you can have a part—a part that will depend on your ability to act as you did today. I shall make inquiries about this company of the Marais. I have had some influence in Paris, and it may be that you will have the chance to act with this same company again. Meanwhile, continue practicing the art of fencing; that is of utmost importance. And in the future, I shall not object to the children's theatricals. Good night."

Instead of leaving, Armand took a step toward his uncle. "I should like to thank you for not being angry. You seem more kindly disposed to me than ever before."

"I am as I always am," said the Marquis, the look of cold reserve settling again on his features. "You think me unfeeling. It is true that I keep my emotions under the strictest control. That is a practiced habit, because once I was not cautious, but impulsive, like you. I let my anger run away with me and shouted my thoughts before the King and the Cardinal, and for that I was banished from the Court for five years. It is a lesson I have not forgotten, and I hope that I shall not let feelings, however strong, run away with me again."

For the first time Armand felt a kinship with his uncle. "Please tell me," he said, "something I have wanted to know for so long! Why did my father have an enemy who sought his death—the one he mentioned in his letter but did not name?" The Marquis thought for a moment. "Perhaps you should know now. You are old enough, I think. Your father was a chance witness to the murder of a woman by her husband. Immediately the man sought your father's life, so that he might never testify against him. And that man is high in the Cardinal's favor. You must never speak of it."

"But his name, Uncle! His name!"

"Not yet," said the Marquis. "Not yet. The five years of my banishment have now passed. I shall appear with the other courtiers at the Château de Chambord at Christmas time of the coming year. I have a score to settle."

"But my revenge?" Armand demanded.

"Your time will come, too," said the Marquis. "Do not mention anything to your cousins except that I am not angry with you for performing today. As to my plans, you may be sure that you will be tested thoroughly before you know anything more than I have told you. You may retire."

In spite of this rebuff, Armand left the room with a feeling of elation. He would practice with the foils till he could beat Henri. He could write and act out scenes with his cousins as much as he pleased. Someday—someday soon—he might act with the players again! But could he trust his uncle? What was he planning?

Chapter 4: The Testing

It was a warm summer day some months later when Armand received a summons from his uncle. He was riding around the paddock with Raoul and they were just setting out to hunt doves. Each boy held a hooded falcon on his wrist. Raoul loved the sport, but Armand seldom went out with him. He was not interested in killing—even birds. Sometimes he wondered how he would manage if it came to killing his opponent in a duel. But a clean thrust with a rapier seemed different to him. He had heard about pistols and muskets which had recently come into use, and they did not appeal to him at all, being noisy, hard and slow to reload, and sometimes exploding in the hand. Fencing was quiet, a matter of skill and a strong wrist, and if you didn't strive to wound your opponent, you would be wounded—perhaps slain. That made it all right. But a dove with a falcon after it hadn't a chance.

Just as the boys were urging their horses toward the forest trail, a lackey rushed out of the chateau crying to them to wait. "Monsieur Armand," he called. "Monsieur Armand, your uncle wants you immediately. You must come back."

"Thank you, Brusquet," said Armand. He knew the names of all the Marquis's servants, and unlike some highborn youths, treated them like human beings. He rode back to the footpath across the moat, calling to Raoul that he could not go with him, gave his horse and falcon to a groom who came hurrying up, and entered the castle by the lower door. What could his uncle want? It was very early in the morning and not time for lessons. Usually he and Raoul were free to do whatever they wished. He mounted the stairs and found the Marquis in his private room.

"This is a matter concerning you," said de Ronne, putting wax on an envelope and pressing his large finger ring into it for a seal. "I want this letter delivered to the Marquis de Gervaise and you must set off at once."

"Alone?" asked Armand, bewildered. This was most unusual. The Château de Gervaise must be at least six hours" ride from the Château de Ronne, and he had never been asked to deliver a letter or anything else to anybody before. A chevalier was usually dispatched, or even a lackey.

"Not alone," said his uncle, smiling at such ignorance. "Though you have not been abroad much, you must have heard that the road to Gervaise is through a rocky gorge where riders are often set upon by brigands. I should not think of sending you alone. But this is such an important letter that I dare not entrust it to anyone but a member of my family."

"I am honored, _mon oncle,"_ said Armand, wondering.

"You will be accompanied by your fencing master, Monsieur du Pont, and the two of you will have three chevaliers as guards. I hope you will not be forced to defend yourself, but I have confidence in your being able to do so."

This, then, was a test. His uncle had said he would test him.

"There is another important thing. The letter must be delivered into the hands of the Marquis—to no one else. If anyone tries to take it from you, you must prevent him, whether a man of rank or a servant. Do you understand?" Armand inclined his head. "Here is your sword," de Ronne said, lifting from the table a long rapier with a carved hilt encased in a decorated scabbard. "I am sorry I cannot give you your father's sword, but it was lost—with him " His voice broke. Armand had never seen him so moved.

In the uncomfortable silence Armand spoke. "You say this is an important matter. I will do my best. I will not fail you." He took the rapier, fastened the belt around his waist, and unsheathed the weapon. It balanced beautifully in his hand. His first real sword! He tested the point. It was very sharp. His heart beat faster as he thought of the possible obstacles in his way, but he had no doubt of his success. He was glad, however, to know that Monsieur de Pont would be with him. And it was of his father he was thinking and not of his uncle when he promised he would not fail.

"When must I set out?"

"Now," replied his uncle. "Monsieur du Pont and the other riders have been informed. Prepare yourself for the journey. You should be there well before nightfall and will be entertained overnight. I shall expect your return tomorrow with an answer to my letter."

Armand bowed to his uncle and hurried to his room, where he changed into clothes more suitable for the journey he was about to undertake. His suiting was of his favorite green with yellow slashes, over which he wore a long black cape; he had on black boots that reached halfway up his leg and ended in enormously wide cuffs; on his head he placed a wide-brimmed black hat with three green ostrich plumes. He buckled on his sword and went to the courtyard, where he found that his best horse had been brought around. His companions, du Pont and three chevaliers—Coline, Armignac, and Greville—awaited him.

They were about to start off when the Marquis appeared at the top of the flight of steps before the great front door. "A word with you, Armand," he said. Armand walked his horse to the steps where his head was almost level with that of his uncle. "There is one detail I have not mentioned," said de Ronne. "You are not known to the Marquis de Gervaise or his household. I will give you a password which he and the Captain of his Guards will recognize. You must not forget it, for I will not write it down. The word is: "Chambord." He will understand. A safe journey!"

He turned abruptly and entered the door. Armand looked up and saw Madeleine looking out of the window above. Did she know about his journey? He had not had time to tell anyone. If some misfortune befell him upon the road, he might never see her again. But Armand had little acquaintance with fear; he took courage as a matter of course. He trotted across the drawbridge, and with du Pont beside him, set spurs to his horse and was off at a gallop, closely followed by the three chevaliers.

Presently their way led upward from the fertile fields and orchards and through cool shadows with pine trees on both sides of the road. As the woods grew more dense, Armand looked about him warily.

"Do you see anything moving?" he asked du Pont in a low voice.

"Not a thing," replied the fencing master cheerfully. "But I will keep close watch."

"My uncle warned me that there might be danger. I am not afraid of danger, monsieur," and his face flushed because underneath his bravado he really was nervous, "but I should like to be prepared."

"Be at ease, Armand," said du Pont. "One need not be ashamed of being apprehensive of one's first experience with danger. It is true that we may meet brigands. But all criminals are cowards. If we show courage and a strong arm, we shall beat them off."

Armand was relieved to have the danger put into words and he kept his eyes on the road ahead. The pines thinned out, and they approached a rocky defile with crumbling cliffs on each side of the road. Suddenly, as they turned a sharp curve, they saw that two horsemen barred the way a hundred feet ahead. They were dressed in brown homespun with small hats on their heads, showing at once, in this day of brilliant and costly dress, that they were not knights or nobles.

"Make way!" cried du Pont. "You block the road!"

"Prepare to dismount," answered the larger of the two horsemen, a black-bearded outlaw, "for we mean to take you and your party."

"Ride them down," ordered Armand excitedly.

But at that moment, eight or ten loutish fellows sprang into the road from the rocks above, armed with clubs. Everything happened at once. The chevaliers whipped out their swords and wounded three of the oafs and trampled the rest by driving their spurs into their horses" flanks and charging. Those not wounded quickly ran away. Meanwhile Armand and du Pont were busy with the horsemen. Du Pont's opposite, the black-bearded man, parried the first thrust and the two crossed rapiers as their horses circled; for a time neither gained advantage. Armand's first thrust unseated his opponent, a younger man, and throwing off his cloak, Armand slid off his horse— both to save his mount and to fight in a way he was more accustomed to. In seconds he saw that his man was inexperienced with the rapier, and he fought coolly and with confidence. In a matter of minutes he felt his rapier slide deeply into flesh near the heart. It was the first wound he had ever inflicted and he felt a little sick as the young man fell at his feet. At this, the older man turned from du Pont, and catching the bridle of his companion's horse, rode off at a gallop.

"I've killed him!" cried Armand. "What shall we do?"

"Do? Why, get on our way! Mount up! Mount up!"

Armand gave one look around at the several men lying in the road. Greville, Armignac, and Coline, who had scattered the other men, closed up. Armand sprang on his horse and they galloped away toward the Château de Gervaise. Now that the danger was past, he was trembling.

"Shouldn't I have done something about the one I killed?" he asked. "I feel responsible."

"You did very well, Monsieur de Lys," said Coline. "You are now a man."

"Those men would have robbed and killed us. We had to defend ourselves," said Armignac.

"And their fellows will return for them, never fear," said du Pont. "You noticed that the black-bearded one had the presence of mind to retrieve the extra horse."

Armand tried to put the incident out of his mind. In time to come, he supposed, he would think nothing of killing a man who was his enemy—especially the one man whose name he did not know.

"We are at the halfway point," said Greville. "I will ride ahead, for I know the way." He did not add that earlier, although he had looked ahead, he and the other chevaliers had been protecting the rear for fear of surprise from that quarter. These were troubled times. There were roving bands abroad, not only thieves and cutthroats, but knights of rival barons eager for a fight. A nobleman had no protection on the road but his own skill at arms and that of his companions. No one with a richly caparisoned horse and dressed as befitted his station would think of traveling alone.

They soon approached an inn, and du Pont asked Armand if he wished to stop for refreshment. Armand consented, and the five men went inside. After a moment the landlord appeared and asked their pleasure. Armand called for hippocras and a bottle of wine for the chevaliers. When they had drunk this, they mounted and set off. Their journey passed without further incident until they reached the brow of a hill from which they could see the battlements of the Château de Gervaise. It was a handsome turreted castle in a bower of trees, with the River Indre flowing at the base of the fortress. The road stretched before them, down the hill, plain and broad for a quarter of a mile, and just before the point where it was lost in the surrounding foliage, a chevalier sat his horse and waited for them.

"Someone comes to meet us, I think," said Armand, admiring the chevalier's orange and red costume and the red plumes waving above a wide-brimmed black hat.

"That is not the custom," commented du Pont. A hundred yards from the knight, he called a halt. "You must advance and speak to him," he told Armand. "According to your uncle's instructions, we are to wait here until you have gained admittance to the castle."

Armand looked astonished. It seemed a strange way for those who were supposed to protect him to behave. Du Pont met his eyes squarely with a look that seemed to say: Courage! You are equal to this challenge.

"Very well, I will go alone," said Armand, and spurred his horse forward. He came to the chevalier and checked his horse. The other placed himself across the road.

"Greetings, Monsieur le Chevalier," said Armand politely. "Please give room, for I must pass. I go to the castle."

"You must deal with me first," answered the other.

"Are you from the Château de Gervaise?"

"I am not. I am knight to the Duc de Cormatin and I mean to have the letter you are carrying to Gervaise."

"How can you know about my letter?" asked Armand in surprise.

"That is as may be," replied the knight. "The letter, _s'il vous plait."_

"This letter I shall deliver only to the Marquis de Gervaise," said Armand. He regarded his opponent, who looked very tall and strong as he sat his horse, facing him in an insolent manner.

"You are only a boy," said the chevalier. "But you are not agreeable. I shall have to take the letter from you."

"Dismount, monsieur," said Armand, and he slipped from his horse. "I may be only a boy, but I would have you know that a few miles back I killed a man who blocked my path."

"Ha!" sneered the man. "Idle boasting!"

As the stranger dismounted, Armand noticed with surprise that, standing, this knight was a full two inches shorter than himself, though broad-chested and muscular. Armand, full of youth and confidence, whipped out his rapier and leveled it at his opponent. _"En garde!"_ he cried, and immediately pressed his advantage.

His thrust was parried with expertness and in their first interchanges Armand scanned the man's body for the most vulnerable spots and was watchful for any weakness. He tried thrusts _en quarte, en seconde,_ and _en tierce,_ and having decided in which he was most successful, he planned to try for the shoulder. Meanwhile he was having great difficulty in defending himself, for this was no amateur he had to deal with. A cry escaped him as he felt a stab in his left forearm, but he did not glance down to where blood was trickling from the wound. His eyes never left his opponent's blade, for his life depended on his alertness. He thought, _"Mon Dieu!_ I may not live beyond this hour!"

Nevertheless, he kept cool and remembered du Pont's instructions never, never to let his thoughts show on his face—never to let his opponent know by his expression the plan for his next move. He was not tired. He had youth and energy, whereas his challenger was a much older man, and as Armand had noticed, shorter than he. Armand's was the longer reach. He thrust and parried and riposted, and by holding his left arm bent and upward, checked the bleeding which he could now feel. At last the chance he had waited for came. He feinted, then thrust his blade home in his opponent's right shoulder, touching bone.

The chevalier suppressed a groan and clapped his hand to his shoulder. Armand lowered his sword and stepped back politely, but he could not keep the exultant look from his eyes. He had won! How valuable now were those hours of practice! Nothing could discourage him now.

" _Ma foi,"_ exclaimed the chevalier. "You are a tiger! My arm will not hold the rapier now and I must let you pass. But I do not hold it kindly to be beaten by one so young."

Armand threw his cape over his horse's neck and, as he mounted, said: "I will send someone from the chateau to look after you, monsieur." But as he looked back, he saw that his own men had come up and were attending to the vanquished knight. He wondered again why, regardless of instructions from his uncle, du Pont, at least, had not come to his assistance—and why they offered aid to a man who had threatened his life. But his attention was now taken up with what lay ahead. Before him was a moat, rippling in the summer sunshine, and the drawbridge was raised.

"Holla! Holla!" he shouted and kept repeating his hail until some men-at-arms appeared at the chateau gate, led by one in authority.

"I wish to enter," called Armand.

"Who are you?" called a guard.

"I am Armand de Lys, and I come from my uncle, the Marquis de Ronne, with a letter for the master of this castle."

"What is the password?" asked the Captain of the Guards.

"Chambord."

"You may enter." The men set about lowering the drawbridge, which fell with a thud and a rattle of chains. Armand rode across and asked to be conducted immediately to the Marquis de Gervaise.

Two chevaliers accompanied him up a flight of stairs, through a hall hung with shields and crossed pikes and swords, to a luxurious chamber in which were seated the Marquis and three ladies. A lackey announced: "Monsieur Armand de Lys from the Marquis de Ronne." Armand bowed to the Marquis, not too low, for his rightful rank topped that of his host, though because of the Cardinal's wrath, he was without a title.

The Marquis greeted him pleasantly and introduced him to the ladies. One was the Marquise de Gervaise, a haughty-looking woman of middle age; the second, an older lady whom the Marquis introduced as his mother; and the third, a young girl with black hair, black eyes, and very red lips. "My daughter, Yvonne," said the Marquis.

"Please be seated," he continued. "You must be in need of refreshment after your long ride."

"I should appreciate that, Monsieur le Marquis," answered Armand, "but may I first ask that my followers be admitted? There are four."

"It has been done," said his host. "They were not far behind you. You had no unpleasant incidents on your journey, I hope?" he added.

"As a matter of fact, I had," answered Armand. "We were set upon by brigands in the pass, but we managed to kill several and the others ran away. And not a quarter of a mile from your estate, I was challenged by a stranger who demanded the letter I have brought you from my uncle. He is badly wounded, I fear. Someone should see to him, for he may not be an enemy to you, though he was to me."

The Marquis raised an eyebrow. "He shall be seen to," he said. "My congratulations on your courage and your competence. But I fear you, too, were wounded. I see blood dripping from your sleeve."

"It is nothing," answered Armand, though he winced when he touched his arm. "But perhaps the cut should be bandaged. I should not like to soil the elegant brocade of this chair with my blood."

"Most thoughtful of you, monsieur. An attendant will wash and bandage your arm, and when you return to this chamber there will be food and drink for you and your companions. But at this moment you will doubtless wish to give me the letter you have ridden so far to deliver."

The Marquis rose and Armand rose also. The lackeys stood motionless, the ladies looked at him, and the Marquis held out his hand. He could feel the tension as they waited. He reached inside his doublet, brought out the letter his uncle had given him, and handed it to the Marquis. His host glanced at the seal and they all relaxed. This must be an important letter, thought Armand. Didn't they believe he was the nephew of the Marquis? But of course, someone might have been impersonating him! They had to make sure.

Armand went into another room to have his wound dressed, and when he returned, he found du Pont and the three chevaliers waiting for him and chatting amiably with the family of Gervaise. The food now brought in was excellent and more than welcome. Armand was beginning to realize how tired he was after the journey, the ambush, the duel, and even the relief of having accomplished his mission.

As they were being served, and under the chatter of general conversation, he spoke in a low voice to du Pont, "A fine bodyguard you proved to be! I might have been killed!"

"In that case, my dear friend," replied du Pont in an equally low voice, "I should have immediately avenged you."

"You were under orders, you said. I'd like to know more about that."

They were interrupted by the Marquis. "If you are not too fatigued, Monsieur Armand, I should like you to see our hall of armor. I have a prized collection dating from the reign of Charles V. Come, Yvonne," he said, beckoning to his daughter. "You will prove a more attractive guide for the young monsieur than myself."

The girl came forward with eyes cast down demurely, and Armand, after bowing to his host, followed her out of the great hall and through a smaller room to the hall of armor. He had scarcely noticed her at first, but now he realized how very pretty she was. Her long yellow silk gown with its overskirt of green brocade were his own favorite colors. The black hair that hung below her shoulders was topped by a sort of coronet headdress that framed her pale oval face. She turned to face him in the hall, her black eyes glowing and her red lips parted with the ardor of her admiration.

"Oh, monsieur," she cried, "you were wonderful! I saw it all from my window. First your party approaching and you in front, so handsome and debonair! And then the horseman interrupted you—I was terrified—I feared for your safety. But you fought and won! I watched it all. You were like a knight of old!" Yvonne threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

Armand drew back in embarrassment. "Mademoiselle, you do me too great honor," he said, but he could not but relish this praise from one so beautiful.

"And your arm! You were wounded!" cried the girl.

"It is nothing," he answered. "Do not let it concern you. See—it is well bound up." He extended his arm where the sleeve had been pushed up to accommodate the bandage. "Only a little under the skin," he said. "It did not injure the muscle."

"I am so glad!" said Yvonne. "And now I must show you the armor or my father will scold me."

They walked the length of the hall, and Yvonne pointed out each piece, but Armand paid scant attention. He still felt her kiss upon his cheek.

Dinner that evening was a sumptuous affair and the Marquis and Marquise were most cordial. Armand noted that they listened intently to everything he said, watching him closely. It was a little disquieting.

*

When Armand and his party were ready to leave the next morning, his host urged him to come again and make a longer visit. Yvonne's pleading eyes added eloquently to the invitation. As he was about to mount, the Marquis handed him a letter stamped with his seal.

"Here is my reply to your uncle," he said. "It is quite as important as the one you brought me and I have confidence that you will guard it equally well. Godspeed! And visit us again."

The five mounted, and as they rode away, du Pont smiled at Armand. "You made an excellent impression, _mon él_ è _ve_ —particularly on the daughter of the house. I think you may consider your first mission a success."

"It is not finished yet," said Armand, blushing at the mention of Yvonne. "I have yet to return with the letter to my uncle."

"That is true, and who knows what may befall in the next six or seven hours. Coline, what think you of our taking the longer route to the Château de Ronne? It is pleasanter and we shall not have to go through that dangerous rocky pass. We can, at least, see around us on all sides."

"I agree, Monsieur du Pont," said Coline, and the others joined him in approval.

"One set-to with robbers is enough for young de Lys's first mission," said Armignac.

"What do you say, Armand?"

"I should not mind its being longer," answered Armand, "and if it is pleasanter, so much the better. I have to admit that I should hate to return the way we came and find those men we killed still lying in the road!"

They turned farther south and traveled through vineyards most of the way home. It was grape-harvesting season and groups of laughing peasants were enjoying one of their few merry times, treading out the juice in the Italian manner by dancing up and down in huge tubs of green and purple fruit. Donkey carts and bullock-drawn wagons often blocked the travelers" way in the villages.

At noon they stopped to eat at an inn, and afterward pushed on through beautiful rolling hills beside fertile fields which lay pale and prickly where the grain had been harvested. Suddenly they saw ahead of them, but on a road that crossed theirs, a party of horsemen in the uniform of the Cardinal's Guards.

"The Cardinals" men!" exclaimed Armand when he caught sight of them. "What are they doing here, I wonder."

"Why, there is much business in the realm. It is nothing to be concerned about," said du Pont.

"Perhaps not for you," said Armand, "but I have not forgotten."

"Forgotten?" The fencing master did not understand.

"You do not know about it," said Armand, "but I have reason to tremble when I see those uniforms."

It became clear that the two parties would meet at the crossroads. Armand forced himself not to hurry and the Cardinal's men got there first. They stopped, and when the five young men arrived, the leader asked: "Who are you and what is your business?"

"I am on my uncle's business and I cannot see that it is any of your affair," said Armand haughtily.

"Prudence!" cautioned Armignac behind Armand, for the fencing master did not restrain his charge.

"You are wrong there," said the Guard. "It may well be our affair."

"Do you wish to make an issue of it?" cried Armand angrily. "There are six of you and only five of us, but we can give a good account of ourselves."

" _Diable!_ You will get us all killed," hissed Coline, leaning toward Armand.

"Do not speak so rashly," said the Guard. "Who is your uncle?"

"My uncle is Francois Valère, Marquis de Ronne."

"Oh," exclaimed the Guard, "de Ronne! You have my apologies. Had I known you were the nephew of the Marquis de Ronne, I should not have questioned you. I perceive that you are on your way to the chateau. A pleasant journey to you." He waved a salute and he and his companions proceeded on their way.

"Well!" exclaimed du Pont. "I don't understand their change of attitude."

"I think I begin to understand," said Armand grimly. He did not explain further and pressed forward on the last lap of the homeward journey. It was four years since his father had felt the heavy hand of Cardinal Richelieu. He thought of how his uncle had kept him and Julie close in the chateau, and his own children as well. Now he had enlisted Henri in the Cardinal's Guards and his name seemed to be known to the soldiers of His Eminence. It seemed that the Marquis had made peace with the power that had swept away his brother, the Comte de Charlefont, with all his possessions. But on what terms? That information Armand hoped to learn from his uncle at the first opportunity.

The rest of the journey was uneventful and Armand and his party reached the Château de Ronne by the middle of the afternoon. The Marquis had been notified of their approach and was waiting for Armand in his private quarters. Still dusty from the road, Armand went to him at once to deliver his letter.

"Well, my boy, I see that you have returned—and with the letter I expected. I will read it at once."

While Armand stood before him, impatient to be off to change his clothes, his uncle broke the seal and started to read the letter. It was quite long, and after he had read the first page, he looked up at his nephew.

"I have here a very good report of you. You have my thanks for your mission and congratulations on your success against odds."

"I have some questions " began Armand, but the Marquis broke in.

"Go and bathe and refresh yourself. Then come to us in the hall. I know your aunt and your cousins will want to hear a full account of your exploits. Meanwhile I will finish reading my letter."

Thus dismissed, Armand climbed the stairs to his room, bathed, and changed his clothes. When he went down to the great hall, he found the family, except for his uncle, assembled, together with the tutor and Monsieur du Pont.

Julie rushed to him. "Brother," she cried, "I am so glad to see you back safely. I was so worried!" He patted her as the others clustered around him, Raoul pounding him on the back and Charles grabbing both his hands. Catherine and Madeleine were smiling at him, and it was Madeleine's eyes he sought.

"I was worried, I admit," she said, "when I found out that my father had sent you on a dangerous mission, but still I did not doubt that you would come home safely and with honor." He could not help comparing Madeleine with Yvonne in the few seconds before he began his tale. Madeleine seemed so warm, so natural! But there had been something exciting and exotic about the other girl though she, too, looked only fifteen.

"I think it is time that you received my congratulations," said the Marquise, smiling. "Come here." He went to her and she held him in a warm embrace. "Your father would be proud of you," she whispered.

"Well done!" said the _curé,_ who was seated beside her.

At that moment, the Marquis entered the room. "Tell us about your adventures," he said. "About the brigands and the duel—I have it all here in the letter, but we'd like to hear it from your own lips."

"Brigands!" cried little Julie.

"A duel!" exclaimed Raoul.

So he told them the whole story, concluding with his kind reception at the Château de Gervaise, but he did not mention Yvonne or his meeting with the Cardinal's Guards. He turned often to du Pont to verify his tale and between the two of them it made quite a story, for du Pont added much praise for his exploit that Armand was too modest to recount. At last they had heard it all. Madeleine came to Armand and touched his sleeve. "Your arm, Armand—does it pain you much?"

"Hardly at all," he said. "It was nothing." And he pushed his sleeve up to show her the bandage.

"It must be changed," she cried. "The blood is dried upon it. I will see to it." Her aunt rose when she saw the bandage and the two went out.

"But, Papa," asked Catherine, "why did Armand have to make that journey and get into danger just to deliver a letter? Anyone could have done it—someone who didn't matter so much."

"That, my child, is something you could not understand. Come, Armand, I would speak with you further."

They were stopped in the hall by the Marquise. "I must change his bandage first," she said. "Then I will send him to you."

Chapter 5: The Plot

When Armand entered his uncle's room, he found the Marquis sitting at his desk. "Sit down," were his first words, and Armand, taking a chair opposite his uncle, realized that this courtesy was in recognition of his successful mission. He had never been asked to sit down in the study before. "You have done well, nephew," the Marquis continued. "I think I can now take you into my confidence."

"Will you explain, monsieur, why you told du Pont and the chevaliers to stay back and let me encounter a dangerous swordsman alone? Du Pont would not tell me."

"It was to test your mettle. I arranged with that gentleman to meet and challenge you."

"But one or the other of us might have been killed!"

"That was not very likely. He is an excellent swordsman and he had orders not to wound you severely. He must have been surprised to find you so good! I had not thought you could get by his guard. But his wound was dressed and Gervaise wrote me that he would recover."

"So that is why the Marquis de Gervaise was not too concerned," said Armand. "He knew all about it."

"Very true. But now to more important matters."

"Just a moment, _mon oncle._ I have not told you about a meeting with six of His Eminence's Guards."

"When was this?"

"On our way home. And it was most peculiar that when they had demanded knowledge of our mission, and I mentioned your name, they became very courteous and waved us on without questioning. I did not know you stood so high in the Cardinal's favor."

"As to that you shall soon be the judge. It is true that I have made every effort to obtain Richelieu's trust and make him believe that I am holding no grudge because of my brother's death—I tell you now he was dearer to me than anyone in the world—and the loss of his estate, which was considerable. But that is all part of my plan. If I go on to tell you of that, I must have your solemn oath not to divulge one particle of what I tell you to a living soul. Our lives depend upon your keeping faith."

"I will make a bargain with you," said Armand. "If you will make known to me the man who was responsible for my father's death, I will keep your secret."

"Very well. I will make him known to you."

"Then you may trust me to say nothing. I will not betray you.

"Swear it!" demanded his uncle.

"I swear!"

"This, then, is the plan—or plot, if you will. Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal Duc de Richelieu, has held power too long. The King, Our Gracious Majesty, defers to him. The Queen is afraid of him. Everybody hates him—especially the nobles. He must die."

Armand's eyes widened in disbelief. "You would kill the Cardinal!"

"Our plans are well laid. Gervaise is in this with me, and Monsieur has promised his support. The court is to be at Chambord at Christmas time, or soon after. At His Majesty's command, the Théâtre du Marais is to present a drama there before Twelfth-night. And that is where you come in, for on the night of that performance, the Cardinal must die."

"You want me to kill the Cardinal?" Armand gasped.

"Of course not! What an idea! When I said that is where you come in, I meant that you will be a member of the Marais company and will be inside the chateau on the night designated. Do you understand?"

"Not entirely," said Armand with a great surge of relief. "Continue, please."

"Listen, then, and understand. There are two of us only, and Monsieur, who know of this, and now you are accorded the privilege of being the fourth person. It is only because we need your help."

"How can I be of help?"

"You will be inside the chateau on the night of the performance. The guests will be carefully inspected before they are admitted. Therefore, the assassins we hire to do the deed could not get in unless we bribed some servant, and we consider that too dangerous. In event of failure, he would be sure to give us away. The Cardinal has unpleasant ways of making a man talk! But I trust you. I have watched you now for almost five years. You know the meaning of honor."

Armand inclined his head to acknowledge the compliment. "At a time before the theatricals are presented or the royal party has arrived, you, who are, as I have said, _inside_ the chateau, will go down to a postern gate on the lowest level at the south end of the building and open the door for the two men we have paid for the assassination. They will know the door. If there is a guard, you will dispatch him, so that there will be no outcry. After that, it will be easy for the two to find the great hall and an adjoining room from which a small door leads to a space behind the tapestries that line the wall. It is against this tapestry that the dais stands on which the King, the Queen, the Cardinal, and Monsieur, together with their attendants, will sit during the performance. There have been many plays performed there and the royal party always sits on the dais. Do you begin to see?"

"Perhaps, but not clearly," said Armand.

"The King always sits in the center chair—a throne; the Queen and her ladies to his right, the Cardinal and some others to his left. The assassins will be behind the tapestry, and to be sure that they do not make a mistake, they will slit a small opening so that they may see where to plunge the dagger with accuracy."

Armand paled at these words. "I have always planned to kill the man who killed my father, and I intend to kill him in a fair fight, according to the code. But the Cardinal is above our reach. I do not like treachery!"

"You have sworn," said the Marquis coldly.

"Yes, I have sworn and I will keep my oath. Since I must, I will open the door. But how does this help me to avenge my father? The man who murdered him—you said he also killed his own wife—will he be there?"

"Yes, he will be there. I will point him out to you. You will be watching from behind the stage curtain and I will point to him—while the torches are still burning, of course. Later, you will seek him out and kill him. That is your right, and it is for that purpose you have been trained to fence. My revenge aims higher."

"Very well," said Armand. "This affair of the Cardinal lies heavy on my heart, but I must do what I have promised. Tell me, monsieur—I have always wanted to know—why did my father name me "Armand'? The name is hateful to me."

"The Cardinal was not his enemy then," said the Marquis. "We will speak of this again before you go away, but nothing must be in writing. You must remember all I have told you."

"Before I go away?" asked Armand in surprise.

"I have arranged for you to go to Paris next week. Monsieur has kindly consented to take you under his wing—that is, to introduce you to someone who will be a companion while you are in the city. Monsieur de Marvelon has already arranged for you to have a part in the play which the Théâtre du Marais will be preparing this fall and which will be the one given at Chambord at Christmas time. This should please you."

"Oh, it does! It pleases me very much. As to the other—I shall remember every detail, but I shall be glad when it is over. I had not thought ever to have a hand in murder!"

"You must not call it that. It is our duty to the State and the King, who should be ruling as God wills. The Cardinal has usurped his place."

"May I ask, monsieur, if Henri knows anything of your plans?" asked Armand.

"Of course not! Did I not say that you and you only know— besides those of us who conspire? On no account say anything to Henri! And to the other children, only that you are going to Paris, but nothing about joining the Marais. Even to Madeleine!" he said sternly. "And now, nephew, you must rest a while. You must be very tired." He held out his hand. "Your promise!"

Armand took his uncle's hand. "My promise," he repeated. But his mind was in a turmoil. His uncle should never have sworn him to secrecy before saying in what he was being involved. He would not have agreed so quickly except to find out the name of his enemy. His name! He still did not know his name! He almost turned back as he got to his room; but then he thought—I will ask him the next time we talk. Armand had no love for the Cardinal, but that the Marquis should pretend friendship and then plan his murder was revolting. In spite of what he owed his uncle, this made him like him less. But what could he do?

*

Supper that evening was a merry meal. The children were still excited over Armand's return and the Marquis was pleasanter than usual. Henri's vacation was mentioned and Raoul said, "I suppose he will be as hard to get along with as ever— probably more so, since he has got his commission and has been to Paris, and we haven't."

The Marquise looked troubled. "I hope," she said, "that in Paris he has learned that he is not so important, and that he will be more considerate of his brothers and sisters—and cousins."

"At any rate," said the Marquis," soon he will not be the only one of you to go to Paris."

Armand looked up, realizing this was his cue to speak. "Yes," he said, "Uncle has just told me that I am going to Paris next week."

" _You_ are going to Paris!" cried Julie. "But why? Tell us about it."

Each of the children had some question. Armand hesitated, and his uncle spoke for him. "He is going to see something of the world—to learn how to behave among noblemen in the great city. There is a _salon_ there that I want him to visit, where good manners and polite conversation are practiced as nowhere else—the Hôtel de Rambouillet." As the children still showed surprise, he went on, "After all, he is next oldest to Henri. It should be his turn to go."

As soon as supper was over and they were left alone, the children had more questions for Armand. "Where will you stay?" "Will you see the King?" "Will you write and tell us everything?" Armand found it hard to answer most of the questions, for he didn't know the answers himself. After a time, he pleaded that he was very tired after his long journey and left the great hall. Madeleine followed him out.

"I am so glad for you," she said sincerely, "but I shall miss you. You will write to me, won't you?"

"Of course," Armand told her. "You most of all. And if I fight a duel, I'll write and tell you all about it."

"A duel! I suppose it may be necessary. But not to kill! I think you would not ever kill anyone if you could avoid it." She smiled and returned to the others, who were still talking about Armand's good luck. They had forgotten all about Henri.

But Henri arrived at home the very next day. It was his first visit home in the year he had been gone, for he had spent his leaves in Paris. If his self-confidence had been shaken a bit by associating with those more skilled and sophisticated than himself, he did not admit it. In fact, he welcomed the opportunity to show off before his family, and he swaggered and boasted until even his father rebuked him. It was several days before he found out that Armand was going to Paris and would not be confined in any school, as he had been. His jealousy took the form of jibes and taunts: Armand was a provincial and would not know how to act; Armand had never associated with the sons of other noblemen and would be looked down upon; Armand knew nothing of the great world of Paris; Armand, who had never beaten him at fencing, would be killed in a duel in his first week.

Most of his unpleasantness was confined to times when he could catch his cousin alone, and Armand tried to avoid quarreling with him. But his slurs on Armand's ability at swordplay were spoken when all the children were together and Monsieur du Pont entered in time to hear them. Nothing had been said to Henri about Armand's mission to the Château de Gervaise, and although Henri knew that du Pont was the fencing master, he had paid little attention to him. Now he was surprised to hear the instructor address him.

"Monsieur Henri, I think you do your cousin an injustice. I can vouch for his being able to defend himself very capably. Perhaps you would like to try a match with him?"

"I was always able to beat him," Henri boasted, "but I will take him on again since I have nothing better to do. This afternoon, in fact—if you are not afraid, Armand."

Madeleine smiled, for she had been waiting for this day.

"I am not afraid of you," said Armand. "This afternoon, then."

"Agreed. However," continued Henri loftily, "I am no longer accustomed to using practice foils. We must fight with unbuttoned rapiers."

"No," said Armand.

"Ha! You _are_ afraid."

Du Pont interposed. "I shall not allow you to use rapiers, Monsieur Henri."

"Do you pretend to command me?" asked Henri angrily.

"I am sure the Marquis would not permit it. You see, Armand is not as inexperienced as you think. Perhaps you have not heard that he went on a mission, while you were away, to the Château de Gervaise and had some adventures that proved his mettle and ability."

Young Charles could not keep back his eagerness to tell the story. "He killed a ruffian in a sword fight when their party was set upon at the pass, and there were eleven men to their five!"

"Yes," Catherine chimed in, "and he fought a duel with an older and more experienced chevalier and wounded him in the shoulder."

"So you see," said du Pont, "it would be better to use the foils."

Henri's face reddened. When he had suggested rapiers, he had been sure that Armand would insist on foils, and contrary to his boast, he had not yet fought a duel with a sharp rapier. His relief was intense but he laughed it off.

"Oh, well—it doesn't matter to me. It shall be as you wish."

"It is raining," said Julie.

"But they can fight in the long corridor upstairs," said Raoul. "There the windows make it very light."

"I shall act as referee," said du Pont, and Henri gave him a sullen look.

"We'll all come," said Madeleine. "I wouldn't miss it for anything!"

On the second floor of the Château de Ronne, a long corridor about fifteen feet wide was lighted by a row of windows opposite doors leading into the sleeping quarters of the family.

It was to this corridor that the young people went in the afternoon, followed by du Pont with the foils. As the rain beat against the windows, the two cousins took their positions and stood on guard, ready. The children watched from a safe distance.

" _Commencez!"_ called out du Pont, and the duelists circled each other warily, their foils extended but not engaged. Armand knew that a lot depended on his winning this match. He had wanted to beat his cousin for so long! And he felt confident now that he could; still, he knew that Henri had been to the Academy and he must have learned much there—perhaps some maneuvers that even du Pont did not know. Armand started cautiously, and then, all of a sudden, it came over him that this was only a mock battle—the points were not sharp and could not wound. The two victories he had won the previous week with a real weapon gave him extra confidence— more confidence than he had ever shown with Henri.

Henri, on the contrary, had no victories to boost his ego. He had actually been considered a rather poor candidate at his training school. Armand felt that Henri was scared, that his defense was weak, and he knew that he would win. Henri touched him but once. Armand surged forward with fire in his eye and scored three points, _en quarte, en septi_ è _me,_ and _en seconde._ Then he remembered the trick du Pont had taught him. He feinted twice, recovered, thrust, parried, and then engaged his foil to the limit of its length, and with an upward flick of his wrist, sent his cousin's weapon flying from his hand to land ten feet away.

Henri stood still in amazement. Armand gave his fencing master a smile for teaching him that trick, as du Pont went to recover the foil. The boys, who had fought in their shirt sleeves, put on their doublets, and the children crowded around.

"I hope you don't feel too bad!" said Madeleine to Henri with a mocking smile.

Henri made an effort to control his temper and ignored his sister's remark. "I see you have learned _something_ since I went away," he said to Armand. "I don't begrudge you the victory. It is the first."

"But not the last," said Armand, as he watched his cousin stride away down the corridor.

The two saw little of each other during the rest of the week and then Henri's leave was up and he returned to Paris. As the family gathered to bid him good-by, he said to Armand, "Perhaps we shall meet in Paris. If so, I hope that we shall be on the same side." Armand could not decide whether that was a compliment or a threat. But he was glad to see Henri go, and he determined, in spite of what he had said, that he would never engage in swordplay with Henri again. He hoped fervently that Henri's company would not be at Chambord at Christmas time.

His own journey to Paris occupied all his thoughts. He wished that he could tell Madeleine all about the plan, particularly about his joining the company of the Marais, but that had been expressly forbidden. He kept up his studies with the tutor all the last week, and tried to get some information from him about life in the great city. But the tutor was almost as inexperienced as he, having lived long in a monastery. So it was to du Pont that he turned as the time of departure drew near. The children, who stayed with Armand as much as possible, would call Monsieur du Pont to a quiet corner after the noon meal or in the evening, sit in a circle around him, and say, "Now tell us about Paris!"

"What do you what to know?"

"Everything," was the answer.

"That's quite an order!" said the fencing master.

"Paris is very big," prompted Charles one evening.

"Yes, with six hundred streets and sixteen gates by which to enter the walls. It is a huge city with houses all jammed together and some streets so narrow, with overhanging stories, that daylight scarcely reaches the cobbles. Of course most of the streets are merely dirt roads, and in rainy weather the mud is deep."

"How do the people get around, then?" asked Julie.

"The nobles and chevaliers usually travel in coaches or on horseback, their ladies in coaches or sedan chairs. It is hard to explain to you children, who live in the country where you have grass and trees and clean air, how very foul are the streets of Paris. All refuse is dumped out of the windows, and though the King has directed the city to send carts to haul it away, there is no regularity about it, and some streets are never cleaned up. The smell of the city is quite terrible. You can see why wealthy people, particularly ladies, seldom walk, and when they do go out, they hold perfumed handkerchiefs to their noses."

"But what about people like you?" asked Raoul.

"We wear high boots and try not to breathe!"

"It sounds horrible," said Madeleine. "I wonder that people want to go there."

"Ah, mademoiselle, the avenues, at least, are cleaner. Then there are things that offset the disagreeable odors, the noise, and the filth. First of all, there is the beautiful river—the Seine. It flows right through the city with two islands like ships in the middle, and many bridges lined with shops and houses four stories high. The newest, the Pont Neuf, has no buildings on it and is very broad, and it is the meeting place of all the world! On the Île de la Cité are the government buildings and, towering above all, the Cathedral of Notre Dame. You cannot imagine its beauty—unless, of course, you have been to the Cathedral of Chartres, which is not far from here."

"We haven't been anywhere," complained Charles.

"Then there is the Palace of the Louvre, and the Tuileries —magnificent! And the Palais Cardinal, the town residence of Cardinal Richelieu—though he spends most of his time in the country at Rueil. The Cardinal is the actual ruler of France, as everyone knows, and though he has made our country very powerful in the world, almost everyone hates him. It is said that the only one who truly loves him is the priest who acts as his confidential secretary—Father Joseph, known as His Gray Eminence because he speaks for the Cardinal. And the only one Richelieu truly loves is a niece whom he reared from infancy."

At these words about the Cardinal, Armand looked down at the floor for fear his secret knowledge should show upon his face.

Du Pont went on. "There are many town houses belonging to the nobles who pay daily court to His Majesty. These _hôtels,_ as they are called, are mostly near the Louvre. There is also the University—very old and the most famous in Europe. There are shops and bazaars where everything in the world is sold—to those who have the price. Paris is an exciting place!"

"I believe you love the city," said Madeleine thoughtfully.

"I do," said du Pont. "Not that I do not love the country, too. I have enjoyed it here. But I shall be glad to get back."

"Have you been to the Théâtre du Marais, where Michel de Marvelon acts?" asked Raoul.

"No, but I have been to the Hôtel de Bourgogne. It is much the same."

"If I should ever go to Paris, could I go there?" asked Madeleine.

"I am afraid not, unless on a night when His Majesty and the court have taken over the theater for themselves and their friends. You see, theaters are rough places and only occasionally are ladies seen there, high above the crowd in special balconies. There are no seats on the floor; the common people crowd in there and stand, and they are often rude and very noisy. I am afraid, too, that the language used in the comedies would not be fit for your ears."

"But the company of the Marais performed here," protested Madeleine.

"I know,"" said du Pont. "And now that we have writers of dramatic poetry like Corneille, many more ladies will attend, with the proper escort."

"And are there duels in the squares and courtyards every day?" asked Julie.

"Oh, no," said the fencing master. "Dueling is strictly forbidden."

"Then why has Armand had to practice every day?" asked his sister.

"Well, though it is true that dueling is forbidden, it nevertheless goes on, though usually in a place where no one will notice. Gentlemen have their quarrels and usually settle them by using the rapier. Sometimes they quarrel about very small matters—a jostle of the elbow, a word spoken in jest. That is why every gentleman has to be prepared."

Armand listened eagerly to these talks by Monsieur du Pont, asking questions now and then, but mostly in a sort of daze, knowing that he soon would be in the city and see all for himself. It was hardly to be believed.

On the day before he left, the Marquis called him to his private room to give him final instructions. "First of all," he said, "I will tell you of the preparations I have made. You must have a lackey to attend you, as befits your station in life, and I have chosen Brusquet. I have always found him reliable and he is good with horses. Do you agree?"

"Yes, indeed, monsieur. I shall be most happy to have Brusquet."

"As to your horse—you may take the black stallion, Belnoir. I know you are fond of him. And for Brusquet, the gray mare, Granelle. I have arranged for your lodging and Brusquet will pack for you today. In addition to the clothes you have, there is a new outfit suitable for appearing at Court. Your hair is naturally wavy, which is fortunate. Some nobles have to have their hair curled or wear wigs. Du Pont and three chevaliers will ride with you on the two-day journey, and the chevaliers will report back to me of your safe arrival."

"You have thought of everything, Uncle," said Armand gratefully.

"Perhaps I am doing it not for you, but for the cause," said the Marquis coldly. "However, I want you to be in the right place at the right time, and for that all this preparation is necessary. I will give you a purse full of small coins, and a belt of gold pieces which you must wear under your clothes at all times. By the way, I heard that while Henri was here you two had a dueling match and you won."

"That is true," said Armand. "It is the first time I have beaten him."

"He will be the better for it, I dare say. I know his faults, and though he is my son, it is you I have chosen for my special mission."

Armand wondered if this might not be a questionable honor, but he was so glad to have the opportunity to go to Paris, he was willing to accept all that it entailed.

"You will leave tomorrow morning at seven," said his uncle. "See me before you go."

Armand took that as his dismissal and returned to the great hall where he found Madeleine alone.

"I hate to have you leave," she said. "We have done so many things together and now you are going out into the world and I am left behind!"

"I shall miss you, too," Armand said gravely. "I feel as if you were my sister and not merely my cousin."

Madeleine gave him a quick glance. "Perhaps that is not quite as I wish it," she said, "but it is a comfortable thought. By the way, Monsieur du Pont happened to tell me this morning that there was a very beautiful girl at the Château de Gervaise—the daughter of the house. You did not mention her."

"Didn't I?" asked Armand, and in spite of himself he blushed. "It just slipped my mind. I only saw her for a few minutes."

"Was she prettier than I am?" asked Madeleine.

"She was very pretty—but not like you. You are so familiar to me, you seem more real, somehow. I feel that we shall always be friends."

Madeleine did not know how to draw him out further and with this explanation she had to be content. "But, Armand, you will often be in great danger. Take care! Promise me that you will take care!"

"I promise," he told her.

Just before he left the next morning, the Marquis called Armand aside to give him his last instructions.

"You promised to tell me the name of my father's murderer," Armand reminded him.

"Not his name. I promised to make him known to you, and that I will do at the right time. When you arrive in Paris, go to your lodgings—the address is written here. You will be tired and not at your best. Early the next morning, put on your Court clothes and make your way to the Palace of the Louvre. You must ride, of course, because of the mire. Have Brusquet look after the horses until you leave the Palace. Inquire for Monsieur and give him this letter. He will take care of you after that—if he does not forget. People in high places are apt to forget, but I have his assurance. Make yourself acquainted at Court as far as you are able and cultivate any other society he recommends. Then get in touch with Michel de Marvelon and find out when rehearsals start for the new play. I shall expect a message from you each week regarding your progress. And before Christmas I shall communicate with you. Perhaps I shall, myself, see you in Paris."

At seven o'clock the traveling party was lined up before the flight of steps in the courtyard. While Brusquet held his horse, Armand took leave of his family—all the family he had known for the last five years. The Marquis spoke less coldly than usual, and holding his hand in a firm grip, said, "Do not seek a quarrel, but do not avoid one, either. Let no man insult you with impunity."

The Marquise held him in a warm embrace and whispered her good wishes. Armand kissed his sister on both cheeks, then Catherine, then Madeleine. The feeling of Madeleine's soft cheek against his lips was something he would not soon forget. He shook hands with Raoul, then hugged him—and Charles, too. The little girls were openly crying and Charles had tears in his eyes. Armand felt choked but covered it up as he mounted his horse, and he was able to wave gaily as he rode over the drawbridge with his small retinue. He was on his way to Paris! He would see the Palace of the Louvre. He would act in a real theater. He would find out who had killed his father! But this last thought was all mixed up with the plot against the Cardinal and he decided to put it out of his mind for the present.

Better take things as they come, he told himself. First the journey—that was all he need think of now. He had his horse, Belnoir. He had Brusquet to wait on him. He had a good friend in du Pont. He had three chevaliers as a guard. What more could he want!

King Louis XIII of France, portrait by Philippe de Champaigne (c. 1630)

### Chapter 6: The Great City

As Armand and his companions rode through the autumn countryside on their way north, the air was clear and sparkling and the leaves were beginning to fall. They cantered along at an easy pace, sometimes walking their horses, or letting them rest at the top of a hill. They had only a day's ride to an inn just beyond the royal chateau at Fontainebleau. From there, another day's ride would take them to Paris. In spite of the heartache he felt at leaving his sister and cousins behind, Armand was happy. He was bound on adventure and concerning this he had many questions to ask du Pont as they rode along. From him he learned much about life in Paris and gossip about the great ones on whose whims so many aspects of Parisian life depended. The one he was most anxious to hear about was Gaston d'Orléans—Monsieur.

"What do you know about him?" he asked du Pont.

"I have only seen him passing in a procession," the fencing master replied, "but all the world knows his reputation."

"And what is that?"

"Why, that he is conceited, ambitious, and a coward! He is always conspiring with members of the nobility against the King or the Cardinal, and on two occasions at least, he has betrayed his friends to their deaths—friends who for some witless reason wanted him to be king! A little over ten years ago the Duc de Chalais was executed because, when the plot failed, Monsieur named him as the chief conspirator. In 1632 he did the same to the Duc de Montmorency. They die, but he is always pardoned."

This reply filled Armand with anxiety. Was not Monsieur deeply involved in the plot his uncle was hatching? What would happen if this plot failed—to him and to his family? As a matter of fact, what would happen to him, since he had agreed to take a part, however small? He decided not to ask anything more about Monsieur, or his day would be spoiled. He spoke, instead, of the King.

"Have you ever seen His Majesty?" he asked. "What is he like?"

"I have not seen him close to, for I have no _entrée_ at Court. You know that he is not in Paris much of the time? He prefers his chateau at Saint-Germain or the hunting lodge he has just had built a few miles from Paris at Versailles. Wherever he is, he does not care much for affairs of government. He leaves that to the Cardinal. Did you know that he likes all sorts of common skills, chief among which is cooking? He is said to be a marvelous cook! Right now it is rumored that he has taken up carpentering. It is a strange thing that the king of a great country like France should prefer to occupy himself with the simple pursuits whereby a common man makes his living!"

"That does surprise me," said Armand, "when he has all the money in the world, it seems, and the power to do as he pleases."

"That is just what he does, apparently. Some years ago it was his whim to act as barber to some of his courtiers. They were wearing full beards at the time, but the King shaped their beards into tiny, pointed ones and cut their mustaches to a thin line. This has been the fashion for gentlemen at Court ever since, and because of its origin, it is called the _royale_."

"That is the fashion my uncle follows," said Armand. "And I have noticed that his friends who come to the chateau do so too. But my father had a full beard."

"And yours is just sprouting. You will soon have to decide how to have it fashioned. For myself, I prefer to be smooth-shaven. You see, I am not of the nobility and can please myself."

"Michel de Marvelon, too," said Armand. "I suppose it is best for an actor, for he has to put himself into many roles. Now tell me about the Queen."

"The Queen! Ah, my friend, the beautiful Anne of Austria —beautiful still though not so young now—has been much maligned! It has been said that she conspired with Spain, from which country she came to marry our Louis, but I believe it was all gossip. Anyway, now that she is the mother of a son and heir, I am sure she is happier."

"The Prince is but three years old—I know that much," said Armand.

"That is true, and one wonders if he will take after his father, to cook and build and barber, or if he will be like his illustrious grandfather, Henry IV."

They took their lunch picnic-fashion, since they were not near any hostelry and the chateau kitchen had sent them out well provided for. Brusquet laid out the meat pasties, cheese, and wine, and paid particular attention to his master's wants. Accustomed from the cradle as he was to being waited upon, Armand was touched by the solicitude of the older man who was to be his personal servant and even protector in the great city of dirt, corruption, and wickedness to which every league brought them nearer. After eating, they took the road again and by mid-afternoon approached the Château de Fontainebleau, glimpses of which could be seen through the surrounding forest. Monsieur du Pont proposed that they ride as close to the west side of the building as they would be allowed, so that they might see the beautiful new entrance stairs that had just been finished in what was called the White Horse Court. An iron fence with gates surrounded the grounds and from the gates they could just see the pair of stone stairs, each a half moon in shape making together a horseshoe with its closed end on a level with the entrance to the chateau. The long lines of the building with its evenly placed windows was very different from the towered Norman castle to which Armand was accustomed.

"I have heard about this work," said du Pont, "but have never had the opportunity to see it. A handsome entrance, is it not?"

Armand agreed and shook his head at the gatekeeper who was approaching to ask them their business. They turned their horses and continued on toward Paris. After a few miles they came to an inn before which hung a sign with the picture of a horse and the words: LE CHEVAL NOIR **.**

"Here we are, Monsieur Armand," cried Brusquet, and as Armand reined in Belnoir at the post, he helped his master to dismount.

"Come," said Armand, "let us see what accommodations they can offer us."

"Good food, if the odor of cooking which has just been wafted to my nose is any indication," said du Pont.

They were well received and given comfortable rooms on the second floor of the old stone and plaster inn, and though the common room was close and smoky from the cooking on the hearth, their supper was excellent. When a group of noisy young men came in and called for wine, Armand was in favor of staying, though they had finished their meal, but Monsieur du Pont persuaded him to go up to their rooms. "I am responsible for you at present," he said. "There's always a fight or two when such a crowd come to drink and not eat. There will be first a quarrel, then a fight, and somebody will need a surgeon. I do not wish it to be you."

"But if I always keep out of trouble," grumbled Armand, "how am I ever going to get enough experience to be of use when I need it?"

"You'll have plenty of opportunity, never fear," said the fencing master.

*

After a good sleep and breakfast, they were on the road again. On this day, since they were nearer Paris, they found an inn for their noon dinner and by the middle of the afternoon, they approached the _faubourgs_ of the great city.

"Take a deep breath of fine fresh air," said du Pont. "It may be your last for many a day."

Armand looked skeptical, but when they arrived at a distance from which they could see the towers of Notre Dame Cathedral rising above the dim mass of buildings surrounding it more than a mile away, he wrinkled his nose and looked at his companion. "That smell?" he asked.

"Is Paris," was the reply. "It is very faint now, but wait until we get there."

This was not a very pleasing thought, but Armand felt sure he would get used to the unpleasant odors since it appeared that thousands of others had done so. At du Pont's direction, they soon turned to the west to enter Paris by the gate called the Porte Royale, and from there rode down the Boulevard Saint-Michel to the River Seine.

"The boulevard will be less crowded than any narrower street," remarked du Pont, "and with luck we shall not be held up by a procession, or trampled by the King's Musketeers, or doused with slops from the windows. At least we'll have room to dodge."

Armand's first thought on entering the city was that there was a fair or carnival in progress. Such a crowd he had never seen in his life, even at country fairs, nor had he imagined such noise! Being on horseback they could see better and move forward with less difficulty than those on foot. The avenue was a mass of humanity: chevaliers in colorful dress, always wearing the plumed hat; litters conveying ladies whose bearers were loudly cursing those who got in their way; throngs of people on foot—townsmen, courtiers, peasants, beggars, and vendors. A constant chant of street cries assailed the ears. "Come buy! Come buy!" Each vendor cried in a voice loud enough to drown all others. There were poultry men with live chickens hanging head down across their backs; fishmongers with baskets attached to their shoulders; tinsmiths selling pots and pans which they crashed together to attract attention; and others selling every conceivable kind of merchandise or service.

"Is it always like this?" asked Armand, astonished.

"This is about as usual," replied du Pont. "See—we have some music too."

On a street comer stood a group of men singing at the tops of their lungs while one of their number played the violin and another, the lute. As Armand reached them, they were passing a basket around for donations. How exciting this scene, he thought, and how different from home! Astride his horse, whose hoofs splashed mud on the throng, he thrilled to the newness, the wonder of life in the city of Paris.

In time, after many delays, they came to the Pont Neuf. Here the congestion was even greater in spite of its width. Though there were no houses on the bridge, there were little tents and wooden shelters set up where every sort of article was displayed. There were dealers in books, vendors of sausages, fried fish, fruit, and cakes, and every shopkeeper was crying, "Come buy! Come buy!" A man in plain but decent garb, holding a wicked-looking pair of pliers in his hand, pushed his face close to Armand's knee and opening his mouth, pointed at his teeth, meanwhile waving the pliers.

"Heavens, no!" exclaimed Armand, realizing that this man wanted to pull his teeth. "Is that the way tooth-drawers get their patients?" he asked du Pont.

"They only get people with very bad toothaches," answered his friend.

Beggars were everywhere, pleading and whining: "Alms, for the love of the saints!" "Alms, for the love of Mary!" Seeing their pitiable condition, Armand flung them a few coins from the purse hanging at his belt. They fought for them on the ground, and a dozen more surrounded him so that his horse could not move.

"Better ignore them, monsieur," said the fencing master. "Most of them are not as destitute as they appear. This is their way of making a living—and a very good living it often is. See that man apparently covered with sores? They are only painted on. He wants you to pity him and give him money."

Armand glanced over and saw other repulsive-looking people also. What a filthy way to make a living, he thought. His attention was caught by a man slithering among the crowd, and from the vantage point on his horse, he was just in time to see him cut the leather strap of a hanging purse and slip away, quick as a lizard, from the owner who had not yet realized his loss.

"See that!" he cried, and would have pursued except that he was hemmed in. "I saw a cutpurse," he told du Pont.

"Take warning," said his friend. "There is much to see and be wary of, particularly when you go on foot. But notice the next bridge over the river to our left—the Pont Notre-Dame. Remember, Monsieur Armand, I told you the Pont Neuf was the only bridge not covered with houses."

Armand looked and to his amazement saw that what he had taken for a street was actually a bridge lined with brick and stone houses three and four stories high, solidly wedged together. He thought it was a wonder the bridge did not fall from the weight. People were leaning out of the windows to watch the dozens of boats, propelled by three or four sets of oars, which glided to and fro and up and down the river.

"There are others like that?" he asked in wonder.

"Several. But now we must make a real effort to get on our way. Chevaliers!" called du Pont. The three chevaliers and Brusquet closed up and they forced their way through the crowd, finally reaching the end of the bridge. In a few moments they turned into the Rue Saint Honoré, on which was situated the lodging the Marquis had arranged for. It was mid-afternoon. Armand bade the chevaliers wait while he went in and wrote a note to his uncle announcing his safe arrival. Brusquet brought in his boxes and portmanteau and he found himself comfortably situated in two rooms on the third floor. He gave the note to Brusquet and, since du Pont had not presumed to follow him, leaned out of the window to say good-by to him.

"Call on me whenever you wish," he said. "You have been a most valuable guide and I shall probably have need of your advice."

"In that case," said du Pont, "send Brusquet to me. I have told him where he can find me in the Rue de Bergère. _Au revoir,_ monsieur, and good fortune!" He clattered away on the cobbles of the Rue Saint Honoré, followed by the three chevaliers who would soon be on their way back to the Château de Ronne.

Brusquet departed with the horses to the nearest stable and while he was gone, Armand looked about. He was in Paris and on his own! A hazardous adventure awaited him, but in the meantime he intended to have the time of his life.

A few moments later, he called down the stairway, "Holla! Brusquet!" The lackey scuttled back to him. "Unpack!" he commanded, as he leaned back in his chair.

After a time he rose, leaned out of the window, and looked across the street at the continuous row of brick buildings, six stories high. The top windows were dormers projecting from pitched roofs surmounted by an array of chimneys with chimney pots, each covered by a little canopy to keep out the rain. In this street the houses were quite new, though the fronts were already streaked with soot and stained with the refuse emptied from their windows. The street below was filthy, and along it moved men in all sorts of clothes. A fight began, which ended with one combatant sprawled in the mire. A coach rumbled by in which Armand could glimpse pretty ladies. Street vendors kept up their cries. As he looked, it began to rain—a soft, autumn rain.

Armand closed the window, to keep out the stench more than the dampness, and surveyed his rooms. In this room, he had a fireplace, a large table on which stood a candelabra, and two fairly comfortable chairs. In the other room there was a bed, a candle stand, a chest of drawers, and an armoire, in which Brusquet was now hanging up his master's coats. Not as comfortable as the chateau, of course, but it would do. He sat down and thought about what he should do first. He was to meet Monsieur at the Louvre tomorrow morning. There was still daylight left and he wondered what he could do for amusement. Perhaps he should try to see Michel at the Théâtre du Marais. In any case, he would like to see a performance there.

"Brusquet," he said, "I should like to go to the Théâtre du Marais. Find out the way, and while you are about it, do you know how to discover whether the Court is at the Louvre at present?"

"Of course," replied the lackey. "I will inquire of the concierge."

"Will she know?" asked Armand in surprise.

"Monsieur, a concierge knows everything." Brusquet went downstairs and returned in a few minutes with full information: Their Majesties were in residence at the Louvre; the Théâtre was having a performance but it would be useless to go there, since it was late and the performance would be half over. Moreover, the theater was not within walking distance—at least for someone who did not know Paris.

"But I shall go," said Armand. "I shall ride. And though I do not know Paris, you do. Fetch me some hot water and layout my second-best suit. It is not raining hard and my cloak will protect me."

"As you say, master. The horses will have been rubbed down by now. And I shall go along, not only because I know the streets, but because you may need more than your cloak to protect you."

"Very well, but you will have to remain outside with the horses."

"Understood, master. But another time, when you do not need me, I shall go in and see the play." Brusquet smiled impudently and Armand accepted this as part of their new intimacy. There was a pallet by the fire where Brusquet would sleep, and Armand knew he would need his servant constantly.

He was in high spirits. When he had washed and changed and the horses had been fetched, he set off, followed by his lackey, who called directions from the rear. Brusquet, Armand knew, had lived in Paris before taking service with the Marquis. They made their way past Les Halles—the great produce market—quiet at this time of day, to the Rue Vieille du Temple where the theater was located at the comer of the Rue de la Perle. They were too late, for the play was over, and a noisy group of patrons was issuing from the doors. Armand dismounted, threw his reins to Brusquet, and pushed his way into the place. It was a long, narrow room with a few chairs scattered about, a gallery over the entrance, and a curtain across the stage. It smelled strongly now of unwashed humanity and smoking candles. Going in the direction opposite to the emerging audience, Armand managed to reach the curtains and stick his head through.

"Michel de Marvelon, if you please," he said to a man hurrying past. "Tell him Monsieur de Lys wishes to speak to him."

In less than a minute the actor appeared, still rubbing grease paint from his face. "Armand, my friend!" he cried. "You have finally come. How glad I am to see you! Wait but a second more and I will be with you. We shall go somewhere to talk."

When he rejoined Armand in the now empty hall, he took his arm and led him to the entrance, asking, "When did you arrive? How did you find the theater? And how is your uncle and your charming aunt?"

"They are well," replied Armand. "I arrived in Paris earlier this afternoon, and as to how I got here—I have a lackey holding my horse who knows Paris like a book—better, I should say, for he cannot read."

"Have him wait for you, then. We'll go to a wine shop two doors from here—the Coq d'Or—where you must tell me all about yourself. My letter from your uncle was brief."

Armand signaled Brusquet to wait and the lackey resigned himself to sitting in the doorway out of the rain under the swinging sign of the shop. The two young men entered the low-raftered room and ordered some wine. Their conversation was animated. Armand was very glad to have a friend to whom he could talk on this first day in a strange city. He told Michel all about his message to the Château de Gervaise, his fight, and his later victory over Henri. He spoke with feeling about leaving those he loved at de Ronne and how happy he was that his uncle had permitted him to join the company of the Marais for this one season. And there he stopped. He must not give any hint, even in the expression on his face, that there was any particular reason for his uncle's change of attitude toward the theater.

Michel was entertained. He told of his surprise at the letter he had received from the Marquis. He attributed it, he said, to Armand's powers of persuasion. "For myself, I had to beg my father very hard for the chance to become an actor. Perhaps your uncle will be pleased if you succeed. On the other hand, perhaps he counts on your becoming tired of the life we are obliged to lead."

Armand then asked questions and found out all he could about the next production, what his part was to be, and when rehearsals would start.

"They start next week," Michel told him. "But you will have plenty of free time. And what will you do here in Paris all alone?"

Armand explained that he was to meet a friend of his uncle's who was at Court and that he had an appointment at the Louvre the next morning.

"But how marvelous!" cried the actor. "Then I shall not worry about you. But if you need me for anything, you have but to call at the theater and my lodging is near. Here is the address." He scribbled it on a scrap of paper. "But a word of warning, since you are new to the city. Go back to your lodgings at once, for it will soon be dark. The streets of Paris are not safe for a man of quality except with an armed escort. Your lackey would be no defense. There are thieves and cutthroats in every alley who would stab you for your fine clothes. Besides, without linkboys with torches, you could not find your way."

Armand thanked him for his warning and the two parted. It was a comforting thought to him, as he rode back to the Rue Saint Honoré, that he now had two friends in Paris—du Pont and Michel—in case of need. He must get a good sleep tonight. He realized now that he was tired, and tomorrow was to be a big day.

Portrait of Gaston d'Orléans, known simply as Monsieur (early 17th century).

### Chapter 7: The Man with the Monstrous Nose

Armand arose early and make a careful toilet. The new clothes his uncle had provided gave him a very fine appearance, he thought, as he inspected himself in a small metal mirror. His braid-trimmed tan coat matched his knee-breeches and had a sky-blue lining which showed through the slashes in sleeves and doublet; his brown hair fell over a white collar edged with lace; his beige stockings were silk; and his shoes had silver buckles. He also wore a short, blue-lined cape and a broad-brimmed hat with two white ostrich plumes. No one would take him for a provincial.

Brusquet brushed imaginary dust from his master's clothes and his own clean outfit before he departed to get the horses. They had breakfasted earlier on bread and cheese and it was now nearly half-past seven. If he went to the Louvre any earlier, Armand had been told, he would simply have to wait until the end of the King's _levée,_ which would take an hour or more. But if he arrived at about eight o'clock, he might be in time to see the King pass through the corridor where his courtiers stood in long lines hoping for recognition and a word from the monarch. Moreover, Monsieur, who of course attended the King's arising, would then probably be free to speak to him.

Armand set out with high hopes and was surprised to see that the streets were already thronged. Perhaps there was to be some special event? But no, the people of Paris rose at dawn, Brusquet told him, just as they did at the chateau. The Louvre did not remind him in the least of the Château de Ronne, or of his beloved Charlefont. It was of irregular shape, one wing jutting out from the main courtyard and almost joining the other palace, the Tuileries, and all were of long horizontal architecture in the Italian manner. Behind them loomed the partly demolished medieval castle, the original Louvre. Since leaving the Rue Saint Honoré, they had been riding over weeds and grasses past a few shops and some stables and a quantity of rubble. Ahead was a courtyard and one of the entrances to the Palace. He dismounted and charged Brusquet to wait there, no matter how long he was gone. He tried to act nonchalant, as if he were accustomed to entering a palace every day in the year. To his surprise, no one challenged him. Indeed, the halls were full of a noisy crowd, and a perfectly horrible stench assailed his nostrils—even worse than that of the streets. As he saw so many people hurrying about—courtiers, businessmen, countrymen, tradesmen, valets, and lackeys —he wondered how in the world he was to find Monsieur. After pushing his way down two gloomy corridors, he got up his courage to ask directions. He stopped a boy in the livery of some noble and asked him where he might find Gaston d'Orléans, with whom he had an appointment.

"Oh, you mean Monsieur," replied the boy. "Go up those stairs and you will see that the King is making his progress down the long corridor, and doubtless Monsieur is with him." With that he hurried off on some errand.

Armand followed directions and soon found himself on the second floor, where the odor was less unpleasant. It was less crowded, too, and he saw that the lower classes and tradesmen were not present here. The long tapestry-hung corridor was lined with gentlemen and ladies who left a lane in the middle. Down this lane the King walked, accompanied by a man who somewhat resembled him, and a train of male attendants. As the King moved forward, the courtiers swept downward, one after another, the gentlemen bowing low and the ladies making a deep curtsy. Occasionally the King stopped to speak to some individual. Those ahead of the King were silent and attentive, but after he had passed, loud chattering broke out and the crowd swirled about as people do at the end of a parade.

Armand, in a throng of those not privileged to have a place in line, had time to observe the monarch carefully. Louis XIII was a man of medium height. He wore a curled black wig that fell to his shoulders over a white collar and was topped by a hat with four large apricot colored ostrich plumes to match his doublet. He had the mustache and small pointed beard that he had made popular with his subjects. He, of course, was the only man wearing a hat; the courtiers held theirs in their hands. He looked tired and worn and had a rather peevish expression—not at all the kingly look that Armand had expected. As Louis reached the end of the corridor, those in the outer hall scattered in all directions. He moved into a window alcove and was immediately joined by a handsome, foppish youth only a little older than Armand. Across the corridor, in a circle of ladies, stood the man who, Armand felt sure, was Monsieur, the brother of the King. When, after a few words which caused much laughter, he turned away from the group, Armand went forward and made a low bow.

"It is Monsieur, is it not?" he asked hesitatingly.

When he received a nod, Armand introduced himself and presented his letter. "My uncle told me I was to be here at this time,"" he said. "I arrived in Paris yesterday."

Monsieur put his hand on his shoulder and greeted him warmly. This sounds like a man to be trusted, Armand thought. I shall not worry about his keeping faith with us.

"I am going to introduce you to one I think you will like," said Monsieur. "He was to be here this morning to meet you." He looked around. "I do not see him yet, but, ah! I see that His Majesty has finished with Monsieur le Grand for the moment. You would like to be presented to His Majesty, would you not?"

"I should be overwhelmed," replied Armand.

"Do not be afraid," said Monsieur.

Gaston d'Orléans went to the King, leaving Armand waiting and, after a few words, returned to escort him to his brother. "This young man, Your Majesty, is Armand de Lys, nephew to the Marquis de Ronne, one of your most loyal subjects."

Armand swept off his hat, dusting the floor with its plumes in his most elaborate bow. "Your Majesty," he said, remembering not to put his hat on again.

"I bid you welcome." The King gave him an appraising look. "Not bad," he said to d'Orléans as he extended his hand for Armand to kneel and kiss. Then he forgot all about him. "I am tired already and it is scarcely more than half-past eight. I think I will not hunt today."

Armand remained on one knee until he saw that the King had left him. Then he rose and dusted off his stocking.

"He cannot be separated from him for long," said Monsieur, returning.

"From whom, Monsieur?" asked Armand, puzzled.

"The boy, Cinq-Mars, of course. But perhaps you would not know."

"I have never been to Paris. I know nothing of the Court," said Armand.

"Of course, of course. Ah, here comes Lignières. He is a poet and a young man of about your age, I should think. You may talk freely with him except that you will not speak of that little private matter of which your uncle has told you. I am sure you are discreet or he would not have trusted you."

"But certainly, Monsieur. I understand perfectly."

"Here, Lignières," called d'Orléans. Armand saw approaching a boy of about seventeen, tastefully but not elaborately dressed, wearing a hat without a plume and an expression on his dark face at once serious and sophisticated. He bowed to Monsieur.

"I am here at your bidding, Monsieur," he said.

"This is the young man I told you of—Armand de Lys, newly arrived in Paris. His uncle wished him to have instruction in society. You do not wear a sword and therefore I know you will not provoke a quarrel. Take him around."

The two acknowledged the introduction and sized each other up, and Monsieur hurried away to join some of his companions.

"Monsieur said you are a poet," said Armand. "That pleases me, for I, too, have tried a sort of writing."

"That will give us something in common," said Lignières as he led the way through the corridor and down the stairs. "I notice that you do wear a sword and therefore must be able to use it. For myself, I am timid and find it far safer to go unarmed."

"I can use the sword, but I prefer not to," said Armand, smiling, "so perhaps we shall be good company for each other."

"You must be very careful, nevertheless. Don't bump into anybody or make a remark, however simple, until you know more of our city ways. It can lead to trouble."

"I shall be very careful," said Armand. They had just reached the outer court when a group of gaily dressed gentlemen who had followed them down the stairs stepped forward and blocked their way. One of them tweaked Lignières by the nose and ruffled his hair.

"And what are your latest slanders in verse, little puppy?" he asked.

Lignières shook himself free and, flushing, answered, "They would not interest you, Monsieur Villiers."

As the two young men started forward, one gentleman put out a foot and tripped Armand, so that he sprawled on the pavement which, fortunately, was at this place relatively clean. He was up in a moment, furiously angry and drawing his rapier.

"Put up! Put up!" hissed Lignières in his ear. "You will be arrested here."

"Perhaps the gentleman who trips people will meet me in an appropriate place, then," cried Armand.

"Certainly," answered the other insolently. "I enjoy disposing of callow youths."

Armand glared at him, his face burning. This was the sort of thing he had been warned against. But how could he have avoided it? And he hated to endanger himself on his first day in Paris!

"The Pré aux Clercs at eight tomorrow," said the gentleman. But his friend grabbed his arm.

"Don't be a fool, Armentières! This boy is a friend of Monsieur's. I saw them talking together upstairs only a few minutes ago and Monsieur was most solicitous. He had his arm around him. You cannot risk offending Monsieur!"

"He challenged me!" muttered Armentières.

"Well, you tripped him," said his friend.

After a long moment, Armentières decided on the better course. "My apologies, monsieur," he said stiffly and without courtesy, and he joined his companions who were hurrying away.

Armand, immensely relieved, was still trembling. He dusted himself off. "That was a good beginning!" he said to Lignières. Seeing his lackey with the horse, he called to him and bade him return to his lodgings for he would have no further need of him at present.

"You see why I do not wear a sword?" asked the poet. "I am often put upon, but I could not defend myself and I do not wish to be spitted upon the rapier of one of those worthless dandies! Now, where would you like to go first?"

"I do not know the city, but if there is a place where it does not smell so bad, that is where I should like to go now."

"I'll take you to the Cours de Reine, then. It is by the river not far from here—a beautiful promenade laid out many years ago by the Queen Mother. All the world goes there in the afternoon, but few will be there now."

They walked past a long wing of the Palace of the Tuileries, past the Bird House and the Swans" Pond to a green field known as the Rabbit Warren, and down to the river. Armand enjoyed the absence of fetid odors and when he saw the promenade stretching for more than half a mile, he was pleased. This was something like the avenue at Charlefont, for there were shade trees on each side. The place was almost deserted, but there were a few people on foot and several men on horseback. Before they had gone far, they were passed by a little chariot, painted and gilded, in which rode a beautiful, magnificently dressed lady.

"This place is crowded with chariots every afternoon," said Lignières. "It is one of the few places to take the air."

After they had walked the entire distance of the promenade and back again, Lignières proposed dinner. At the cabaret which they entered, he appeared to be well known. Here he was met with affectionate hails and, though some jokes were made at his expense, they were merely teasing, and he took them good-naturedly. He introduced his guest to several men, and always as the nephew of the Marquis de Ronne, which gave Armand some standing in a group which was made up principally of younger sons of noble families. Such was Lignières himself. One was named Chapelle who, Lignières said, also wrote satirical verses. Another, Poquelin, was trying his hand at comedies for the stage.

"I should like to talk with him further," said Armand, "for I have been writing dramatic verse myself."

Lignières kept looking around the room while their dinner was being served and Armand asked him the reason.

"I have been hoping that a very fine gentleman and the best swordsman in France would come in," said the poet. "He often dines here."

"What is his name?" asked Armand.

"You would not know it, being from the country," said Lignières, "but everybody in Paris knows it well. He is Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac, brilliant with the rapier, who has fought so many duels that he cannot count them. Yet he is gentle, kind, a philosopher, and I am happy to have him count me as one of his friends."

"Why does he fight so much?" asked Armand.

"In addition to the usual reasons, for an unfortunate circumstance. He has a very large nose! His friends are used to it and have ceased to notice it, but if a stranger so much as mentions the word "nose" in his presence, he is immediately involved in a duel. And Cyrano always wins."

"Does, he fight to kill?" asked Armand in surprise.

"Not if he can help it. He is so skillful that he can touch a man wherever he pleases, and he only wants to teach the impolite ones a lesson."

"What a remarkable man," said Armand. "I cannot wait to meet him."

"But you must not make a remark about his nose."

"Of course not."

"Or mention sneezing."

"I shall be very careful."

"Or rub your nose in his presence. Men have been badly wounded for a similar indiscretion."

"What if it itches?"

"You must control yourself."

"I see that it is dangerous even to meet this gentleman! Perhaps it is just as well that he is not here!"

When they had dined, Lignières proposed that they attend the play at the Hôtel de Bourgogne and Armand readily agreed. A quite respectable comedy, _Clorise,_ was being performed that afternoon, he was told, and everybody who was anybody would be there. As they made their way through the rubble and dirt to the Hôtel de Bourgogne, not far from the Louvre, Armand questioned his companion about his poetry. Lignières admitted that most of it was satire—lampoons on famous people to amuse his friends—though he had written some poetry _a la mode_ which treated the subject of love in a romantic manner.

"I will take you to the Hôtel de Rambouillet later," he said, "and there you will find out more about the conventions of love poems. They must be written exactly according to the fashion."

"Have you ever been in love?" asked Armand, for since he had met Yvonne he had been wondering how a person knew if he was truly in love.

"What, after all, is true love?" asked Lignières. It seemed to be a question neither of them could answer.

The Hôtel de Bourgogne was a rectangular building, the only theater in Paris which had not formerly been a tennis court, but it was like them all in its general outlines. There were only a few seats on the floor, or _parterre_ , as it was called, but it was so large that it could accommodate nearly a thousand standing spectators. In addition, there were two galleries, one over the other, running around three walls of the hall, and most of the lower gallery, where the ladies sat, was divided into loges. At the far end was the stage, and when Armand and Lignières entered the curtain was down, for the play had not yet begun. The place was packed with people, all milling around, and at the entrance, where they paid the fee, a woman was selling macaroons and wine. It was a mixed crowd, mostly from the lower classes.

"We can go into the gallery by paying a little more," said Lignières. "But," he added as he peered upward through the dim light, "there doesn't seem to be any room there."

The merest flicker of light filtered in from windows high up near the roof and some guttering candles at the entrance. The two elbowed their way to a vantage point at one side, for it was time for the play to start. Three raps sounded, which had no effect upon the audience, but at a repetition of the three raps, silence fell and the curtain rose. A pastoral scene was disclosed, lighted by four crystal chandeliers. To the music of a flute, a huge man ambled onto the stage in the costume of a rustic shepherd, garlanded with a wreath of roses tilted over one eye, and playing a shepherd's pipe. There were shouts of welcome and the name "Montfleury" was shouted. The actor began:

"Thrice happy he who hides from pomp and power

To sylvan shade or solitary bower;

Where balmy zephyrs fan his burning cheeks—"

Before he could go on, a stentorian voice issued from the back of the close-packed audience:

"Wretch! You who call yourself an actor! Have I not forbidden you to appear upon a stage for one full month? Off with you!"

There were cries of protest and Montfleury stood, uncertain, not daring to go on with his lines.

"On with the play!" cried several voices. The actor started over again:

"Thrice happy he who hides from pomp and power—"

He had got thus far when a man rose at the back of the hall and, standing on a chair, was higher than the crowd. He was a slender man in dark clothes—a man with an enormous nose.

"Cyrano!" whispered Lignières to Armand.

"I forbade you to appear on the stage for an entire month! Well, are you going to obey me, or shall I come up and split you like a sausage?"

"But if I obey you, the play cannot go on!" cried Montfleury, trembling.

"If you do _not_ obey me, the play cannot go on, because," said Cyrano, "its patrons will be attending your funeral!"

The manager came to the front of the stage. "Monsieur Cyrano, be reasonable! We need this actor for our play."

"Monsieur Bellerose," replied Cyrano, "I never go back on my word. If he continues, he shall die! I warned him. He is an atrocious actor anyway, but his real crime is that he has tried to force his unwelcome attentions on my cousin. Also, he has dared to make fun of my nose. It is too much. You, buffoon— begone!"

The actor looked helplessly at the manager and hurried from the stage.

"But, Monsieur Cyrano, I will have to return all the money paid for admission!"

"As to that," said Cyrano, pushing through the crowd, "I will pay. Here!" He tossed his purse to the manager. "That should be enough."

The audience began to move out toward the entrance where they took back their coins from the manager. There was much grumbling and some loud cursing, but not from those who passed close enough to see Cyrano's flashing eyes. A few stopped to congratulate him and one, who seemed a close friend, took his arm and attempted to get him to leave quickly.

"You couldn't afford that. How will you eat, my friend?" he asked.

"I'll give up eating, le Bret," said Cyrano, giving his friend a rueful smile.

Just then Chapelle, the boy Armand had seen at the cabaret, hurried over to Lignières. "I have just heard some terrifying news," he told him. "You must not go out after dark. I heard some men telling each other about a rendezvous of a hundred men hired by the Comte de Guiche, to murder you at the Porte de Nesle!"

"The Comte de Guiche!" exclaimed Lignières, putting his hand to his head. "Oh, that verse I made up about him—it must have come to his ears! How could I have been so rash as to make so powerful an enemy? But a hundred men!"

"You can stay at home," said Armand.

"Yes, tonight—but what of the other nights? Must I always go in fear? No. Something must be done. I will ask Cyrano." He darted away to find his friend.

"I have always heard that it is dangerous to go out after dark in Paris," said Armand to Chapelle.

"A man cannot always be that cautious," said the boy. "Much goes on after dark that we wish to see."

Lignières came back talking earnestly with Cyrano. "So you see, my friend, I am helpless—unless you will help me."

"A hundred men, you say." Cyrano paused, considering. "The number is probably exaggerated and half of them will run away. Yes, it must be settled tonight, and I will go with you. You may count on me. Be at my lodgings at five o'clock and have supper with me."

"I forgot. Here is a young man who wants to meet you. I was charged by Monsieur to look after him. He is from the Orléanais."

"A friend of Monsieur's?" asked Cyrano with a penetrating glance.

"Not a friend exactly. He was merely recommended to Monsieur by a relative."

"Ah, an innocent! Well, bring him with you."

Armand looked at this man, quietly dressed, wearing a hat with but one white plume. The nose, to be sure, was long and large, but the eyes were so glowing and the expression so haughty that it did not seem to matter. He could not let him go without speaking. He bowed.

"Oh, Monsieur Cyrano, that was magnificent!"

"What, pray?" asked Cyrano.

"The way you commanded that actor! And he obeyed you, and the manager obeyed you also. You are a man of great persuasion!"

"I wear my persuasion here." He tapped his rapier. "My enemies have learned that it is long. But tell me, do you think that great windbag, Montfleury, is a bad actor?"

"I do not know, monsieur, since he spoke only three lines, but it must be so."

"And why?" asked Cyrano with a quizzical look.

"Because you said so," answered Armand sincerely.

"A man after my heart!" exclaimed de Bergerac. "Until supper time, then." He strode away with le Bret, and Armand gazed after him with admiration.

Lignières bade him be at the theater at a quarter to five. "I will meet you and take you to Cyrano's lodgings," he said. Armand found his way to his rooms and told Brusquet he would be out to supper and that he would have the best of protection all evening, so there was no cause for worry.

*

The supper was a simple one and the conversation witty and wise.

"I am not always so overbearing as I was with the actor, Montfleury," Cyrano told Armand. "But he insulted my cousin, Madame de Neuvilette. I cannot fight him for he is not a gentleman and, in any case, is too fat to handle a sword, so I must punish him in another way."

Lignières recited for his companions the verse which had aroused the ire of the Comte de Guiche and Armand marveled at his audacity. What would the poet do without the protection of de Bergerac?

As dark was falling, they started out, Lignières in front with a lantern. Before they had gone a hundred yards, they were joined by a group of the King's Musketeers. The word had got around.

Cyrano greeted them. "You would be wiser to stay out of this," he warned the Musketeers.

"Ah, Monsieur Cyrano, we would not miss it for a thousand livres!"

"Very well, but I shall not allow you to interfere. Fighting against odds—it is my hobby! Lignières goes ahead until we sight the assassins—then I take his place. They are in for a little surprise."

The procession—there were a dozen Musketeers—continued until they approached the river and the Porte de Nesle. There in the shadows they saw a gathering of men—perhaps not a hundred, but large enough. As they drew near, they could see both pistols and rapiers flashing in the torchlight, for torches were placed at intervals along the river. Cyrano held his cloak before his face.

"If they fire," he said to the Musketeers, "you may do the same, but leave the swordsmen to me."

Lignières drew back with his lantern and pulled Armand with him. "Stay out of this," he whispered. "Cyrano can handle them." Armand protested. "You'll see," said Lignières.

A volley of pistol fire burst from the group at the gate, and was immediately answered by the Musketeers, but because of the dim light, and the inaccuracy of the weapons, no one was injured on either side. Cyrano let fall his cloak and at that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud, showing his face clearly—even the shadow of his long nose against the wall.

"Who are the dogs who make this disturbance?" he cried. "Know you not that my sword is made from one-half of the scissors of Atropos? _En garde!"_ He sprang among them and engaged three men at once.

" _Diable!_ This is not the little poet. It is a madman!" cried one.

"Not a madman, but the best swordsman in France!" shouted another. "Do you not recognize Cyrano de Bergerac, he of the monstrous nose?"

At that, at least half the assassins melted away. Some dared to face him and of that number he killed two and wounded seven. It was soon over, for the rest now fled. The Musketeers flocked around Cyrano, pounding him on the back with enthusiasm. Armand and Lignières were there too.

" _Magnifique!_ A hundred against one. It will become a legend!"

But Cyrano brushed them off. "You exaggerate," he said. "There were not quite a hundred."

"How can I ever thank you?" asked Lignières. "You see what my fate would have been, had I been alone!"

"You can thank me," said Cyrano, "by being more careful with that caustic pen of yours—at least where powerful noblemen are concerned."

The walk home was a triumphal procession. The Musketeers insisted on taking Armand to his lodgings first, then Lignières, and there Cyrano parted from them, saying that he thought he could manage to get home without an escort. The next day in the Musketeers" barracks, the story was told and retold.

Armand could hardly sleep that night. This was by far the most exciting event he had ever witnessed! From now on, the most admired man in his world was Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac.

Cyrano de Bergerac, from Émile Magne, _Le Cyrano de l'Histoire,_ Paris: Dujarric & Cie, 1903.

Chapter 8: A Novice in Paris

The next morning Armand went down to the Seine to watch the river boats. He took a chance on walking, for it was not far—only past one street and the end of the Palace of the Tuileries. He wanted a breath of sweet air, for the smell of the city was still making him ill, though he supposed he would get accustomed to it. Brusquet accompanied him, walking ten paces behind. Armand was dressed in his oldest clothes and at his belt hung the bag of coins his uncle had supplied him with. He thought of buying some comfits at a shop; shops were quite a marvel to him, for he was unacquainted with towns.

It was crowded in the Rue Saint Honoré, and it took him quite a long time to make his way through the press of lackeys, men of business, varlets, and peasants going home after taking their produce to the great market of Les Halles. He finally got through to the comparative quiet of the field along the city wall and reached the river. The stream of people passing through the Porte de Nesle paid no attention to him when he stopped at the place where Cyrano had dispersed the assassins. There he saw, to his horror, that though the wounded men had disappeared, the two who had been slain lay where they had fallen. He stopped and stared, and at that moment two men in uniform appeared, spoke to each other, and then took up each dead man by the arms and legs and threw him unceremoniously into the river.

"Brusquet!" Armand called the lackey to him and described the action and its connection with the night before. "Are they allowed to do that?"" he asked.

"But, monsieur, there are too many dead piled in the open pits of the city already! Much of the bad smell is due to this unfortunate situation. The river is the best place, surely."

"But a man could disappear thus and his family know nothing of it!"

"That is true, monsieur. That is why I am with you." Armand shuddered and turned his attention to the boats. He thought of taking a walk in the Cours de Reine as he had on the previous day, but he had an appointment to meet Lignières soon after noon and decided to get home again and change to better clothes.

On the way back, he was unlucky enough to be walking in the middle of the narrow street when a horse-drawn coach appeared. He sprang back out of the way just in time to feel the impact of a bucket of slops, which was being emptied out of a window. He wiped his face with his cloak. His lackey came up to him. "Don't on any account look up, monsieur, and it would be better to stay close to the buildings. I think I should walk beside you."

"Not at all, Brusquet. I can surely walk the streets by myself. Stay behind as is proper."

Brusquet obeyed him, and at that moment someone ran into Armand, full-force, almost knocking him down. He recovered his balance and looked around for his assailant, ready to draw his sword, but he could see only the mass of common men, none of whom seemed interested in him. Then he remembered the scene on the bridge the day he arrived, and he felt for his purse. It was gone.

"Well," he said to himself, "Brusquet was right. I shall be more careful from now on."

While he was washing the muck from his clothing and bathing himself in his rooms, he sent Brusquet out to get something for the noon meal, giving him one of the gold pieces to change into small coins. "Live and learn," he said. But Brusquet discreetly made no comment.

After his meeting with Lignières that afternoon, the two young men made their way toward the Louvre, but stopped just north of it where a small army of lackeys was stationed before the Hôtel de Rambouillet while their masters were inside enjoying an afternoon of conversation. The Hôtel de Rambouillet was at that time the only _salon_ in Paris. Lignières had been telling Armand about it. Catherine de Vivonne, Marquise de Rambouillet, had planned the classic-styled mansion herself and, contrary to the custom in all the other _hôtels_ in the city, had placed the grand staircase at one end instead of in the middle, so that the rooms could be arranged in a series of _salons,_ each differently decorated, where a few people could talk together quietly. In a day when slight differences in the degree of high birth determined the treatment that gentlemen received, the Hôtel de Rambouillet admitted on an equal footing all who had wit in conversation and the ability to write, both the highborn and the lowborn. Lignières was admitted to these halls because, though still very young, he had written many verses.

"You can come as my guest," he told Armand, "but since you have written plays which you actually performed in your chateau, I am sure the fair Arthénice would be glad to have you come regularly."

"Who is the fair Arthénice?" Armand wanted to know.

"Why, the Marquise, herself. It is the fashion here to play a sort of game in which all members of our circle are given names of nymphs, shepherds, mythical characters, and so on. It all started with a book called _Astrée,_ written a long time ago. Most of the time we practice the art of conversation, discussing the latest play or poem or lampoon; sometimes we decide which words we should use because they are more elegant than others. Plays and poems are read here too. Corneille read us _Le Cid_ before it was ever performed. Most of my friends come here, including Cyrano—for he writes, too. Did you know that? He does not spend all his time fighting duels."

Pushing their way through the lackeys and leaving Brusquet behind, they entered the portals of what its _habitués_ called the "Temple." They mounted the beautiful staircase, which was deserted, for everyone had found a place in the main _salon_ — the "Blue Room." Its walls and velvet carpet were a deep blue, a departure from the customary red or tan. Flowers filled the air with fragrance and there were statues in every niche and _objets d'art_ on every table. How different, thought Armand, from the Louvre! A poem was being read and everyone was paying strict attention. Armand looked about him and saw some men very poorly dressed, as well as some richly attired. Then over in one corner he saw Cyrano. He was very glad that they should meet again so soon. After the poem there were comments, not all favorable, but the poet took them with good grace. Then general conversation filled the room with a buzz. Lignières tried to get Armand through the chattering guests to the corner where the hostess was seated, to introduce him as he had been bidden by Monsieur. They came, however, to Cyrano first.

"What do you think of our fashionable _salon?"_ he asked.

Armand said he admired it and asked how it came to be so different from the Louvre which, he thought, should be the most luxurious place of all.

"That is where you are wrong," said Cyrano. "Although our gracious Queen likes gentle manners and beautiful surroundings, the Court has not yet recovered from the days of Henry IV, who was rough and ready and inclined to make his habitation a regular barracks. His present Majesty does not seem to care—he is happier in the kitchens!"

"This place is something to remember," said Armand. "It almost makes me wish I lived in Paris and could come here often."

"Are you a writer?" asked Cyrano.

"He writes plays," said Lignières.

"Only as a child, monsieur. It is not my career."

"But he performs them and is presently to join the Théâtre du Marais."

"Just for this season. My uncle has made me promise that. But I do love to act." Then, as always, he was reminded of the reason for his coming to Paris to join the company of the Marais, and his enthusiasm faded.

"Come, you look solemn," said Cyrano. "Lignières, have you told your friend that we are not always so serious here—or at the Château de Rambouillet, where the Marquise entertains us in summer? We have music and dancing and are even fond of practical jokes. Tell him about the Comte de Guiche, Lignières. I am sure you relished that joke on him."

"I did indeed! You see, once when we were all spending a few days in the country the Comte de Guiche ate a very large quantity of mushrooms. Everybody teased him about it and that night after he had retired, someone stole into his room and sewed up the seams of his garments, making them smaller all around. He could hardly get into them the next morning. The buttons wouldn't button properly and there were great gaps. He really believed he had swollen in the night because of all those mushrooms, and he was very worried that he was becoming ill. Finally he was told about the joke played on him and his clothes were restored to their right size. I enjoyed that joke more than anyone, for I always thought him too pompous. But I wasn't the one who played the joke on him," he added hastily. "No, I merely wrote a lampoon about him, and look what trouble it got me into!"

"Trouble which you are fortunately out of," said the swordsman.

"Thanks to you, my friend."

"Yes, Armand, we have fun here as well as the most serious discussions," said Cyrano. "Perhaps you won't care for our group, for, as you may have noticed, there are no young girls. They are not allowed except for the three beautiful daughters of the Marquise. Young girls are not intellectual."

"Look at Monsieur Voiture," said Lignières. "I bet he is up to some mischief." Armand looked and saw a tiny man, perfectly proportioned but far smaller in stature than was the average.

"He writes tiny poems, too, but delicate and graceful," said Cyrano. "However, he loves a practical joke, and he looks very satisfied with himself now. I wonder what he has done."

Voiture pranced to the middle of the room and placed himself where he could look at the Marquise, who was seated in front of an embroidered silk screen. "Madame," he said, "everything in your _salon_ is perfection—exquisite, romantic! But the outside world is full of dirt, terror, destruction. What would you say if the outside were brought inside? Look above your head, madame."

The Marquise looked, as did everybody else, and saw three bears, furry and very much alive, poking their heads over the delicate screen, leering at her. She screamed and got to her feet. Voiture clapped his hands and jumped up and down like a child. "You see!" he squealed. "I knew you would be startled. That was such fun! But do not worry, my dear madame. They are trained bears and will do no harm. I borrowed them from a man in the street a few minutes ago just to scare you! I will take them back now." General laughter filled the room and the Marquise laughed, too, as she walked to an alcove in a far corner of the room, beckoning a favored few to follow her.

"A remarkable woman," said Cyrano. "She speaks Italian and Spanish as well as French, and she can read Latin. Also, there has never been breathed a word of scandal about her. She is good to everybody."

"We'll not see her again today," said Lignières. "We might as well leave. Is there some place in Paris you would like to visit, de Lys? Monsieur said I was to take you about for a few days until you feel more at home in the city."

"Yes," said Armand, "I should like to go to the Cathedral of Notre Dame."

"Ah—so you should. It has looked down on five hundred years of French history, you know," said Cyrano.

"I want to go inside, but you need not go with me. I have my lackey, who knows Paris very well. I shall not get lost."

"May I suggest that you ride—you who are so fortunate as to have a mount?" said Cyrano. "I could not afford one on a soldier's pay, and since I am recently out of the Army, I have to live on a small patrimony. But those who can do so should ride through our filthy streets."

The three parted after Lignières had asked Armand to meet him the following afternoon, and Brusquet was sent to fetch the horses. As he rode down to the river and along the quays to the Pont Notre-Dame, Armand was more grateful than ever that he had been brought up in the country with its clean air and fragrant flowers and trees. He could not feel anything but loathing for the ugly scenes and swarming humanity about him—the noise, the confusion.

"How do people stand it all their lives?" he asked Brusquet, who was riding just behind him.

"Oh, they like it," called Brusquet cheerfully. "They are born to it and would not live anywhere else."

The melée around the _place_ in front of Notre Dame was even more of a spectacle than anything he had yet seen. There were hawkers of religious objects, beggars, and merchants displaying silks. A man was singing ballads; children in rags dashed about underfoot in a game of their own; and two officers were collaring some lawbreaker and hauling him off, screaming, to prison. Through this turmoil, worshipers entered and left the Cathedral calmly, seemingly unaware of all that was going on.

Armand left Brusquet holding his horse and entered the central portal. Within, in sudden peaceful silence, the slight gloom was lightened by the rich coloring of many stained-glass windows. As he walked slowly down the nave between rows of massive, carved pillars which ascended into lofty arches far above his head, he felt caressed by that lovely light. He turned and stared for a long time at the beautiful rose window above the entrance door. Then he knelt and said a prayer for those he loved, not forgetting to ask God to keep him safe in this city whose multitudes still overwhelmed him.

When he emerged, he called to Brusquet and mounted his horse, brushing away the beggars. "Someday," he said, "I will come here again. Now I am hungry and want some supper. See to it, Brusquet, as soon as we get back and you have stabled the horses."

*

The next afternoon, Armand was punctual for his meeting with Lignières at the garden of the Palais Cardinal, which was at the end of the street on which he had his lodgings. As he looked at the fine brick and stone structure, he thought of the man who had had it built—Cardinal Richelieu, his enemy. He had never seen the Cardinal and it was hard to understand how a man he had learned to hate could be a patron of the arts—and particularly of drama. He had built small theaters in each of his residences, and here in the Palais Cardinal, a theater which was the largest and most ornate in France. Lignières had a friend who was one of Richelieu's attendants, and through him Armand hoped to gain admittance to look at the new theater, which had opened only the preceding January. It was for this that the poet had asked Armand to meet him here, and Lignières was certainly very late for their appointment.

Armand walked about the garden, admiring the rows of trees, though leafless now, and the box hedges which enclosed squares and triangles where flowers would bloom in springtime. Presently he saw a man coming toward him, very splendidly dressed, but weaving along with uncertain steps. As Armand watched, the man nearly collided with a tree, but recovered himself and continued on. When he was about to pass, he staggered, almost falling, and Armand put out a hand to steady him. Immediately the gentleman drew himself upright and cried in an enormous voice: "How dare you strike me, vagabond!"

"I did not strike you, monsieur," said Armand in astonishment. "I was merely trying to protect you from running into this bench and possibly doing yourself some injury."

"Are you trying to say I do not know when someone has struck me or not?" asked the stranger in the same loud tone. "You did strike me with your hand, and you shall answer to me for that, if you know how to use a sword."

This unreasonableness was hard to take, yet Armand spoke politely. "I will not take you seriously, monsieur, since I perceive you are befuddled with wine. Let us say no more about it."

He was about to turn away when the gentleman grasped his shoulder, and supporting himself against the tree trunk, faced Armand with a malignant glare.

"We will say more about it," he bellowed. "I challenge you to meet me behind the Convent of the Carmelites at five of the clock, at which time I shall not be the worse for wine, as you have just insultingly remarked, but as sober as a judge. Then you will see what I do to young dogs who go about striking people!"

"As you wish, monsieur," replied Armand coldly, as the man staggered away. A man was lucky to live a week in Paris without being threatened with instant death! However, he doubted the ability of this man to sober himself up by dusk and so he did not fear him. But he knew he must have at least one second. This man was rich, if not noble. He was sure to have with him one friend—maybe more. Armand thought immediately of du Pont. He knew he could depend on his help if only he could find him at home. He was about to start off down the Rue Saint Honoré, forgetting entirely that he was supposed to meet Lignières, when a man stepped out from behind an angle of the wall surrounding the Palais Cardinal. It was Cyrano.

"My dear Armand," he said, "I have just overheard—as who could not—your interview with the well-known bully, Monsieur de Bragomar. It is most unfortunate. Have you any experience with the rapier? I must warn you that he is very capable when sober."

"I am so glad to see you, Monsieur Cyrano. I seem to have got myself challenged to a duel, and I did nothing to provoke it. Yes, I have been well trained with the rapier, but I have no wish to fight this man over so trivial a matter. I was just going to find my fencing master, who came to Paris with me, and ask him to be my second. He lives in the Rue de Bergère. Brusquet can find it."

"Do not trouble yourself, my friend. I will be your second."

"You, monsieur! How could I dare ask it of the best swordsman in France?"

"You do not ask it," said Cyrano. "I offer it. It is settled and we will say no more about it. But we must not be idle. Come with me to a practice room I know of, for I must see if you are really able to defeat de Bragomar. Do not be offended," he went on as he saw Armand stiffen. "You are young and untried, I am sure, as I was five years ago. I am only trying to protect you. Come along."

Armand could not resent this offer and was very thankful for the unexpected assistance. He did not want to die on only his third day in Paris!

They went to a large room in the basement of a building not far away, and there put on protective padding and fine mesh masks over their faces. "This is cumbersome to fight in," said Cyrano, "but I shall take no chances with mere practice." He asked for Armand's rapier and tested its weight and balance. "Good!" he said.

"It is not as long as yours, monsieur."

"No, but neither is de Bragomar's. And it is skill that counts. We will try a few passes. _En garde!"_

Cyrano gave his young friend a chance to try all his maneuvers and did not press him. Then, as Armand was feeling very proud of himself, the best swordsman in France flicked his blade here and there with extreme rapidity, touching his opponent a dozen times in moves that Armand could not counter until he was completely bewildered.

"Monsieur;" he cried, "I have no skill at all!"

"Nonsense," said Cyrano. "You are very good. You will do well with de Bragomar and I hope you teach him not to set upon boys who seem to be inexperienced."

They took off the padding and wiped their faces. "I am afraid I was showing off a little just now," said the older man. "Please forgive me."

"It was an experience, monsieur. I hope I never have to face you as an enemy."

"You won't," said the other smiling. "I have taken a great liking to you. You must rest now, to be fresh for this evening. Come to my lodgings with me."

Precisely at five o'clock, Armand and Cyrano arrived at the open space behind the Convent of the Carmelites. De Bragomar had not appeared.

"When he comes," said Cyrano, "I shall stand a little behind this shrub and turn my back. This will enable us to give de Bragomar a bit of a surprise."

A moment later the insolent challenger, apparently sober, walked onto the field accompanied by another man with an equally insolent air.

"Ah, here you are," de Bragomar shouted to Armand. "This is the rascal who insulted me," he said to his companion. As they approached nearer, he saluted with his rapier. "I am the Chevalier Philippe de Bragomar. What is your name?" He then replaced his rapier in its sheath.

"Armand de Lys, son of the Comte de Charlefont," was the proud answer.

"This gentleman has obliged me by acting as my second. Monsieur Pierre de Vieux. Is it possible that you are so rash as to face me alone?"

At that, Cyrano turned and came forward. Armand said, "Allow me to present my second, the Chevalier Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac."

De Bragomar paled. Although he might finish off his young opponent, there was a good chance that he himself might be killed by the well-known swordsman, de Bergerac, for de Vieux would not have a chance with him.

"I think we have met before," said Cyrano politely. "We are ready."

All four drew their rapiers, saluted, and engaged. Armand kept calm and thrust and parried defensively until he felt he had found out de Bragomar's weaknesses; then he increased his offense. It was much like the duel he had fought near the Château de Gervaise. His opponent became heated, angered that he could not quickly dispose of this youth; his rashness increased, and in a matter of moments, Armand had given him a sword thrust in the shoulder. Armand stepped back as de Bragomar clasped his left hand over his wound and allowed his rapier to drop from his right hand. Cyrano, who had quickly given his man a cut in the forearm which put him out of the fight, was standing by, watching Armand.

"Let that be a lesson to you, de Bragomar," Cyrano said, sheathing his weapon. "Young men are not always inexperienced or without friends." While the vanquished bound up each other's wounds, he and Armand strutted from the field, and the long rapier of each, sticking out behind him, raised his cloak like the tail of a cock.

"I should like to thank you," said Armand, "but I scarcely know how."

"You have not much to thank me for. It was your training and practice that won for you—and courage. Never forget courage!"

Chapter 9: An Actor In Paris

During the next few days Armand became accustomed to the smells and sounds of Paris and they no longer bothered him very much. Learning of Armand's duel, Lignières made another appointment to meet him at the Palais Cardinal, and managed to get him admitted when no one was about. Armand was very much impressed with the splendor of the theater's decoration and with its size; with its tiers of galleries, it was able to seat three thousand people. But he felt nervous every minute he was inside the building.

"You are sure His Eminence is not here—I won't meet him in a corridor somewhere unannounced? I should be terrified," said Armand.

Lignières promised him that he had it from his friend, who knew the Cardinal's secretary, that Richelieu was most certainly at Rueil. "Do not worry," he said. But he did not know the reason for Armand's alarm. After this assurance, Armand relaxed enough to enjoy looking around at the most luxuriously furnished theater in the kingdom.

Some of his time was spent in writing letters home. He wrote a note to his sister, telling her about some of the sights he had seen; he wrote to his uncle reporting on his meeting with Monsieur and with Michel de Marvelon, and informing him that rehearsals were to start in a few days; he wrote a long letter to Madeleine, telling her about the Hôtel de Rambouillet, his meeting with Cyrano, and the duel he had fought. Did he feel as if she were his sister, or did he like to think of her more intimately and wish there were not the ordinance of the church that forbade the marriage of first cousins? He didn't quite know how he felt toward Madeleine. He thought of Yvonne and wondered if he could ever feel as close to her as he did to Madeleine. She seemed far removed, like a pretty statue on a pedestal.

He told Brusquet to get ready to set out for the Château de Ronne to deliver the letters. "I shall not need you for a few days," he replied to Brusquet's protests. "I am going to follow the example of Lignières and leave my sword at home. If I do that, and dress quietly, I shall not be bothered. Anyway, rehearsals are about to start and I shall be busy." Brusquet still grumbled and Armand promised: "I shall keep my coins inside my doublet and walk close to the house walls to avoid the slops —you may be sure of that!"

Brusquet laughed. "You are learning, master," he said. "I have arranged for a groom from the stables to bring you your horse whenever you call for him, and I shall be back in four days."

Armand spent the next two weeks in rehearsal for the coming play of the Théâtre du Marais. He found it very thrilling to be an actor, even though one of little importance, in a real theater. This theater had once been a tennis court. For several hundred years the _jeu de paume_ —the game of the palm—had been a favorite pastime of the nobles. Armand was told that there were, at one time, eleven hundred courts in Paris alone. The game was called the "sport of kings." In its earliest form the ball was actually batted by hand; then rackets came into use. By now its popularity had waned and many of these places had become theaters or pits for cock fights or arenas for wrestling matches. King Louis's father, Henry IV, was the last king to be an expert at the game, and because he had patronized this particular court, the great actor Montdory felt that his former presence there helped to encourage patrons for the newer form of amusement—the theater.

Michel de Marvelon took Armand under his wing, introduced him to the other actors, and coached him in his lines and theater practice. Montdory was not now the leading man, for a stroke of apoplexy a few years before had all but robbed him of his voice. He was present, however, and had a hand in affairs, though Floridor was manager. And, although the Hôtel de Bourgogne was thought of as the King's theater, the Marais, partly because it produced the plays of Corneille, was considered the leading troupe in Paris and was under the patronage of Cardinal Richelieu.

The play which was being rehearsed was a revival of Scudéry's _La Comédie des Comédiens._ Armand's role was the simple one of a courtier and required little of him except to remember his few lines. He learned his way about the stage quickly. It was built on a slant with the back a good foot higher than the front so that the audience could see all the actors at once. The directions "upstage" and "downstage" were therefore quite understandable, though he found it took a little practice to walk naturally on the upgrade. The manager said the play was to be presented three times a week for a month or so and then might be taken for a private showing before the King and the Cardinal. Armand's heart beat faster when he heard this. It was for this special performance alone that he found himself in Paris and in the Théâtre du Marais! Michel noted Armand's expression when the announcement was made and, mistaking its cause, tried to reassure him.

"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said. "It is even pleasanter to perform for the Court in a luxurious chateau, where the rabble we have here at each performance will be, I am thankful to say, absent."

Armand learned what he meant when the first performance was given. The _parterre_ was jammed with close to a thousand spectators—roughnecks and honest citizens pressed in together. Many yelled and shouted remarks and whistled at every humorous line or situation in the play, while others tried to silence them so that they could hear the speeches. When he expressed his astonishment to Michel, the actor told him he must get used to it and speak his lines in the play just as if the noisy audience was not present. "We shall be glad," he said, "if no stabbings or sword fights disturb our performances. That happens sometimes, for many men come armed." There were a few ladies in the loges and galleries and it often happened that they and their escorts rose and departed when they could not hear and were too greatly annoyed by the bad-mannered crowd.

Brusquet had returned to Paris with letters in the time he had promised, and since then a lackey from the chateau had twice made the journey, bringing letters and taking Armand's back to his family. How excited the children were over his adventures! They demanded to be informed of everything that happened and were even begging the Marquis to take them to the city so that they would not feel left out of everything, but so far they had not succeeded in persuading him.

During these weeks two things happened which surprised Armand and left him feeling rather sad. One day he was walking with Michel in the Cours de Reine when a detachment of the Cardinal's Guards rode by in close formation, very splendid in their colorful uniforms. It must have been the company of Monsieur de Cavois, for there, at the very end, rode Henri. Armand raised his hand ready to greet his cousin, but Henri kept his eyes forward and showed no sign of recognition. Was it because of military discipline, or because he did not wish to acknowledge his kinship to Armand, who was in the company of an actor? Armand felt offended and that was strange, for he actually disliked Henri and, had they spoken to each other, he would not have invited him to come to the theater. But he was someone from home.

The other wound to his self-esteem occurred one night at the end of a performance. It had been a much quieter audience than usual, and Armand was enjoying his part. He always paid close attention and disregarded the audience, for he did not yet feel at ease on the stage. But during the third act he happened to look up, and there in the loge nearest the footlights sat the Marquis de Gervaise with his daughter, Yvonne. The flickering lights played on her pale face and her red lips. His surprise was so great that he nearly missed his cue. When the play was over and the curtains pulled together, he stepped out in front. He was close to Yvonne, and he made her an elaborate bow. She acknowledged it with an inclination of her head.

"Is it possible that you remember me and recognize me in grease paint and costume?" he asked eagerly.

"Of course," said Yvonne. "I expected you to be here. My father told me he heard from your uncle that you had become an actor. When he proposed a trip to Paris, I accepted gladly, for I have wanted to come here for ever so long."

"Perhaps I could escort you to some of the most interesting places?"

Yvonne looked at him appraisingly. "I am sorry that you have given up the profession of arms, in which I admired you."

"Oh, but I haven't, entirely. I have fought a duel here in Paris."

"But now you are an actor, and you don't seem to be very important, at that. I hope you are enjoying yourself," she continued, lifting her chin in the air, "but it does not seem a very dignified career to me. An actor is beneath notice."

The Marquis interrupted and reproved his daughter for her bad manners. He spoke to Armand kindly. "I am glad to find you here where I expected to find you," he said. "Do not be surprised if your uncle appears in Paris soon. He is naturally anxious about you." He gave him a knowing look and, the way being clear, they took their departure, Yvonne showing her disapproval in her very walk. She had not said good-by.

Armand felt hurt. If she knew the whole story she might have acted differently. But she had behaved disdainfully, judging only by appearances. She was beautiful but cold. He resolved to put her out of his mind. Soon he had more important things to claim his attention.

The date for the performance at the Château de Chambord had been set—it was to be a week after Christmas. There was work to be done to transport the actors, their costumes, and their scenery to the chateau, three days" journey away, and in this Armand took an active role. He did not mind repainting and hammering things together, and he did not tell the actors he had a lackey, for that would have set him apart. There were to be no performances in Paris for the week before the event, and during that week, the Marquis de Ronne appeared one afternoon at Armand's lodgings. He found his nephew out—he was paying another visit to the Hôtel de Rambouillet—and he told Brusquet he would wait for his return. When Armand came home he was surprised to find his uncle sitting before his glowing fire. After an exchange of greetings, the Marquis looked about him and inquired: "You are comfortable here? You lack nothing?"

"Nothing, _mon oncle._ You have provided for me very generously."

"I would speak with you alone, Armand. Send Brusquet on an errand."

Armand called to Brusquet, who had discreetly retired to the adjoining room. "Go out and get us some food and a bottle of Monsieur le Marquis's favorite wine."

"At once, master," said Brusquet, and he hurried away. "You have been informed of the day of the performance at Chambord?" asked the Marquis.

"A week after Christmas," replied Armand. "I am told that it will take three days to get there, and I am sure that Monsieur Montdory will set out in plenty of time."

"Quite so. And no doubt will arrive a day before the King and His Eminence arrive. They will travel slowly, neither of them being very well. They would not wish to get there before their baggage, in any case."

"It must be most inconvenient to take beds, mattresses, and chairs with you wherever you go! But I am told that the King will sleep only in his own bed."

"Royalty—and that includes the Cardinal—does not mind inconvenience when it is only the inconvenience of others! Such foibles are excused in the King, since kings have always acted so. But one would expect more austerity from a man of the Church. He wallows in luxury, and that is one more thing against him. But, to the point—you will have a day to familiarize yourself with the chateau. It is enormous, by far the largest in France, and you must know your way around. Notice in particular the double staircase in the center which is so designed that a person going up the right-hand stair cannot see anyone coming down; it curves back and under itself. The same is true of the left-hand stair. This may prove useful, for this staircase leads to the chamber on the third story where the play will be produced. There are dungeons far below and somewhere at the rear on the south side you will find the postern which you are to unlock."

"I understand that the Château de Chambord has recently been given to Monsieur," said Armand. "I suppose it is by his invitation that the Court convenes there to see the play."

"It Is."

"Uncle, do you trust that man? I have heard disturbing rumors."

"You have met him," said the Marquis. "What did you think of him?"

"Oh, he is most agreeable, and he introduced me to the young poet I mentioned in my letters who showed me around Paris. But he has plotted against the Cardinal before and betrayed his fellow conspirators. It is common knowledge."

"That was long ago and this time I am sure he is sincere. In fact, as you know, I have staked my life upon it."

"I hope you are right," said Armand.

"There must be no doubt, Armand. You do your part faithfully and you need not worry about the rest. There will be nothing to connect you with the conspiracy."

"I did not mean that at all! I am concerned for your safety, monsieur. After all, you have been like a father to me even if— " He did not finish.

"Even if I appear to have no feelings? Is that it? I have told you that I am a man of violent feelings which I keep under control with difficulty. But let this one plan succeed and we shall all be happy. Under the infant king, Louis XIV, the nobles will regain their former power, denied them by Richelieu. I am on my way now to take my rightful place at Court after an absence of five years. Keep out of quarrels, stay with the players, do your part at Chambord, and all will be well."

"And the man who was my father's enemy and delivered him into the hands of the Cardinal? You promised—"

"Yes. Before the play begins, when all are assembling, look through the curtains and I will point him out to you."

"But his name, monsieur?"

"I think it better that I do not mention his name now. You will find out."

"But I must know his name. You have not been willing to tell me before, but now I must know!"

"If you knew his name and should meet him in Paris, you might not be able to restrain yourself, and our whole plan would be endangered. I cannot risk it."

At this moment Brusquet came back with bread, cheese, cakes, and wine. "I will drink a glass with you and then I must be off. Be patient," said the Marquis.

*

On Christmas morning Armand joined the throngs that celebrated the holy day in the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The music was the most beautiful he had ever heard, and the solemn processions through the worshiping crowd, the incense that filled the air, and the heavenly light from the stained-glass windows affected him profoundly. He said a prayer that the part he was to take in the conspiracy might be found just in the eyes of God. The Bishop of Paris conducted the services at the Cathedral, so Armand still did not set eyes on Cardinal Richelieu, against whom the plot was directed.

Cyrano and Armand walked the streets together, watching the Christmas festivals which were taking place in every square. The mystery plays of early times were being enacted in many places and there was much merrymaking. A great crèche was built in the square before Notre Dame and nearly all the residences of rich and poor alike boasted a lighted candle in the window or a bit of bright-colored tapestry before the door.

Armand had been seeing Cyrano quite often and found that he had a quiet, serious side that was not known by those who thought of him only as a brilliant swordsman.

"I have wondered why you are in Paris," he said to Armand one day. "You do not seem like one who would enjoy court life and you told me your association with the Marais is to be for this one play only. Perhaps you will then return to the country. Would you care to tell me about it?"

"It is a long story, much of which I am not at liberty to tell you," answered Armand.

"Perhaps I should not have inquired. It was because you sometimes look worried, as if something was troubling you. Do not tell me anything if you do not wish to."

"I thank you for your concern and I should like to tell you one thing. I am a nobleman's son and I have been brought up according to the code of honor. My father was murdered and I cannot pursue my own life until I have avenged his death. My real purpose here is revenge."

"Ah," said Cyrano, "that is most interesting. How do you propose to take that revenge?"

"I do not know the name of my enemy yet, but when I do, I shall challenge him to a duel. Do you think I have any chance of killing him?"

"You have had good training, but you are young and inexperienced. It would depend on whom you have to defeat. You know, Armand, I have fought far too many duels and often over trivialities. We French are very hot-blooded. An Italian recently said of us: "Frenchmen go to their deaths as if they were to rise again the next morning." He thought we risked our lives over nothing."

"I should not be able to go on living if I did not do my best to avenge my father."

"So we have been trained, so we have been trained! But I wonder sometimes if in other countries it would be so. I look at the moon and the stars and wonder if there are people living there, and if they have ideas very different from ours. I have been attending lectures on philosophy by the great Pierre Gassendi."

"You surprise me, Cyrano. Don't you believe in fighting to preserve your honor against one who has destroyed the very life of one dear to you?"

"Oh, indeed I do! By all means, find your enemy and challenge him, and call on me to be your second. But eventually," he went on, "I think I shall give up dueling altogether. Even," he added ruefully, "if anyone makes remarks upon my nose!"

"I should not like to be one to risk that," said Armand, laughing.

"In you, my boy, I should excuse even that! Come now, you do not think my nose so very long?"

"As to that," said Armand, "what is a nose among good friends?"

"I shall be sorry to have you go away next week," said Cyrano. "I have enjoyed your company."

"I shall not be gone long, and shall return immediately after the performance at Chambord."

"Till your return, then," said Cyrano as they parted that day. "I shall be looking forward to it."

Chateau de Chabord

### Chapter 10: Disaster

When the company of the Marais, mounted on horses and followed by wagons carrying their baggage, costumes, and scenery, arrived in sight of the Château de Chambord, they drew rein and looked in awe at the imposing edifice across the fields, huge even at a distance. Five hundred and ten feet long and three hundred and eighty-four feet wide, it rose three stories in the air, topped by dormers, pinnacles, and dome-shaped turrets. Armand wondered how he was ever to find his way about such an enormous structure. His uncle had not exaggerated when he said it was the largest chateau in all of France. It was entirely of stone, its whiteness gleaming against the blue sky above. The lawns with their trimmed shrubbery were still green in December.

Once within, they were directed to their quarters and, after settling their belongings, proceeded to the wide hall at the top of the impressive-looking spiral staircase, where they were to present their play. They erected a small stage at one end, where there was an opening into another room for dressing, and strung up a makeshift curtain, in front of which was room for about fifty spectators. There was also a small carpeted dais on which chairs for the royal party would be placed. The walls were covered with tapestries of soft colors and intricate design. Such a beautiful place, thought Armand. No wonder the King enjoyed frequent entertainment here instead of at the Palace in Paris or at Saint-Germain!

He was kept busy for several hours, but then was left to himself until supper time. He managed to elude any chance companion and slipped away to find out what he must know before the performance on the following afternoon. The hall in which the entertainment was to take place was lighted by windows at one side and was not separated from the immense space that contained the double-spiral stairway. Armand mounted the dais, crept behind the tapestry, and found a tiny door opening into a small, closet-like room which, in turn, opened into the main hall. This would be the entrance and exit used by the men for whom he was to provide admittance. Then he tried out the double staircase and found it a most fascinating enigma. As he went down he could see the opposite stair, but he found, when he got Michel to try it with him, that when going down he could see no one coming up; yet when he returned, Michel was there before him. They tried it several times, on the right and on the left, and the result was always the same. When one went down, he vanished from the other's sight at the first turn of the spiral and each could come up again without being seen by the others. He wondered if the conspirators or their hired assassins would make use of this.

His object now was to find the postern door at the south end of the chateau. He found some steep, narrow stairs at the end of the long hall and descended until he could tell by the fragrant smells of cooking and the chatter he heard that he must be on the kitchen level. He turned into a corridor from which he could see the great fireplaces filled with pots held over the fire by cranes, and the tables where pastry cooks were making pie crust. As he stared, a girl about fourteen years old, dressed in kitchen garb, came out of the kitchen. He stopped her and asked her about the lower level.

"I am one of the players," he said, "and I am exploring the chateau. Is there anything below here and is there a way out into the gardens?"

"I think there are dungeons below here," she answered. "I have never been down there and I wouldn't go if I could! But if you have a taste for such things, you might find it interesting. As to a way out, I do not know. I have been employed here only three weeks."

"I thank you, mademoiselle," said Armand. "I shall explore." He made her a bow as if she were a duchess and she blushed with pleasure.

"You are very gallant," she said, and turned and ran away. He found another small staircase which led down from the kitchen area. It was damp and dusty there; cobwebs brushed across his face as he descended, creeping past a slit of a window on the stair. When he reached the bottom, he was below the level of the ground and the only light came from the stairway and a faint glimmer from the end of the corridor. Beyond a row of dungeons—not many as in medieval castles, but a few reserved for malefactors of the lord's domain—he felt his way toward this light and found a glass-paned door, heavy and thick. It was securely bolted. By a great deal of tugging, he managed to loosen the rusty bolt; it gave way and he opened the door onto a paved niche almost covered by shrubbery from which a dozen steps led to ground level. He looked around. There was no moat, for this was a chateau in the new style, not intended to be defended against invaders. A lawn stretched before him and around the corner to the expanse of grass he had seen at the front of Chambord.

He wondered how his uncle had known of this door. Some lackey of Monsieur's must have found it recently, since his master had taken possession. Undoubtedly some obscure entrance had been looked for to be used on the following afternoon. Armand saw that the panes in the door were so covered with dirt that he could not see through them, and he felt obliged to clean them so the passage would be lighter the next day. He tore a piece off his shirt and went to work on them, then carefully rebolted the door. As he went back down the corridor, he could see the small stone cells, each with a barred iron grating, in which some unfortunate wretch would be held until he could be tried for poaching—if, indeed, the lord of the castle would remember to hold a trial.

He returned to light and air thankfully, and slipped up to the third floor without being observed. His part in the conspiracy weighed heavily upon him. He wished that it were over, or that he had not given his word to his uncle. But he _had_ given his word and he must go through with the business. His part was not much, but it was vital. Was he as guilty as the others?

It was hard for Armand to join the merrymaking of the company, by whom this event was treated as a special celebration, but he did his best. Michel thought his frequent silences were due to stage fright at appearing before His Majesty and the Court, and he kept reassuring him. And so the evening passed and the next morning, and it was time to dress for the performance. Armand sped away unnoticed and descended the several flights of stairs to the postern door, unbolted it, and hurried back again. At least there was no guard there to be disposed of! He did not think he had been missed and made a great pother about getting into costume and make-up.

The big news in the morning was that the King, the Cardinal, and all their retainers had arrived, having slept the night only a few miles from the chateau. The actors, in their separate quarters at the back, did not see the royal guests, but they were excited, for they would have a chance to see them and to be seen by them that afternoon. Since there was no chandelier over the stage area, Monsieur Montdory ordered a row of candle footlights set up to be lighted just before the performance; and, to darken the hall, had black cloth covers for the windows. Torches would provide light until curtain time.

At half-past two the royal party, sumptuously dressed, began to assemble where chairs had been set up for them. The gentlemen were without their swords, which could not lawfully be worn in the presence of the King, and without their hats, which would prevent those behind them from seeing the stage. There was much chattering and courtly bowing with flourishes and sweeping curtsies. Monsieur, as host, was there, but the King and Queen, the Cardinal and his shadow, Father Joseph, did not appear until the last minute. Armand poked a little hole in a corner of the curtain and looked out. He saw the Marquis de Gervaise arrive and noted that neither his wife nor Yvonne was with him. Then he saw his uncle come in. Armand began to tremble and his hands became as cold as ice.

Monsieur Montdory saw his white face and spoke to him kindly. "Make this the best performance ever given," he said, and Armand nodded. When the Marquis de Ronne was about to seat himself in the back row, the one next to the dais, he turned and looked fixedly at the stage. Armand took this as a signal and showed himself between the curtains for a moment, whereupon the Marquis pointed an accusing finger at a man at the end of the row, a dark man with hair and beard as black as night, and black eyes which were suddenly turned on the Marquis as if he knew he was being spied upon. Armand hastily withdrew his head and put his eye again to the tiny hole to memorize that face.

But suddenly there was a hush, and he saw the royal party appear: first the King, smiling instead of frowning as was his wont; then the Queen, the beautiful Anne of Austria, all in gold and white, followed by two ladies in waiting and two squires; then His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, gray-haired with a pointed beard and upturned mustache, resplendent in his red robe, which trailed a yard behind him, and his red Cardinal's hat; and behind him, Father Joseph, all in gray, and two attendants. They took their seats on the dais in the very order that Armand's uncle had predicted. Armand was shaking by this time and had to hold on to the wall for support, but he kept his eye glued to the peephole, and noted that Monsieur came in and seated himself at the end of the row.

Armand gazed intently at the Cardinal. He was not a very tall man and his face was nearly as gray as his mustache and beard, but his eyes were piercing and his mouth firm. He was majestic in his sweeping red robe and his glance was proud. The King, on the other hand, did not look like a strong man, either physically or morally. He had been a capable fighter in his youth, Armand had heard, but now his face was soft and flabby and he did not wear the look of authority. Perhaps the Marquis was right, and Richelieu had taken authority from him. And with the Cardinal dead, would the King be able to take up the reins of government? Just as he looked at the Cardinal, he saw a slight movement of the tapestry behind the dais and he could hardly keep from crying out. He put his hand tightly over his mouth and found that his lips were bleeding where he had bitten them.

He jumped as, behind him, Montdory called, "Put out the torches and the play will begin!"

One by one the torches were extinguished, the hall was plunged in darkness, and Montdory gave the signal to light the candles of the footlights. An actor with a tinderbox bent down to obey. At that moment there was the sound of a body falling and a cry came from the Cardinal: _"A moil_ Treachery!" There were screams, a rustle of gowns, and the thudding of feet as the lackeys rushed to relight the torches. The tinder was never struck for the footlights, but the curtains were pulled aside and the first lighted torch revealed Richelieu lying on the floor of the dais. Though he had expected this, Armand stood frozen in horror. Instantly the Marquis de Ronne was on his feet, beside himself with excitement, and looking at the Cardinal lying before him, cried: "Richelieu is dead! Long live our rightful King, Louis XIII!"

*

Armand could not believe his ears! His uncle, so controlled, so secretive, to thus give himself away! As attendants bent to help him, Richelieu lifted his head and stared piercingly at the Marquis. "No, de Ronne, I must disappoint you," he said. "Your assassins missed their mark. I have only a cut on the arm." He put his hand to his upper arm where the robe covered it and showed blood on his palm.

The Queen began to faint and her ladies put _sal volatile_ to her nose.

The King came to the Cardinal where he still lay on the floor. "Your Eminence," he asked, "you are not too badly hurt?"

The Cardinal shook his head. Turning to the company, the King cried, "A blow against the Cardinal is a blow against me!" Then to de Ronne he said, "Your own words have condemned you. Take him into custody, and search out the assassins!

As two guards sprang to do his bidding and two attendants raised Richelieu to his chair, the Marquis de Ronne put his hand inside his doublet and brought out something that gleamed. "I acted for the good of France!" he cried. "You shall not take me!" A dagger flashed to his breast and he fell forward.

Armand did not know how he got there, but in a second he was at his uncle's side, trying to hold him up. It flashed through his mind that for five years his uncle had befriended him and trained him. He owed him more than he could pay. Was he dying? Armand knelt beside him as hands lowered him to the floor. Then he saw that he was dead.

By this time the torches were all relighted, Richelieu was seated, and the room was in an uproar. Monsieur stood at one side, stroking his mustache nervously.

"Ah, Monsieur," said the Cardinal. "Do I recognize in this your distinguished but oft-outwitted hand?"

"Oh, no, _monseigneur!"_ cried Gaston d'Orléans. "I did hear of some plot against Your Eminence, but it was the Marquis de Ronne who instigated it—he and perhaps some others."

"So!" said the Cardinal. "You will tell us later. History repeats itself."

A cloth was brought and the Cardinal's arm bandaged, and the Court surgeon was sent for. "I should not have fallen, Your Majesty," he said, "except that I have not much strength nowadays and the blow was heavy."

The King, still close beside him, looked down at the body of the Marquis and noticed the young man in actor's dress, bending over him anxiously.

"Who are you, young man?" asked His Majesty.

When Armand did not answer a guard prodded him, and he looked up into the face of the King and answered, "Armand de Lys, nephew to the Marquis de Ronne." Then to the Cardinal he said, "And I am also the son of the Comte de Charlefont and rightful heir to his lands and title."

"I have seen you before," said Louis.

"Yes, sire—at the Louvre."

Richelieu looked thoughtfully at Armand with careful scrutiny. "I would question this one further," he said.

"Keep him under guard," said the king. "If you have dungeons here, put him in one. Let him reflect long on this day's work."

Armand was taken roughly in hand and hustled through the corridor to a back stairway. As he left the tumult behind, he wondered if the assassins had managed to elude their pursuers by means of the double-spiral stairs. Down, down he went, pressed forward by the guards, to the dungeons at the lowest level of the chateau. He heard the clank of metal as an iron grating was opened, and then he was thrust into one of the stone cells he had glimpsed on his way to open the postern gate. He stumbled on the rough, cold stones and fell in a heap on the floor, up against a wall that had no window. The grating was put back in place and locked, and the guards retreated. Gradually the finger of light that daily found its way into the corridor faded and Armand was in total darkness.

Cardinal Richelieu, portrait by Philippe de Champaigne (1642}

### Chapter 11: Cardinal Richelieu

The next twenty-four hours were the most terrifying that Armand had ever experienced. He lay for a long time on the cold stones, too crushed in spirit by the outcome of the conspiracy even to lift his head. Fortunately his costume had included a cloak, which he now pulled about him, but it did little to warm him or cushion his body from the hard floor. Finally he roused himself to explore his cell. There was not even a glimmer of light, but he remembered from having glanced in as he passed the row of dungeons earlier that there was nothing in them, not even a pallet of straw. He groped his way about the walls, shivering as his fingers touched a slimy trickle here and there, until he found the iron grating between him and the corridor. Since there was no window, air came through this door of iron bars; otherwise the dungeon would have been a tomb. Could the guards possibly have failed to lock it securely? He thought he had detected a trace of sympathy in their faces. But no, shaking the bars did nothing to loosen them. He wondered how long he would stay here. Forever? It would be a horrible way to die. He was already hungry, for he had been too excited to eat during the day.

Finally he lay down again, having found that there was no one place more comfortable than another, and because he was exhausted from this day of apprehension, disappointment, and fear, he fell into a fitful sleep.

He was awakened by the slightest whisper of a sound in the corridor, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a tiny gleam as from a candle. It passed from cell to cell and someone breathed, "Monsieur?" And again, with a slightly rising inflection, "Monsieur?" He answered softly, "Here." Thereupon, the candle moved to the barred door of his cell. He saw a slight figure carrying in one hand a plate and in the other, the candle. It was the kitchen maid.

"I have brought you something to eat," she said. "I saw them taking you down here and I knew you would be hungry. Oh, but it is so dark!"

"It was brave of you and very kind," said Armand. "I cannot tell you how much I thank you! I am starved, and the darkness is terrible."

"Take this," said the maid. "It is a meat pasty. But do not leave any crumbs lest it be known that someone has befriended you." She passed the meat pie between the bars and made as if to go. "I cannot stay," she said. "I might be missed."

"You have done so much for me! I would not ask you to stay. What time is it?"

"Nearly midnight," she answered. "God be with you."

She slipped away, silently. The light of the candle became fainter and fainter and finally was gone. Armand ate the food and felt better for it. He did not know if he dropped any crumbs, for he could not see. He lay down and thought of all that had happened. He thought of his aunt and Madeleine and the younger children and of the shocking news that would soon be brought to them. How would they fare now that the master of the Château de Ronne was known as a conspirator against the Cardinal? Would they suffer for it? He thought, too, of the Marquis de Gervaise and Yvonne, and of Monsieur who would doubtless betray them. After a time he slept again, but he was awakened by patterings on the floor of his cell. Then he felt large, furry creatures scurrying over him. He beat them away, thinking that he must have dropped some crumbs, but perhaps the rats would have come anyway.

After an endless time, a faint glimmer in the corridor announced that it was day, and a little light was filtering through the window he had rubbed clean in the postern. It seemed very strange to him, with all that must be going on in the chateau, that no noise reached him in his dungeon. But the thick stone walls and floors were not penetrated by any sound. It must be many hours after daylight, Armand thought, and he was ravenously hungry. Then he heard movement on the narrow staircase and the tramp of men in the corridor. Two guardsmen carrying a lantern appeared at his cell, and as one unlocked the grating, the other said sternly, "You are called to appear before His Eminence."

Armand found himself stiff and weary after his long ordeal in the cell, but he followed his guards gratefully even if it meant that he was going to misfortune. At the moment he felt that nothing could be worse than the dungeon. A thousand questions filled his mind. What would happen to him? Where would it all end?

Climbing the stairs had stirred up his circulation and there was some color in his face by the time he was ushered into an apartment on the third floor of the chateau. It was hung with rich tapestries, and there was a bed with velvet hangings at one side—Richelieu's own bed, transported for his comfort whenever he traveled. A thick carpet covered the floor of the room and at one side was a prie-dieu over which was a picture of the Virgin. Seated in a high-backed chair behind a table, His Eminence watched Armand approach. At his side stood Father Joseph. After one look at the forbidding countenance of the Cardinal, Armand fell on his knees. What mercy could he expect?

After a moment the Cardinal spoke and his voice was not unkind. "What is your name, youth?"

"Armand de Lys."

"We share the same first name," said Richelieu.

Armand was startled at this beginning to the interview. "Yes, _monseigneur,"_ he said.

"You had a part in the conspiracy against my life?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"What was your part in it?"

"To open the postern gate."

"For the entrance of the assassins?"

Armand nodded, his head still lower.

"And you knew this would make possible my death?"

"I did not know that before I had sworn to do my uncle's bidding."

"But you did not need to swear before you knew."

"I knew only that there was a plot which had something to do with Your Eminence and I knew that you were an enemy to my house."

"Because of Charlefont—and your father?"

Armand raised his head and looked straight at the stem figure seated before him. "How could it be otherwise?" he asked.

Now Father Joseph spoke and his voice had a cutting edge. "He is impertinent and should be severely punished."

"All in good time," said the Cardinal. "Rise, Armand de Lys, and stand before me." Armand obeyed. He swayed a little as he stood, for he was weak with hunger.

"You will not believe it when I tell you that the destruction of Charlefont was necessary to consolidate the Kingdom, but such is the fact. You were a victim of this necessity. But I did not intend that your father should die—only that he be imprisoned for a time. His death was the work of the Duc de Ravignon against my orders."

Now Armand had not only a face but a name to go with it. His eyes sparkled. "Thank you, _monseigneur._ I did not know his name."

"You knew of this enmity?"

"My father was writing of it, but he had not time to put down the name before he was—captured."

Richelieu looked Armand over carefully and said, "I have a proposition to make to you, Armand de Lys. You are free to accept or reject. You appear to be a young man of character. I have had you watched for some time in Paris "

He stopped as Armand gave an exclamation of surprise. "Indeed," he said, "you did not think I had forgotten that the Comte de Charlefont had a son and that he might be important to me? I do not overlook a thing of this kind. You look startled."

"I am surprised that I should have claimed the attention of Your Eminence," said Armand.

"I know that you are skillful with the rapier. You have suffered wrong in the loss of your estate. Your part in the conspiracy was slight and coerced. Therefore I offer you a place in my Guards. You can be of service to me."

Armand, prepared for punishment, was stunned.

"But, Your Eminence," put in Father Joseph, "he is the nephew of the Marquis de Ronne who would have had you murdered!"

"True," replied the Cardinal. "But the Marquis is dead. He has paid for his treachery. I am sick of killing and punishing. You well know, Joseph, how I suffer in my own body. I am always ill. I would have strong young men about me whom I can trust. Well?" he asked, and waited.

Armand had made his decision. "No, _monseigneur,"_ he answered. "I have been robbed of my estates and title. My father has been killed, if not at your order, at least by one of your men. I cannot serve in the company of Your Eminence's Guards."

"Idiot!" shrieked Joseph. "Down on your knees and beg mercy of the Cardinal!"

Armand did not move. "You are a poor judge of character, Joseph," said Richelieu. "This is a proud young man and I understand how he feels." He turned to Armand and spoke gently. "I cannot restore your title—only the King can do that. But I think he could be persuaded, and there are other estates beside Charlefont. Is the answer still "no"?"

"It is "no," " said Armand.

"Very well," said Richelieu. "Be it as you wish. I must tell you, then, that I cannot let you go free. You did have a hand in the conspiracy and for that the King and the Court would demand that you be punished. You shall be imprisoned until I decide to let you go. Where the place will be I cannot tell you now. I shall give orders that you be kindly treated and you may receive visitors and write and receive letters and whatever comforts you have money to pay for." He sighed and turned to the two Guards. "Find his proper clothes and have all restored to him—except, of course, his sword." He fixed a stern gaze upon the prisoner. "I should like to see you perform with the rapier, young man, but you know, do you not, that all dueling is forbidden?"

Armand dropped his eyes. The Cardinal, it seemed, knew everything. Then he managed to ask what was uppermost in his mind. "The family of my uncle—and my own sister— what will become of them?"

"I consider that the Marquis has paid for his crime. They shall not be harmed or divested of their property."

"I thank Your Eminence," said Armand. But there was one thing more he must know. "If there were others," he began hesitatingly, "that were made known to Your Eminence —what of them?"

"They must forfeit their estates and their liberty," said Richelieu.

Armand looked at the Cardinal gravely. He was sorry for Yvonne, but this was to be expected and maybe she had relatives who would take care of her. He made a low bow to the Cardinal and staggered from weakness as he rose. Richelieu shouted to his Guards: "See that the youth is properly fed." Armand was able to manage a grateful smile as the Guards grasped him by the arms and hustled him out of the room.

Chateau de Nantes

### Chapter 12: Prisoner

Three days later, in a closed carriage and under guard, Armand arrived at his destination. He had not been allowed to look out on the journey and therefore had no idea where he was. All he could see was a stone entrance as he was led into a building which he guessed to be a castle. After a low conversation between the Guards and someone in authority, he was made to walk along a corridor and then ascend flight after flight of circular stairs into an apartment which was apparently near the top of a tower. With some curiosity he walked into the place which he would be obliged to call home for an indefinite future. Before he was left alone, locked inside the apartment, he was informed that the Governor of the castle would come to see him later.

It was mid-afternoon. The room he found himself in was quite large with windows on two sides of a round tower, a fireplace with no fire, a rug, a bed, a table, and two chairs. It was not unattractive, though at the moment it was cold. He ran immediately to the windows. They were not barred and it was easy to see why. There was a seventy-foot drop straight down, with no vines, no footholds. No one could descend from those windows and live. But the view enchanted him. Directly below the castle was a river, and he had a feeling that it was his beloved Loire, though he had never seen it at this point. Across the river were fields and woodland, the trees leafless now, but still beautiful. The sky was blue, the air warm for January, and everything about him would have given him pleasure—except that he was a prisoner. The three-day journey had not been uncomfortable. He had been warm enough, his own clothes felt delightful on him after his experience in the dungeon, and he still had a few gold pieces in the belt that he had never taken off. His meals and quarters in the inns where they had stayed had been good and he had had agreeable conversations with the Cardinal's Guards on the journey. Now he had arrived, and the situation could be worse. Yet his first thought, and his constant thought from then on, was how he was to escape.

The walls as well as the floor of his room were of stone, and the fireplace and the windows had been designed by an architect to pleasing proportions. He had nothing with him, not even a change of clothing, so he had no unpacking to do. He pulled a chair to one of the windows and gazed at the river and the fields, thinking over the past and wondering about the future until, an hour or two later, a key was turned in the lock and a portly man of imposing appearance opened the door.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur de Lys," he said politely. "I am Pierre Constantin, Governor of this castle. You have been sent here to be my guest by Cardinal Richelieu, and it will be my pleasure to serve you."

"Many thanks for your welcome, monsieur," answered Armand, thinking that the Governor looked and spoke like an innkeeper. "I hope I shall not impose upon your hospitality for too long. First of all, I should like to have a fire. It is chilly in here."

"Well, monsieur, that depends. There are a number of conveniences here free of charge, but fire is not one of them. Perhaps I should acquaint you with the program. Bread and cheese, of course, and meat or fish once a day are provided for your sustenance. Should you wish anything further—wine instead of water, for instance—you can make arrangements with your jailer. I am sure he will be—reasonable. This applies also to a fire. You will be allowed to exercise on the lower terrace once a day in good weather—under guard, of course. And books, pen, and paper can be supplied—also by arrangement with your jailer. Your bedding and personal linen will be laundered without charge."

"At the moment I have no extra clothing," said Armand.

"But you are not without means to purchase some—and the other items I have suggested?" It seemed to Armand that the Governor held his breath as he waited for the reply.

"I have some money. I suppose that is what you mean. And when I can communicate with my relatives, I hope to be provided with more."

"Ah, that is good, that is good!" Monsieur Constantin became affable. "We shall get along! I will make your stay here as pleasant as possible—for years if necessary."

Armand was startled. "Not years, I hope!"

"One never knows. One never knows." The Governor spoke soothingly. "I will leave you now and send in Crespin, who will attend to your purchases. There is a cubicle behind that door for sanitary purposes and water to wash in will be brought you by Crespin. Good day to you, now."

As Monsieur Constantin was leaving, Armand called to him, "By the way—what castle is this?"

"It is the Château de Nantes. _Au revoir."_

The Château de Nantes! Then this was the River Loire, but far from his boyhood home, and a long, long way from Paris! He lapsed into memories, but not before he had the foresight to take a gold piece from his belt. There was no need for his jailer to see how much he had and where he kept it. It was not long before the entrance of Crespin, a sort of _valet de chambre_ and jailer combined. He was a stolid-looking man of medium height with brown hair, a pock-marked face, and thick, roughened hands.

"Well, monsieur," he began, "it is a pleasure to have such a nice-looking gentleman to attend to in this tower. There have been many before you—some old, some young. I could tell you tales."

"I am more interested now in food and fire," said Armand brusquely.

"Well, that's as may be. Fire costs money and as for food— that depends on what you require. Most gentlemen prefer better food than the castle provides. But I can get it for you, I can get it for you—yes, indeed!"

"Crespin—I believe that is your name? Well, let us understand each other. I have money to pay for what I want. But beware lest you cheat me! Here is a gold piece which should provide me with wood and wine for at least a month. See to it."

The man took the gold piece and fingered it eagerly. "Perhaps not quite a month. You see, I shall be put to a great deal of trouble to go out and fetch your supplies. There's a lot of time to be reckoned in "

"I know you expect to be paid for your trouble," said Armand. "That is only reasonable. But if you overcharge me I shall know it and I shall complain to the Governor. And mark you—I may be a prisoner now, but I have a friend with a long arm and if you try to cheat me you shall pay for it, with six inches of steel down your gullet! Moreover, it was the Cardinal who sent me here and it may be His Majesty who lets me out—and soon!"

"I mean no offense, monsieur, believe me! I shall be very fair in my charges." Crespin had winced at the mention of the Cardinal and almost groveled at the invocation of the King as rescuer. "I go now to fetch wood for the fire—and what about food?"

"First of all, get me pen, ink, and paper. I must write to important people. Also I must have a fire lighted at once to take off the chill. Then bring me a bottle of your local wine. I will try it. As for food—I shall see what the castle has to offer tonight for my supper. I am not a Court dandy who expects to dine on peacock!"

The jailer departed. Armand was not nearly so confident as his words indicated, but he thought he had dealt wisely with the fellow. He had no idea of rescue or of when he might expect money from his aunt, the Marquise; nor did he know how long his gold pieces would hold out. But he did not intend to be made a dupe of by his jailer if he could help it.

Of course, he hoped to make his escape before very long. By looking out the window at the adjoining tower, he estimated that he must be at the very top of the castle, and a sudden idea made him run to the empty fireplace and step in to look up the chimney. Perhaps he could crawl through the top opening and find some way to jump to another part of the roof. He crawled in and looked up. Through the chimney opening he could see the free blue sky not more than eight feet above his head. But, alas, there were stout iron bars across the space between the chimney pots! He might have known there would be! Nevertheless, he planned to tackle those bars tomorrow when the fire had gone out.

There was a candle and tinderbox on the table, for which he was grateful, and he had lighted it before Crespin returned after dusk with wood and a bottle of wine. The fire was kindled and its cheeriness lifted his spirits as it warmed the room. Crespin went down the stairs again to fetch his supper. It was not bad—a well-cooked fish and half a loaf of bread. He called for water and with it diluted the wine, as he was accustomed to do at home, and had a very passable supper. Immediately afterward, he started a letter to his aunt. This letter would take a long time to write because of what he had to tell. Then he must find someone who could be trusted, if paid enough, to take it to the chateau—a three-day journey at least. He must tell the Marquise of all that had happened, explain his uncle's suicide, of which she would have been notified before she received his letter, comfort her as far as he was able, and beg her assistance in sending him some money which, he could see, would be quite necessary if he remained a prisoner for more than a few weeks. He was quite sure she had not known of the conspiracy. The news would be a shock to her but he hoped that, in spite of the death of his uncle, they would all be glad to know that he was safe, even if a prisoner.

When the candle burned out he went to bed, and although his thoughts were of escape, he knew that was only remotely possible, if at all. There had been many others in the tower, Crespin had said. He would have to have help if he was to escape, and how was that to be achieved? His letters would be read, he knew, by the Governor of the castle, as well as the replies he hoped for. Would his letter ever reach his aunt? There were so many chances of its miscarrying. After worrying about that, he turned over in his mind all he had ever heard about imprisonment in castles. He could not remember one story of an escape. In hopelessness and despair, he finally fell asleep.

When morning came, his natural cheerfulness returned. It could have been much worse—he might still be in that dungeon! The day dawned clear, and after his morning meal, he looked out of his windows, surveying carefully the fields on the opposite side of the river. Because of recent rains the river was full and wide. He thought it would be difficult to swim it—if, indeed, he was ever able to reach its water, which flowed strongly far below his tower. With Crespin he maintained a dignified aloofness as befitted his rank, and the jailer was respectful. He came in mid-morning to tell Armand that he might go down to the terrace on the bastion, where there was a little garden, to take some exercise. Armand responded with alacrity. At the door he found two guards waiting who conducted him to the proper level and out into the free air. He felt like running and jumping to stretch his legs and enjoy this release from stone walls, but he restrained himself. After all, it was only the illusion of freedom.

He walked around the garden and to the limits of the bastion. There were garden beds which would bloom in summer and several small trees. It was enclosed by an iron fence eight feet high with a gate which connected it to the stone terrace on which his guards kept watch. He looked over the wall to the river below. It was much nearer here than from the tower, but the drop must be at least forty feet. Then he saw a stout vine, leafless now and exposed, which grew in the small margin of soil between the river and the stone wall. It reminded him of the one at the Château de Ronne; but here there were guards armed with muskets.

While he was taking in this situation and its possibilities, Monsieur Constantin appeared and inquired after his health. "You need not be entirely without company here," he said. "We have another guest, the Duc de Bellefont. No doubt he would enjoy talking with you." Having taken it for granted that he was the only prisoner, Armand was surprised. He said he would be glad of company.

"I will see if the duke is well enough to come out on the terrace today—the air is quite cold." The Governor went inside and Armand, feeling the nip in the January air, wrapped his cloak more closely about him. After a few moments Constantin returned to say that the Duc de Bellefont was feeling poorly, but hoped to meet the newcomer on the following day. "He is quite old," said Constantin, "and he is in bed, for he has no fire."

Armand was sorry that the other prisoner was old. Perhaps they could have thought up some means of escape together. "How long has he been here?" he asked.

"Twenty years next summer," was the answer.

Armand was aghast. Twenty years! His hopes dwindled. "Why does he not have a fire? No money?"

"Not any more." Armand shivered and the Governor asked, "You are cold? You wish to go in?"

"No, no indeed!" said Armand. "I will not go in until I must."

The next two weeks were a time of anxious and impatient waiting. It had taken one whole gold piece to get a lackey and horse to make the journey to the Château de Ronne. He had no idea if he could trust him, but the Governor of the castle had suggested him and Armand felt that some pressure must have been brought to bear which would make the lackey return with a letter which would almost certainly mean money. Money was what they all wanted and he had no doubt that the Governor got his cut of whatever was spent. The lackey returned, but without money or even a reply.

The Duc de Bellefont was no help. Armand found him very feeble, his mind wandering, and he had some of his fuel sent to the old man's room. He could not bear to think of him shivering in his unheated, stone-walled room in the middle of winter. He tried the bars over the chimney top in his own room, but they did not yield to any pressure, and he had seen from the terrace that the conical top to his tower would make escape by that way impossible anyhow. He had one bright hope to cling to. The Cardinal had said that he could have visitors. Surely someone from the chateau would come to him. At last someone did, and it was Brusquet. He was admitted and they were left to themselves.

"How glad I am to see you, Brusquet! But why didn't the Marquise send a reply to my letter? I have been frantic."

"We did not trust the messenger," said the lackey. "We were afraid he would not deliver the reply but get drunk with the fee we paid him."

"But I paid him in advance!"

"You see—he lied. He was paid twice."

"But anyway, you are here. Tell me everything!"

"Oh, monsieur, what a lot of trouble! When you did not return to Paris, I made inquiries, and soon it was known all over the city that the Marquis had tried to have the Cardinal murdered and that he was dead by his own hand. You I did not know about, for I had no idea that you were mixed up in the affair! So I went home. Then the news came to the chateau by a messenger who brought with him soldiers and a litter bearing the body of the Marquis. There was the funeral—and how her ladyship wept, and the children, too! Finally your letter which explained all. It is a sad business indeed."

"Go on, go on! What of my aunt and cousins now, and my sister, Julie?"

They talked all afternoon. Brusquet produced a quantity of money, most of it in coins which his mistress thought would be easier to use than gold and less tempting to his jailer. The Marquise had included in the luggage he brought some of Armand's clothes and the books he especially loved. These and Brusquet's visit, plus the promise of others to come, made him feel almost optimistic. Somehow he would escape from this prison!

Before he left, Brusquet said he would observe closely everything about the situation and fortifications of the castle to tell them at home, and they would try to work out a plan. But he shook his head at parting. "This is a formidable tower, master," he said.

"Be sure to look at the garden on the bastion from the other side of the river—but, tell me, how did you cross?"

"There is a ford just west of the castle. The water is deep there now, but I managed. I reconnoitered. The other sides of this stronghold are surrounded by a moat fed by the river and are more closely guarded. I took note of everything, for though I was allowed to enter by the drawbridge, I wanted to know how it would be if I was not expected."

"You're a good fellow, Brusquet! I shall count on you and try to be patient until you return." After the leave-taking, Armand sat in deep thought for a long time. Guards to watch him when he was in the garden, guards to cover the moat. He could not see any way of escape. Yet he felt almost cheerful after talking with his faithful servant and hearing that all was well at the Château de Ronne.

*

The weeks passed somehow and it was the end of February. It was a mild winter without snow. He had much time to reflect and plan. Now that he knew the name and face of his enemy, he would seek him out and challenge him to a duel to the death. If that had not been his purpose all along, he would not have bargained with his uncle, and he would not now be a prisoner! But the code demanded a life for a life, and he must find that sinister face that haunted his dreams and fulfill his duty—as soon as he was free. He thought of his friend, Cyrano, who had promised to be his second. He must be wondering what had become of the nephew of the Marquis de Ronne! He wrote him a letter, though he doubted if Cyrano could find money for a reply.

Brusquet came with more material comforts. Spring arrived and the trees across the river put forth their leaves. No one had any plan for his escape. Each time Brusquet came, Armand sent long letters home—to Julie, to Raoul, and to Madeleine, and they sent him letters in return. He read his books over and over; he visited with the Duc de Bellefont; he talked with his guards, who had become very friendly. But his imprisonment chafed him. He was young and full of vigor. How much longer must he be penned up?

In May, five months after he had come to Nantes, he had a surprise visit from two of his dearest. Brusquet, who had escorted them, did not enter the castle, but the two visitors he had brought were Raoul and Madeleine. Armand was overjoyed.

"How wonderful of you to come! What a long journey for you, Madeleine. Oh, how glad I am to see you!"

It had been eight months since he had left home. Raoul was now sixteen and Madeleine seventeen. She had grown more beautiful and Armand realized when he saw her that her face had hardly ever been absent from his thoughts. They talked about their past life together and about how Raoul was learning to manage the estate with the help of a good overseer.

"But what about Henri?" asked Armand. "He is the Marquis de Ronne now."

"Henri? Oh, he came home, of course, for a few days, but his career is in the Army. He is quite willing for me to manage affairs so long as he gets enough money."

"How is it going?"

"The estate is more prosperous now that Papa is not taking so much out of it. We never knew, but we have found out that it took a lot of money to buy Monsieur's aid. Did you know he betrayed the Marquis de Gervaise? He is in exile now with his family. I am thankful that it is all over, and that Madeleine need not worry about a dowry, now that she is of an age to marry."

Armand looked startled. "Madeleine to marry?"

"Mama does not press me, though I am of the proper age," said Madeleine. "She does not want me to be forced into a marriage of convenience, as she was. Not that she didn't love Papa," she finished loyally.

For the most part, they talked about Armand, the possibility of escape, and the arranging of a cipher—a code by which he could communicate with them if an opportunity should arise. It was to be very simple—just words and phrases that would stand for other words. For example: _books_ would mean _horses._ They assigned names from Greek mythology for the people he might want to mention: Armand would be _Aldebaran;_ Constantin, _Apollo;_ Brusquet, _Hermes;_ the guards, the _Furies._ He would use the name _Daphne_ for his aunt, and the names of other nymphs for Madeleine and Julie. All this was an idea Armand got from his visits to the Hôtel de Rambouillet—from the fair Arthénice and her group. He didn't know whether he would have a chance to use this cipher, but he still hoped.

"I notice that the river is very high now," said Raoul. "It would not be very easy to swim across."

"If I could get near it," said Armand sadly, "I would try." He knew the river so well, his own beloved Loire of boyhood days, and he longed to cross its waters to freedom on the other side. But even if he succeeded, he knew he would not get far on foot and would be recaptured.

When it came time for them to leave, Madeleine asked Raoul to go to the Governor of the castle and find out if he had any idea of the length of time Armand was to be imprisoned. Raoul thought the question foolish, but she urged him to go anyway. She wanted to speak to Armand alone.

"I have something to tell you," she began hesitatingly, after Raoul had said good-by. "It is this: I am not your cousin."

"What are you saying?" asked Armand in surprise.

"Just that I am not the daughter of the Marquise, nor the daughter of him whom I used to call Papa."

"It doesn't matter," Armand replied.

"Doesn't it matter?" Madeleine asked. "I thought perhaps it might. Mama—I shall always call her that—told me this when we were so worried and sorrowful. She thought I should know that I was not the daughter of a conspirator against the Cardinal. That was when we thought we might lose all our possessions and be driven from the chateau. My own father and mother died when I was an infant. They were friends of the Marquis and he took me and reared me as his own daughter. I shall always be grateful to him, no matter what he did."

"I owe him a lot, too," said Armand. "That is why I ran to him when he fell. I did not think of the consequences."

"We were so glad when we learned of the assurance the Cardinal gave you about the estate. After that we had only you to worry about, but we worried a lot—at least I did. I wouldn't have told you about my not being your cousin if I had thought it would make no difference."

"But of course it makes a difference! I didn't realize just at first. If you are not related to me—why then—" He stopped, and Madeleine blushed. "This is not the time to say anything about the future—now when I am a prisoner. But when I escape—you have always been most dear to me, Madeleine, and someday we shall be together—unless you do not wish it. But what am I saying? I have no home to offer you, no name! My only purpose is to avenge my father. But when I have done that, if I still live, what then?"

"You must have met many pretty girls in Paris, Armand. And then there is Yvonne."

"Even if Yvonne were not in exile, she means nothing to me! She is proud and a prig! She saw me on the stage at the Marais and she was ashamed that she knew me. No girl has ever really meant anything to me except you. But you will be married before I ever gain my freedom—if I ever do!" He turned his face to the window and looked gloomily at the river.

"I think I will wait quite a while," said Madeleine. "It was also because I grieved so over your misfortune that Mama told me about my parentage—not only because of Papa."

Armand looked up and they smiled at each other. "I am happier now," he told her, "but I still have to escape!"

Chapter 13: The Escape

It was a dry summer and the waters of the Loire receded from the banks until there were many places near the castle where it might be forded by a man on horseback. Armand was allowed much time on the terrace now and he made it his business to watch the behavior of his guards. There were always at least two on duty whenever he was out. Often he invited them into the garden and they talked. He had asked them to find out all they could about the history of the castle in which he was spending so much time—not that he was particularly interested in history, but it gave them something to talk about. The chateaus at Charlefont and Ronne were about five hundred years old, and he thought this one, by its construction, must be equally ancient. He learned, however, from a guard who had inquired of the Governor, that it was not built until 1466 by Francis II, Duke of Brittany, before Brittany became a part of France. His daughter, Anne, who married the French king, Charles VIII, and, after his death, Louis XII, was born here, and in the very garden where Armand walked, she and her sister Isabeau used to play.

One day, as Armand was wondering idly if the people who had lived here were happy in this garden, he noticed that the guards had apparently forgotten all about him. They were watching with great amusement some page boys who were bathing in the river. As they watched, a cowled monk started to cross the river on the stones, but he fell into the water at a deep place and screamed for aid as he floundered helplessly in his long robe. The boys fished him out, and it all proved very entertaining to the guards. Armand took the occasion to lean over the wall and test the strength of the vine, now thick with foliage and covering in width at least six feet of wall. It felt tough, like the vine that grew outside his window at the Château de Ronne.

In that moment he made his plan. It seemed very simple, but it would require some cooperation. He wrote a letter to Raoul and Madeleine, after mentioning to the Governor that he needed, to pass the time, two Greek texts which he had at home and now wanted to translate—though as a matter of fact he had never studied Greek. In order to send the letter, since it was not time for a visit from Brusquet, he had to hire a lackey to make the journey and bring back the books and a reply. This time he paid the lackey half his charge and agreed to pay him the other half when he came back.

His letter was addressed to the Lady Madeleine and the Chevalier Raoul de Ronne.

Honored Cousins:

I have become interested in astrology lately. Aldebaran is in the ascendancy and Apollo seems benevolent. As to the Furies who have pursued me, they seem to be more interested in the unfortunate dead souls—there are a great many at this time—crossing the River Styx, not in Charon's boat as is usual, but on foot, whereupon some fall into the water and all make a great outcry. The Furies do not follow them, but seem to take great delight in their antics. 1 hope 1 shall not he obliged to cross to the nether world as they do, hut in a more seemly manner, on calmer waters.

As you will see by this reference to mythology, 1 am especially interested in my Greek, which has long been neglected, and I would have you send me two of my Greek texts to translate, together with a treatise on Hermes. They should he sent by the bearer of this letter, who does not expect to he paid twice, and on the day after I receive them, I shall begin my translation, gazing as usual on the beautiful river 1 so much admire and which is now quite low, and on the pleasant prospect beyond, with its grass and thickets of trees, some of them quite dense.

With tenderest regards to my beloved Daphne, I am your servant,

Armand de Lys

He hoped this would be sufficiently confusing to Constantin who, he was sure, knew nothing of mythology, and he waited with great impatience for the return of his messenger, which could not be in less than six days. He also watched the weather with apprehension. If it rained on the day following his receipt of the books, his plan would be ruined, for surely no one would go to bathe then. But he trusted his cousins to make out his meaning, and he trusted Brusquet to wait around until a favorable opportunity presented itself. In such a summer drought as they were having, he did not think it would rain very soon.

On the seventh day, his messenger returned with the two books in Greek, and he knew his meaning had been understood. Slips of paper were inserted in two places. On one was written, "The constellation you are looking for is to be found due south at about five in the afternoon, but because it will be still daylight then, you may not see it." On another he read, "Alas! There are so many crossing the Styx that Charon cannot carry them all. Some lose their pennies, but though these can be restored to them, and more besides, they are likely to create a disturbance which will no doubt attract the Furies."

Armand could scarcely restrain his exuberance. The plan was made; now for its execution. He asked that he might take his airing on the terrace in the afternoon, giving as his reason that he was so eager to start to translate the books he had received that he would spend all morning on it. He spent the morning, however, striding restlessly around his tower room. He put off going down to the terrace as long as he could, appearing engrossed in his translation each time Crespin put his head in the door. At three o'clock, however, he thought it was time.

When he reached the terrace, he found, to his great dismay, that Monsieur Constantin was there and offered to keep him company. This had happened so seldom that Armand had not considered it as a possibility and could barely conceal his disappointment.

"You seem a very learned young man," the Governor began, "to be so interested in the study of Latin and Greek. I, alas, have not had the benefit of a scholarly education. I was interested in those Greek names you wrote of in your letter. Pardon me for mentioning it, monsieur," he said apologetically, "but of course your letters are read by me before they are sent away."

Armand agreed affably that he understood this was a necessity.

"What is this River Styx which you wrote of, which is crossed by souls—you did say "souls," did you not?"

Armand launched into a discussion of Greek mythology, explaining the reference to the Styx and the boatman, Charon, who was supposed to ferry the dead across to the portals of the underworld. He watched his listener closely and was relieved to see that the Governor's question had been quite genuine and that he had no suspicion of a double meaning. They talked for a while, Armand getting more and more nervous, and finally Constantin said it was really too hot on the terrace and he was going in to lie down and cool off. He suggested that Armand do the same.

"Thank you—later, I think."

It was after four o'clock and so far no one had come to bathe in the river. Then two pages arrived, and after them a few more. But they finished their fun before five o'clock and went away. The guards watched them idly, without much interest. Armand closed the iron gate between his garden and the terrace where the guards stood—it might delay them for a minute or two—and scanned the other side of the river with impatience.

Then, to his immense relief, a real diversion occurred in the river. The guards ran to a point farthest from his garden and watched a shallow place in the river so far west that they had to lean over the railing to see clearly. Two men in peasant garb started to cross and were followed by a man on horseback who appeared to be pursuing them. They cried for mercy, and in their hurry, fell into the water. The horseman was almost upon them when another man on a horse started across and yelled a challenge to the first. Then followed a duel on horseback, complicated by the wet stones and rippling water of the ford. The guards were vastly entertained and called encouragement first to one, then to the other.

The instant the scuffle began, Armand realized this was his chance. It was now or never. He grasped the vine and threw a leg over the wall. The guards were intent on the fight. Hand over hand he made his way down the vine as he had often done at the Château de Ronne. Hidden by the leafy foliage, he was not observed, and once down, he leaped into the river and swam, taking a diagonal course upstream so that he would be as far out of sight as possible if the guards should happen to look up. Even though the current was not very swift now, it took all his strength to swim, for he had been without proper exercise for so long. But his dark head was not observed from the battlement, and he reached the other side and emerged, dripping. Although he was gasping, he started on the run for the nearest thicket, fifty feet away, and there he found what he had hoped for—Brusquet with two horses. He dropped to the ground until he could get his breath, while Brusquet thumped him on the back, chattering his congratulations.

"I am hardly safe yet," said Armand, panting. But Brusquet assured him that all was well.

"They have been paid to fight for at least half an hour," he said. "Meanwhile we mount and ride from thicket to thicket, watching to see if anyone from the castle looks this way."

"The guards may think that I went to my room without them. I sometimes do. In that case I shall not be missed until Crespin brings my supper."

"Good," said Brusquet. "It is lucky that it is hot weather, but I have a change of clothes for you. In the next thicket we will stop for you to change. I have brought very common clothes, monsieur, so that you will not be recognized from a distance. Have you the strength to start riding at once—and far?"

Armand got to his feet and saw that the horse brought for him was Belnoir, his stallion. He hugged him and cried, "I could ride forever! I am free!"

"Forever will not be needed," Brusquet said practically. "But we should put ten leagues between us and the castle tonight. The horses are fresh. I came yesterday."

Armand took clean clothes out of the saddlebag and changed. He found when he mounted, tied to the saddle and carefully wrapped, a sheathed rapier. He looked gratefully at Brusquet.

"What is a gentleman without his sword?" The lackey shrugged. "But keep it hidden for a while."

"It is good to be on a horse again, and to have you with me, Brusquet." Armand put his horse to a gallop and Brusquet rode beside him. They were comrades this time.

"I think it is not wise to keep to the main road, monsieur. I have found some short cuts in my trips to see you. If you are pursued, it would be best not to be on the highway."

"You are right, Brusquet. And you have done so ably in freeing me that I shall take your advice."

"Moreover," said the lackey, "I have made arrangements for the night at a convenient haystack I have located. Better not to stay at an inn."

"Right again. Only see that I get some food. I am starved!"

*

On the third day of their journey north, Armand sent Brusquet to an inn on the highway which they could see from a little knoll in the fields, to find out whether there had been any notice of his escape and if any soldiers were out in pursuit of him. Brusquet returned with some news. Two horsemen had stopped at the inn the day before. Their horses were lathered and they demanded fresh mounts. They said they were after a young nobleman who had escaped from the Château de Nantes.

"If they have gone," Armand said, "we are safe. I could do with a wash and a comfortable bed for the night."

"Not so fast, master. Those men have gone ahead, but while I was talking with the landlord, two other men arrived, equally in a hurry and on the same errand. But hearing that the two had gone ahead the day before, they said they were to keep two days behind them and arranged to spend the night."

"Then I am still in danger and must keep out of sight. Let us ride on."

A few miles farther, as they rounded a hummock in the fields, they saw a good-sized town ahead and, off the road a few hundred yards away, a camp of some sort with people about. Brusquet thought they were gypsies, but Armand, watching what they were doing, saw at once that they were acting some sort of play. "These are people I know something about," he said. "Wait here."

Riding to the enclosure between the tents, he dismounted and asked the first person he saw the name of the troupe. The man's French was not good, but he managed to explain that it was the traveling company of Framonte from Italy, and that they played _commedia dell" arte_ in all the towns they passed through on their way to Paris.

"I'd like to speak to this Framonte," said Armand. The manager was brought forward and introduced. Armand told him his name.

"Your troupe interests me, for I, too, am an actor. I should like to see your performance."

"Ah, but you come at a bad time. We have just lost one of our actors with a sprained back. He fell from the platform only yesterday and we are supposed to perform in the town square tomorrow. I am afraid we must leave Morello behind, for he cannot walk."

"Perhaps I could help you out," said Armand, seizing the opportunity. "I have acted in the best theater in Paris and I could also serve as translator, for I perceive you are not well acquainted with our language." What better place to hide than in a company of traveling actors? he thought.

"The service with the language would be a great help," said the manager, "for we have had difficulties since crossing into France. But as to the acting—we must have someone who can portray _il Capitano—le Capitaine,_ you call him. Even if you were competent—of course, I do not doubt that for a moment —but the costume of poor Morello would not fit you at all. He is not tall."

"Perhaps I have a costume that will serve," said Armand. "It is rich looking. I will fetch it from my saddlebag. My friend and I were just amusing ourselves with a canter, but we can part company now. I will get the clothes and you can try me out."

"That would be most fortunate," said the manager. Then a crafty expression came into his face. "I do not know what you would expect for pay. We share what we get at each performance and naturally some get a bigger share than others."

"That is of no consequence," said Armand. "I will not be greedy and I should like to stay with your company till Paris." He thought it wise not to appear to have no thought for money. He did not know these men.

"One can see that you are a gentleman," exclaimed Framonte in relief. "And if you are also an actor, you are just the one we are in need of."

Armand returned to Brusquet. "Why were you so long?" asked the lackey. "You know, we are only a half-day's ride from the Château de Ronne, and if we ride all night we can get there by morning. But we must not delay."

"My dear Brusquet! I have so much to thank you for! But I have no intention of going home now. Don't you realize that there is where the authorities will seek me first? I have intended all along to go to Paris."

"Why didn't I think of that?" cried the lackey. "You are a fugitive, to be sure, and the Marquise must not know where you are if she is questioned. I have been thinking only of getting you free and getting you home! But will you be safe in Paris alone—for I must go home with the news of your escape."

"I shall not be alone. These people whom you see are actors. I have been an actor—for a short time, it is true—but I intend to join them and so make my way slowly to Paris where I have friends. It will be easy to get lost in Paris."

"Oh, monsieur, I had so hoped to bring you home with me to gladden the hearts of your aunt and cousins and little Julie! But I see now it is impossible."

"Tell them about my escape and my plans. That will make them glad. Many thanks for your good care of me. I shall not forget it. And I will write when I can safely send a messenger."

Armand waited till Brusquet rode off—in the direction of home, he thought with a pang—waved to him, and then led his horse to the enclosure. He took his elaborate garments from the saddlebag, somewhat crushed, but dry, and showed them to Framonte.

"Ah, these are expensive," said the manager, "and will do very well. Our woman will freshen them up and add some epaulets."

"I have here also a sword well wrapped and I intend to keep it that way. Also, if I join you, my horse must be looked after."

"Indeed, a fine spirited animal," said Framonte. "I can see there is some mystery here, but it is not my business to ask questions. Now," he continued as one of the men led Belnoir away, "are you acquainted with the _commedia?_ There are no lines to memorize. We play the situation and improvise as we go. Let us have a sample of your voice."

Armand recited a long speech from _Le Cid._ Framonte observed that he had a very fine voice, well modulated, but he hesitated.

"That is very good, but quite serious. Perhaps you do not realize that we play comedy? But wait—I see here a great opportunity. _Il Capitano_ is supposed to be very serious, very pompous. What a chance for Harlequin and the Z _anni,_ our clowns, to make fun of you! Now, I will briefly outline the situation to you and you say whatever comes into your head." They tried it out until Armand got the idea of what to expect. They were jolly people and he soon lost his shyness. He stayed the night with them in the tents, ate with them, and helped get the scenery and platform loaded for their appearance in the town. He felt safe for the first time since he had swum the river. No one would recognize him in a group of strolling players, especially since part of his make-up was a large, upturned, black mustache!

They played in the town square the following afternoon, camped in a meadow, and went on to the next town. This was the program day after day. At the rate they progressed, Armand guessed it would take them many weeks to cover the fifty leagues to Paris. He found the acting challenging, for the speeches always varied, and he had to respond in his part as _il Capitano_ in the boastful style expected of the role. Being fundamentally good-natured, he did not mind being ridiculed, since it was only a play, anyway, though sometimes the jokes were painful and more than once he was knocked down. The comedy was broad and vulgar, of the sort to amuse the common people who gathered in the square in each village and town, and it did not seem to matter that some of the speeches were more than half Italian. The action spoke for itself. At first the players were in awe of him because they recognized a gentleman and admired his fluent speech, but the barrier was soon swept away and they came to like him for himself.

Armand hesitated at first to put in a bit of unexpected dialogue or action, but as the weeks passed, he grew bolder. One day, when he had been with the troupe for a month, he did not let the actor who played a comedian named Scapin knock him down as usual, but instead used his strength to push him back, and then challenged Scapin to a duel with swords. The swords were only stout peeled sticks four feet long, but when Armand began to use his weapon like a rapier, he soon had the other at his mercy and ended by standing above him as he lay on the boards, his sword at the comedian's throat.

"Cry for mercy or I will slay you!" he hissed. This antic pleased the players as well as the audience, for the Captain usually came off badly in every encounter.

"That was a good scene," said Framonte, "but do not do it too often, for it is out of character."

Playing this scene, ridiculous as it was, gave Armand a sense of power. When he saw his victim lying before him with his imaginary rapier at his throat, he thought of the duel he would fight one day, and it was the black-bearded face of the Duc de Ravignon that he saw there. One day Scapin, who had been his victim, played a quick trick and got the better of him, and Armand found himself lying on the planks, the wand pointed at his throat. "Give up! Give up!" cried Scapin, "or I will slit your throat!" It was a coarser way of expressing it than Armand had used, but it was to the point. It was curious that at that moment he felt exactly as he intended his enemy to feel—only de Ravignon would not give in but must pay with his life. Putting himself in the place of the duke, his enemy, Armand found was not a pleasant sensation. He could almost feel sorry for him.

The troupe moved slowly toward Paris. Sometimes it rained and they played inside a building; sometimes they were offered shelter for the night. It was growing colder, for winter was approaching. One day there was a flurry of snow.

Finally they reached the last village in which they would perform before reaching Paris. Armand had really enjoyed his weeks with the troupe. He wondered what fortune Paris held for him and how he would locate his enemy. The performance was almost over and Armand had had all his scenes. He was standing at one side of the platform, half-hidden by the makeshift curtain and watching the crowd that gazed, open-mouthed, at the antics of the performers. Suddenly his attention was caught by a lavishly dressed horseman in a red cloak who had stopped at the edge of the crowd to watch the show. The late sun fell full on his face, the heavy brows, black eyes, mustache, and beard—the arrogant expression. It was de Ravignon.

Chapter 14: The Pursuit

Armand slipped away from the stage to his tent, fished his rapier from under the straw pallet, snatched up a bag of oddments he had acquired in the last weeks, and ran to where the horses were tethered. It took a few moments to saddle Belnoir, and when he trotted into the square, the man was gone. Looking up the road to Paris, he saw him disappear over the hill. There was no time to take leave of anyone—he would look up Framonte in Paris—and he galloped after his quarry at full speed. Now that the moment he had been aiming toward since he first practiced fencing appeared near, he found himself trembling with excitement, and he urged his horse on faster and faster. But de Ravignon must also have been in haste, for Armand could not keep him in sight. The road had many curves and small hills and he caught only an occasional glimpse of the red-cloaked figure from time to time. Almost seven leagues stretched between him and Paris, and he began to realize that he had been somewhat rash in starting out impulsively alone with night coming on.

He had gone some distance when he reluctantly reined up to let his horse rest. He would not have anything happen to Belnoir, and it was already getting too dusky to see. Surely de Ravignon would stop at some inn for supper and perhaps for the night. What he would do when he caught up with him— just how he would accost him—Armand was not sure. Somehow he would manage it and then there would be the duel, and the climax of his long devotion to revenge for a murdered father could bring either victory or death—God would decide. If he won, then he would begin to live his own life, having fulfilled his vow.

While he waited the few minutes that he allowed to Belnoir to get his wind, he unwrapped the rapier that had lain all these weeks in its thick covering. He fitted the scabbard to his belt and drew the sword to test its keenness. It was sharp enough to do his business. As he started off again, the moon, nearing the full, rose from the meadows behind him and showed him the road, stretching straight ahead. He thought he could discern a rider just disappearing from view.

He set off at a gallop again, and as he drew nearer the horseman, saw by the red cloak that it was the man he was seeking; but after a bend in the road revealed another long stretch of moonlight, the horseman seemed to have disappeared. There were no villages, no inns. But there were private roads leading off now and then. Why had he assumed that de Ravignon was going to Paris? He could have been bound for some nobleman's estate—maybe his own.

Armand was still a few leagues from Paris when the highway led into a thicket of pine trees where the moonlight did not penetrate. He had no more than entered this thicket when several figures sprang out of the shadows. One called on him to halt. He drew his rapier and turned his horse so sharply to the left that a man close on this side was able to pull him out of the saddle and he fell to the ground. Before he could rise, the wrist that held his rapier was twisted savagely and the weapon fell to the ground. At that moment Armand heard the thudding of horses" hoofs, denoting a considerable body of men. Instantly he was struck such a blow on the head that he lost consciousness.

As he regained his senses, Armand felt Belnoir nudging him gently. His head throbbed and his wrist ached. Otherwise he seemed to be unhurt. He got slowly to his feet. He and the horse were alone. "Good boy!" he said, patting Belnoir's flank. "You ran off and then came back to find me. Good boy!" He stood up and Belnoir nuzzled his shoulder. He looked for his sword and found that it was gone; there was only the empty scabbard. He felt for his money belt and had the comforting assurance that it was still there, untouched. He remembered the man twisting his wrist—that was how he had lost his sword. But if his money was still on him, it meant that the robbers had been scared off. The galloping men he had heard in the last second before he was struck down must have saved him. The robbers had fled before a superior force. Belnoir had run off into the fields, and Armand had not been seen by the horsemen as he lay in the ditch in the darkness.

His pursuit of his enemy seemed always fraught with disaster! Not quite disaster, though, for he had his horse and his money and he could get another rapier. He rode along slowly, cradling his sprained wrist, and soon saw a dark mass ahead of him that showed only a glimmer of light here and there. It was Paris. He had escaped from the Château de Nantes; he had not been recaptured; he was free to hunt down his enemy and take his revenge! And now he would go to his friend, Cyrano de Bergerac.

*

It was with difficulty that he found Cyrano's lodging in the maze of dark streets, but finally he did and woke up the landlord who, in turn, awakened Monsieur Cyrano.

"Armand!" cried de Bergerac, opening his arms to him. "You are here in the flesh? This is not an apparition? But you are tired. You look terrible! You shall rest immediately. Concierge, if you value my patronage, wake up the groom to attend to monsieur's horse and bring a hot drink and some food."

Armand was too exhausted to tell his story that night, but the next morning, after a good sleep and food, and with a bandage supporting his aching wrist, he made a good story of it. Cyrano heard him out with enthusiastic side comments. "What a man you are, my friend! That cipher—so clever! Joining the _commedia dell" arte_ —a masterstroke!"

"But of course, I had good luck."

"But of course. And maybe not luck. You planned, and you prayed a little, did you not?"

"You are right, and all has gone well for me except when pursuing de Ravignon. First I did not know anything except that my father said he had an enemy. Then I learned of this enemy's first terrible crime—the murder of his own wife—but I did not know his name. I joined the conspiracy to find out who he was and I landed in a dungeon and then in a tower prison. I caught up with him—almost—only to be set upon by robbers. But here I am, though I have no rapier for this sheath."

"That is a lack easily made good," said Cyrano. "But you will not use a weapon for some time—until your wrist is strong again."

"True. And fortunately it is only a little hurt."

"I must tell you," said Cyrano, "that a plot against the Cardinal with much more serious consequences than your uncle's has just been made public. It concerned chiefly Monsieur le Grand, the Marquis de Cinq-Mars—once the King's favorite—and—"

"I saw him once, when I was at the Louvre with Monsieur," interrupted Armand.

"He became too ambitious," said Cyrano, "and it was said that the Queen was involved. They planned to join forces with Spain and overthrow the Cardinal's rule. This was not only a conspiracy against Richelieu himself, but treason against France, and I suppose justice required that Cinq-Mars be executed for his part in it. It seems more unjust that his companion and close friend, Francois de Thou, was also beheaded because he knew of the plot, but would not betray his friend."

"When did this happen?" asked Armand.

"Only a few weeks ago. The execution took place at Lyons."

"Was Monsieur concerned in this, too?"

"Oh, you may be sure he was! And he betrayed the conspirators, as usual. It is the talk of Paris."

After they had been over the events of the last months many times, Cyrano said he would go out to purchase some clothes for Armand, whose garments, worn as a costume with the acting troupe, were much in need of repair and cleaning. He warned the young man that he must not stir from the lodging if he did not want to land in prison again.

"The Cardinal's spies are everywhere, as you must realize by now. They are active, even though he, himself, is very ill. Do you know that when he travels, he actually has a small room with bed, chest, and chair on a carpeted floor carried with him everywhere—on a barge for the rivers and on a wheeled vehicle for land. Wherever he stays the night, a part of the house wall must be removed to accommodate this monstrous contrivance. Though he can no longer move from his bed, he must travel on affairs of state."

"He looked ill when I saw him," said Armand. "I cannot hate him any more. I almost feel sorry for him."

"But keep out of his clutches," said Cyrano as he left to purchase the clothes.

Armand was happy to relax while Cyrano was gone. His thoughts turned to his family at Ronne, to whom he had not been able to send a word. He thought particularly of Madeleine. He was free, now, but for how long? And who was he? A nobody whose spending money must come from his aunt! He would have felt sorry for himself except that he was at liberty and in Paris and with a friend. For all this he could not be thankful enough!

When Cyrano returned, Armand dressed in his new clothes and felt better. He asked for one more favor. Would Cyrano send word by a lackey to Monsieur du Pont, who must have wondered about him when he heard of his uncle's suicide? Perhaps du Pont would make the journey to the Château de Ronne with the good news of Armand's safe arrival in Paris. Cyrano complied and the lackey returned with word that du Pont would come to him on the following day.

Monsieur du Pont came as he had promised, and it was while he was there, making arrangements to ride to the Château de Ronne, keeping his message secret for fear that Armand would be found and arrested, that the church bells of Paris began to toll, slowly, ponderously, as for a great calamity. It was not long before they heard the news, whispered almost fearfully, or cried exultantly—Cardinal Richelieu was dead.

Armand had mixed feelings about Richelieu. To him he owed the loss of father, tide, and estates; and yet the Cardinal had been kind to him in a way and had even asked him to be a member of his Guards. And he realized that his punishment for his part in the conspiracy could have been much more severe than imprisonment in the Château de Nantes. The Cardinal had not been vindictive.

Cyrano was jubilant. "You need no longer remain hidden!" he cried. "The Cardinal's men will have to find a new master, and I doubt if our good King knows much about you or your present whereabouts. Now you are really free."

Monsieur du Pont was equally happy. "I need not make the journey for you now, my boy. You can take the glad tidings of your freedom yourself."

"Oh, but I can't!" cried Armand. "There is something I must do here in Paris. Please take the message that I am well and will return when I can. You will do that for me, will you not, monsieur?"

"Of course, Armand, if you wish it. And I will not even inquire about this business of yours, since you do not wish to tell me."

"I can't now, believe me," said Armand quietly, looking at Cyrano. "It must be accomplished before it is told. I thank you a thousand times for being my messenger, Monsieur du Pont. And do come and see me when you return."

While Armand's wrist was healing from the sprain, Cyrano had a visit from his old friend, Henri le Bret. Lignières came, too—and Poquelin. They all heard the story of Armand's imprisonment and escape and made much of him. They spent jolly evenings together, talking about poems and plays and of events at the Hôtel de Rambouillet. Lignières said that he had given up writing lampoons about the great ones of Paris. He had never quite recovered from his fright when the hundred men were waiting to assassinate him at the Porte de Nesle. Poquelin read them one of his plays. He was writing a good deal nowadays, patterning himself after Corneille. His hearers were enthusiastic and assured him that he would one day be greater than Corneille.

"It is possible," he said calmly. "And when I have produced something better than the great Corneille, I think I shall take a pen name. I have had it in mind for some time. I shall be called "Molière."

"An excellent name for a dramatic poet," said Cyrano. "I am writing a play myself, but it will not be great. It will merely give me great satisfaction and prove what I am coming to believe, that for revenge, the pen is mightier than the sword." "What is it about?" asked the future Molière.

"It is about a schoolmaster I had during my years at the College de Beauvais when I was twelve to seventeen years of age. I hated him with an undying hatred. He possessed no knowledge to impart to his pupils, he beat me, he could not satisfy my thirst for knowledge and, worst of all—he made fun of my nose! I think that is when I became determined to slay anyone who ridiculed my nose!"

When they had gone, Armand asked his friend, "You said you thought that for revenge, the pen is mightier than the sword. How can you, the most excellent duelist in Paris, say that?"

"Ah, that caught your attention? Well, if you fight a man and kill him, then he is dead, and only a few people will know."

"But you will know. You will have done what you must, according to the code."

"But if you write a play showing him up as a fake, a bully, and a braggart, and thousands of people see your play, will you not then be better revenged?"

"Will they know whom you are writing about?"

"Indeed, I shall make that abundantly clear! The schoolmaster's name is Grangier, and I shall change only one little letter—I shall call him "Granger." And I shall set the scene in the College de Beauvais, the actual place. Do you see?"

"I see," said Armand. "But I am not a writer—not really."

"To be sure," said Cyrano, "and therefore you must practice with the rapier—as soon as your wrist is strong enough. How long is it since you have had practice?"

"A year!" Armand groaned. "Will I ever be skillful again?"

"Certainly you will. You are young and I shall act as your teacher. I will train you over again, and I will teach you some special thrusts that, so far, only I can execute."

"How can I ever thank you?" Armand smiled.

"Well, if I am to give up the practice of arms, I must train another to take my place."

Soon after that they began, and spent many weeks practicing with foils every day until Armand recovered his skill. He found that it was something he had not entirely lost, but that to be proficient, he must be in top physical condition and alert to every particular of the art of fencing.

They went about now without fear—to the theater, the river bank, the Hôtel de Rambouillet. Armand looked up Michel de Marvelon and told him what had happened the night of the presentation at Chambord and told him, too, about playing with Framonte's troupe. He also sent word to the Italian, presenting his apologies for having left him so abruptly. And always Armand was looking, looking for the dark-bearded man he sought to challenge and to kill for having murdered his father.

There was a lot of discussion at Cyrano's lodgings, where Armand had been induced to stay, and as the weeks passed, he learned much of what was taking place in the other's mind. Cyrano had finished his play about the schoolmaster and was working on an outline of a philosophic composition—half serious thought, half fantasy.

"Have you ever thought, Armand, of other worlds that may be very different from ours?"

"Do you mean the next world about which the Church teaches us?"

"Not that," said Cyrano. "I am speaking of worlds of the imagination. We look at the sun, the moon, and the stars. May there not be people on those heavenly bodies? There have been scientists who thought so—Bruno and Kepler whom the Church denounced as heretics. A man named Campanella wrote _City of the Sun,_ and an Englishman named Godwin wrote _Men on the Moon or a Voyage Thither._ I have thought much about it. Perhaps two or three hundred years from now men will have discovered more about the planets and the stars. But I can use my imagination. I shall write about an ideal society on the moon and on the sun, where there are no tyrants to oppress people and where, if there is a king, he shall be chosen from among the gentlest of the inhabitants. Just to make it perfect," he added with a laugh, "the most important people of my imaginary world will be the ones with the largest noses!

Armand smiled. "Are you saying that there could be a kingdom where there would be no fighting—no revenge?"

"Exactly," said Cyrano. "But that doesn't help you much here and now, does it?"

"It makes me think," said Armand. "And how, my friend, would you get there, if there were such a kingdom—on the sun, for example?"

"Oh, there are a number of ways. I have thought of two and I shall think of more. We know that dew is drawn upward by the sun's rays. I might cover my body with little vials filled with dew and be drawn upward by the sun. Or, smoke having a natural tendency to rise, I could fill a huge globe with smoke and rise with it. But wait—a better way! I shall place sealed jars of steam on each side of me and thus rise upward."

"You, yourself, monsieur?"

"No, no—of course I am earthbound. I mean my hero. But in a way it will be myself."

"Do you really think," asked Armand, "that there might be a society where honor did not compel men to kill for revenge?"

"I think it possible, and even on this earth! But not in France," he added. "Not in France."

*

It was now January of 1643. Cyrano made discreet inquiries concerning the Duc de Ravignon, but no one had seen him lately. He asked Lignières to seek information at Court, but the poet was unsuccessful. Even Monsieur stared and shrugged his shoulders. It appeared that de Ravignon had dropped out of sight, and that was strange, for when Cardinal Richelieu was alive, he had been seen constantly in his entourage. Armand did not ask anyone lest he be identified as the one who was looking for him. When he issued his challenge, it must come as a surprise.

One day he happened to be walking alone past the _hôtel_ where the new Cardinal—the Italian, Mazarin—had his residence. Lackeys were standing about and many gentlemen were going and coming. Suddenly, Armand saw the man he sought. There was no mistaking that face, but he was surprised to see that the Duc de Ravignon was several inches taller than he was. He had only seen him sitting down at Chambord and sitting his horse while watching the _commedia dell" arte._ This, Armand knew, was an added challenge to his ability. He did not hesitate but walked up to the man.

"The Duc de Ravignon, I believe?" he asked.

"Ssh!" said the gentleman. "Not so loud! Since you do not desire your name to be shouted out, monsieur, come with me behind this portico and I will tell you my business with you."

They walked a few steps away—out of hearing of the curious lackeys.

"You see before you the son of the Comte de Charlefont," said Armand.

De Ravignon's countenance grew pale. "And what have you to do with me?"

"Can you ask?" exclaimed Armand. "You killed my father!"

"Nonsense! He was arrested by Cardinal Richelieu and died later."

"Monsieur, I had it from the Cardinal's own lips after the affair at Chambord that he had not intended my father to die and that you killed him against orders. Moreover, I know why. I have waited long for my revenge. I challenge you to a duel to the death!"

"I never refuse a challenge," said de Ravignon. "But you are young and inexperienced. I do not want your blood on my hands!"

"You cannot refuse!" cried Armand, fearful that he would not, after all, get his revenge. "You have denied your part in my father's death, but I have the Cardinal's word for it. You are a liar, Monsieur le Duc!"

At these words de Ravignon grew livid. He looked at the tall, lean, determined young man before him. "So be it," he said. "But the duel must be in a secluded spot—I do not wish to be recognized." He looked about him nervously to see if he was even now being observed. "Tomorrow morning at eight at the Pré aux Clercs."

Armand returned to Cyrano, excited yet serious. "I have found him and challenged him," he said. "It is arranged. Tomorrow at eight. The Pré aux Clercs."

"Good," said Cyrano. "We must get this thing over."

The next day dawned bright, and Armand wondered if it was to be his last on earth. At least this duel was not over a trifle! He believed in his cause and had confidence that because he was in the right, he would win. Cyrano remained very optimistic. His only lapse from cheerfulness was to say when they started out, "Pray God I shall not have to bear you from the field in defeat!"

"Even so," said Armand, "it will not be in dishonor! But, my friend, I am drawing you into this when you have given up dueling. I am sorry for that."

"I never said I would not serve as second for a friend; only that I would not fight on my own account when it could be avoided."

They were punctual in arriving at the secluded field where the combatants would not be likely to be interrupted or arrested. As Armand saw the tall form of his adversary advancing toward him, followed by another duelist, he trembled. As the climax approached, he could not help a shiver of apprehension. Still he remained outwardly calm. The two pairs saluted and introduced their seconds who, as was the custom, would engage each other's rapiers beginning at the same time as the principals. The duke's second looked alarmed as he recognized his _vis-a-vis._ After removing their cloaks and doublets and turning up the cuffs of their white, frilled shirts, they were ready. The Duc de Ravignon, whose black eyes stared out of an unusually pale face, spoke again.

"I give you one more chance to withdraw your challenge. You are too young to match swords with me."

"Do not be misled by my youth," said Armand. "My determination for revenge makes me strong. And not only for my father!" De Ravignon looked up. "Wife killer!" Armand hurled these last words at his opponent as a spur to start the duel.

"You know that, too?" growled the man. "Very well. _En garde!"_

The contest was on. Armand could not remember it clearly afterward, but it continued for much longer than was usual. It was thrust, parry, riposte—over and over again with no advantage to either side. Out of the comer of his eye, he saw Cyrano standing quietly by and knew he must have easily disabled his opponent. But every ounce of his energy was given to watching his enemy's eyes and sword point, trying to anticipate his next move. Now his recent training stood him in good stead —and he was young. Armand felt the prick of his adversary's blade here and there but paid no attention. He was waiting warily to get in a trick or two that he had learned from Cyrano. At last de Ravignon was tiring and Armand saw that his opportunity would soon come. Should he try for a thrust through the body or the throat? When the chance did come to get through his opponent's guard, he made it a double thrust —first to the sword arm, then to the thigh, which cut the muscles deeply in both. De Ravignon dropped his sword and fell heavily to the ground, and in a second, Armand had the point of his rapier at the throat of his fallen enemy. This was the moment of triumph. The killing had not come in the interchange of rapier play, but it was now his right to sever the artery in the neck and his enemy would be dead. It would take but an instant—one twitch of the rapier's point.

But he could not do it. He was shaking and his head swam. The seconds ticked by as he delayed. Then he was aroused by an agonized voice from the ground.

"Be done with it!" cried de Ravignon. "I cannot bear the waiting!"

At that, Armand's head cleared. He stepped back and began to sheath his rapier. "I will not kill you, monsieur," he said. "I no longer desire your death." He turned to Cyrano. "I cannot do it," he said.

At this moment there was a thudding of hoofs and a detachment of the King's Musketeers rode up and stopped, seeing a man lying on the ground bleeding profusely and another standing over him, replacing his sword in its sheath. It was evident that a duel had taken place, and duels were against the King's law.

Chapter 15: The King's Justice

" _Messieurs,"_ said the officer, "there has been an affair here against which there is a strict prohibition. Moreover, several are wounded. You, monsieur, appear to be the only one uninjured." He addressed Cyrano. "What has been going on?"

"As you have perceived, there was a duel. But a just one, I assure you. This young man, a friend of mine, was attempting to avenge the murder of his father by the gentleman who lies wounded there. He intended to kill him, according to the code."

"But he did not kill him, I see, though he had the opportunity."

"He did not kill him," said Cyrano, "and so he is, you might say, an extraordinary young man."

"I agree. What is your name, monsieur?"

"Cyrano de Bergerac. And yours?"

"D'Artagnan."

"I recognize a famous member of the King's Musketeers. I hope you will overlook this—indiscretion."

"And I recognize the illustrious swordsman, de Bergerac," said D'Artagnan. "Unfortunately I cannot overlook this disregard of the King's law, since I was sent to this secluded spot for the express purpose of finding out if it was being used as a dueling ground. Some fifteen years ago, when I was young, I made use of it myself! But this matter must be looked into. One seems severely wounded; the other has a single sword thrust of little consequence; and your friend, too, is bleeding."

Only now did Armand become fully aware of his cuts and scratches.

"His wounds are slight," said Cyrano. "I can tend them. But have a surgeon look to the Duc de Ravignon as soon as possible."

"Your name, monsieur?" asked D'Artagnan of Armand.

"Armand de Lys."

"You will both oblige me by accompanying me to the Louvre. The other may stay with the duke until we can send for him. De Ravignon," he mused. "I believe His Majesty has spoken that name often lately, and not with favor."

Cyrano applied some ointment he had brought to the scratches on Armand's arms and thighs, put on bandages where necessary, and they prepared to follow D'Artagnan, who had two of his men double up so that Armand and Cyrano might ride.

"You will accompany me without trouble, monsieur?" he asked, addressing Armand. _"Parole d'honneur?"_

"I give you my word," said Armand.

They were about to mount when a weak voice called out: "A moment, monsieur."

Armand looked back to the man lying on the ground, whose voice barely reached him.

"Armand de Charlefont," he asked. "Why did you not kill me?"

"I do not know," said Armand. "I intended to. I only know that when I saw you lying wounded and defenseless, I could not slay you." He turned away abruptly, uncertain and disturbed, and they mounted.

"Why did you spare him?" asked Cyrano.

"It is hard to say what passed through my mind in those seconds. I know I thought of your imaginary worlds where revenge would not be necessary. I remembered my father's good deeds and wondered if he would want me to kill for his sake. And I thought of something Madeleine said to me once: "I think you would not ever kill anyone if you could avoid it." And so I did not want to kill him. The victory was enough."

"It was a magnanimous decision," said Cyrano.

"Will he recover, do you think?"

"I should think so," replied his friend. "But he must not lose too much blood."

At the Palace of the Louvre they were made to wait a long time. D'Artagnan, having sent rescue to de Ravignon, had sought an audience with the King. He explained to them that His Majesty was in very poor health and might not be able to see them. But after a time he returned and told them to follow him. The King was confined to his bed in his chambers and attended there to whatever duties were necessary, whether political or social.

"The name "de Ravignon" was the magic word," D'Artagnan said.

They were admitted to the large, paneled room where the King reclined in his great bed with crimson and gold hangings. Light from the shaded windows touched his pale, gaunt face. The room was half-full of courtiers and attendants.

"Here are the two I mentioned to you, sire," said D'Artagnan, going forward.

"Tell them to come closer," said Louis fretfully.

They moved at his command close to the bed and each fell on one knee.

"I hear you have broken the edict against dueling. That is not a very serious offense and could be dealt with by a lesser person than ourself." As Armand lifted his head, the King looked at him intently. "I have seen you before," he said.

"Yes, sire, at the Château de Chambord."

"Ah, yes. You are the nephew of the Marquis de Ronne. But that is not why I have consented to see you. There is another reason " He broke off as he looked at Cyrano. "Who is this man with you—this man with an extraordinary nose? Stand up, both of you."

They rose and stood respectfully a few feet from the bed. Cyrano identified himself and the only emotion he let escape was a slight quiver in his voice.

"I hear you are the best swordsman in France, as well as the man with the largest nose, on which account you have fought many times. May your King be permitted to comment on your unusual feature with impunity?"

"It is Your Majesty's privilege," answered Cyrano, trembling with indignation.

"Ah, well! I should like to see you fight, but I doubt if I shall arise from this bed again. My time is running out." With this he fell into a reverie.

D'Artagnan ventured to speak. "You had a reason for wanting to see this young man," he reminded the King.

"I had, indeed! You were fighting to get revenge on the Duc de Ravignon, whom you accuse of having killed your father."

"Yes, sire. His late Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu, told me on that unfortunate occasion at Chambord that he had given orders that my father should not be slain and that, against these orders, the Duc de Ravignon took my father's life for a private reason."

"That is more than a year ago. You have been hunting him ever since?"

"No, sire, for the Cardinal sent me to be imprisoned in the Château de Nantes—from which I escaped only last autumn," he added boldly.

"I am not interested in Cardinal Richelieu's business," said the King wearily. "We did not always see eye to eye. And there is something he did for which I am now blaming him bitterly. He arrested my dear Cinq-Mars and had him beheaded! Oh, I know I had quarreled with the lad. He deceived me and perhaps he was a traitor. But now that he is dead, I am sorry! And you " he pointed a trembling finger at Armand—you found the Duc de Ravignon whom I have been seeking ever since last November, for it was he who supervised the execution. You found him and fought him, but spared his life! He is alive and I can hold him to answer for that deed!" Louis sighed and fell back on his pillows. "I am tired now. Leave me, all of you. But you, young man, and your friend must attend me tomorrow. I shall have thought things out then. Leave me. Leave me."

Armand and Cyrano, accompanied by D'Artagnan, left the King's chamber and the courtiers followed.

*

There was a celebration that night at Cyrano's lodgings, but there was no one present but Armand and his host. Armand had never taken the poets or chance acquaintances into his confidence and did not wish to explain to them the reason for his high spirits. He did, indeed, feel as if a great weight had been lifted from him. Since he was twelve years old he had waited for this day. He did not regret that de Ravignon was not dead, and was, in fact, relieved that he had not been his executioner. He had fulfilled his part and obeyed his conscience.

The two talked about many things, including Armand's family, and particularly, Madeleine. They wondered why the King should wish to see them again. When they reached the Palace the next day, all sorts of possibilities whirled through Armand's head. Was he to confront de Ravignon again? But surely he would not be up and about so soon. Was he to be punished for escaping from Nantes? Were both he and Cyrano to be punished for taking part in a duel?

When they were ushered into the royal chamber, the King said, "I have been thinking about you, de Lys. I remember your father's estate being made forfeit to the crown. I did not always approve of Richelieu's methods, but he was a fine minister. He increased the revenue of the realm and kept France safe from her enemies. God rest his soul!" He crossed himself, as did his hearers. "Clear the room," he called to the guards. "I would speak with these gentlemen alone."

The ever-present courtiers were hustled out, though the guards remained. Then the King spoke what was on his mind. "You seem to be a worthy young man, courageous and bold— and clever, if you managed to escape from the Château de Nantes! You have been deprived of your heritage and your title. These I can make up to you and satisfy myself into the bargain. Would you like to know how?"

"If you please, sire," said Armand eagerly.

"Charlefont cannot be restored to you. As you know, it was demolished. But there are other estates and one, in particular, which I am about to make vacant. I told you I sought the Duc de Ravignon because of his part in the execution of poor Cinq-Mars. I was angry enough to have him put to death. But you spared him, though he killed your father, and he was, after all, in the matter of Cinq-Mars, only carrying out the orders of Richelieu. I have thought it over. I will not harm a hair of his head, but because of his deeds of violence, I will exile him and confiscate his estate. It is a pleasant chateau on the River Cher and it will be renamed, if you wish, "Charlefont." You, Armand de Lys, shall have the title that belongs to you by right. I have here a document stating what I have just told you. You have now what is due you. Are you content?"

"More than content!" cried Armand. "I had not dared to hope for such a reward, Your Majesty!" Tears sprang to his eyes as he received the document from the King's hand, tears of surprise and joy. There at the bottom was the King's seal and, in letters that showed the trembling of a weak hand, the authoritative signature— _Louis._

"Are you surprised that I have not condemned to execution the man who killed your father and, I have learned from a physician I sent to aid him, his own wife?"

"I could not bring myself to be his executioner when I had the chance, sire."

"True, and I am not called "Louis the Just" for nothing. He shall lose his estates, but he will retain enough to live comfortably in exile. And I shall not have to look at him and remember that he executed poor Cinq-Mars!"

Armand's face glowed as he turned to show the document to Cyrano.

"You, my friend of the great nose," said the King, smiling in a way that showed he meant no offense, "I would like to make one of my Musketeers. Gassion, one of my commanders, desires that you join his regiment."

"If you will pardon me, sire," answered de Bergerac, "I must refuse. I have borne arms for Your Majesty for a period of three years in the company of Carbon de Castel-Jaloux, and I have taken part in two battles. But I have given up the profession of arms to devote myself to study and writing. I hope Your Majesty will not think me ungrateful of the honor you suggest. I fight only as second for my friends."

"A pity," said the King. "But I will not force you against your inclination."

Armand knelt and kissed the pale hand that lay on the coverlet. "My thanks and devotion to you, sire, and my fervent wish that you return to health and vigor."

The King smiled wearily. "I fear, Comte de Charlefont, that is not to be."

The two bowed themselves out, and that night a special messenger was sent posthaste to the Château de Ronne with the joyous news. He returned within a week with Brusquet, who was to accompany his master home. Armand could not thank Cyrano enough for his hospitality and the great assistance he had given in helping him acquire the skill to defeat the Duc de Ravignon.

"When I am established in my chateau, newly christened "Charlefont," I shall expect you to be my guest. But before that time I intend to return to Paris bringing, I hope, the cousin—who is not a cousin—I have told you about. I think you will approve of my choice." He embraced Cyrano with gratitude and affection and said to him, "Be sure to write that book on the "other world." I should like to read it." Then, mounted on Belnoir and followed by his lackey, he galloped away in the best of spirits.

At the Château de Ronne an enthusiastic welcome awaited him. He was very happy to see them all again, but it was Madeleine he sought out for a moment alone.

"No marriage plans have been made for you?" he asked anxiously.

"I told you I would wait quite a while," she said.

"Then I have some to propose."

"In that case, I have waited long enough," said Madeleine, giving him a radiant smile.

Raoul and Charles never wearied of hearing Armand's tales of his exploits during the more than a year and a half he had been away. And the Marquise, more content than he had ever known her, was gentle and kind. In early May, Armand and Madeleine were married, with Julie and Catherine as bridesmaids. The new "Charlefont" was ready for them with a staff of servants, many of whom were from the Château de Ronne, including, of course, Brusquet. First of all, Armand took Madeleine to Paris.

"You will not like it," he told her, "except for the river, the theaters, and the Cathedral of Notre Dame. But every girl should see Paris at least once."

It was while they were there that the church bells of the whole city tolled solemnly for the death of Louis XIII. Armand, pausing to listen to them, thought of how much he owed to that frail monarch, dead at forty-two, who had been so proud that his people called him "Louis the Just." And even as the bells tolled, the city rang with the shouts of _Vive le Roi!_ to usher in the reign of a five-year-old boy—the new King, Louis XIV.

#

_AUTHOR'S NOTE_

The dates of historical facts either mentioned or implied in this story are accurate with the exception of three: Cyrano de Bergerac's affair with the hundred men at the Porte de Nesle did not occur until 1643, and his banishment of Montfleury from the stage of the Hôtel de Bourgogne until 1646; D'Artagnan, though a lieutenant in the King's Musketeers, did not become captain until some years after the beginning of the reign of Louis XIV.

EDITOR'S NOTE (2013)

Most of the people mentioned in this story, apart from the main characters, their families and servants, were real, although some of them are better known through the portrayals of them in other fiction and movies. Extensive information about them, with more pictures, can be found on the Internet.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mildred Butler Engdahl, who published under her maiden name Mildred Allen Butler, was the mother of writer Sylvia Engdahl. She had a B.A. from Wellesley College and an M.A. in Drama from the University of Oregon, and had worked both as a high school English teacher and as a director of community theaters. Late in her life she wrote several historical books for teens as well as articles for scholarly magazines. She died in 1987 at the age of ninety.

OTHER EBOOK EDITIONS BY MILDRED ALLEN BUTLER

### Twice Queen of France: Anne of Brittany

(Biography)

Anne of Brittany was only 12 when, in 1488, she became its Duchess, but already she was among the best-educated women of her era and she was determined to preserve the duchy's independence. At 15 she averted takeover by France when she married its king, Charles VIII, and after he died she married his successor, Louis XII, becoming the only person ever twice crowned Queen of France.

### The Disobedient Queen: Katherine of Valois

(Biography)

Katherine of Valois, born a French princess, was the wife of King Henry V of England, the mother of Henry VI, and ultimately the grandmother of Henry VII, the first Tudor king. In view of the current widespread interest in the Tudors, young adult readers will be fascinated by the story of the widowed Queen who fell in love with—and secretly married—the commoner who gave that dynasty its name.

### Actress in Spite of Herself: The Life of Anna Cora Mowatt

(Biography)

Anna Cora Mowatt, married in 1834 at age 15, lived in luxury until her husband's health failed and he lost his money, forcing her to find a way to support them. She was the first woman to give public poetry readings; she wrote the first social satire for the stage; and, having become a star overnight without previous acting experience, she was the first American to make acting a respectable profession for women—proving that a lady could be an actress and an actress a lady.

### Ward of the Sun King

(Fiction)

Adrienne is happy to become a ward of King Louis XIV of France and attend the school for girls established by his wife. But when the school's rules change, she flees with the help of her cousin Pierre (the grandson of Armand in _Rapier for Revenge_ ) and hides in the palace of Versailles, disguised as a page boy, until the two escape—only to be accidentally separated. Not knowing if he is alive, she soon must make a decision about her future.

