Chapter XII: The Moth and the Candle

Remembering the injunctions of the Countess, I avoided the elaborately-carved Porte Cochère, under which a few of the Comte de Treville's musketeers were loitering--so publicly and in defiance of all scandal did Louis XIII. honour this lady with his favour; and dismissing the fiacre at an angle of the road, I made a detour among the trees of the lawn, and reached unseen the little private postern door, which was hidden in a corner of the château, between a broad round tower and a mass of clematis, that overhung a species of bastion projecting into the fosse. The latter was now drained and covered with the smoothest turf. Here I rang a bell, and on being admitted by Antoine, was at once conducted by a private staircase to the apartments of the Countess.

Antoine ushered me into a reception-room, which had hangings of violet-coloured silk, starred with silver, and furniture of walnut-wood, exquisitely carved. Through an arch, festooned with yellow brocade on one side, I saw the sleeping apartment of the Countess, and it was worthy of her beauty. The bed was of richly-carved wood; the curtains were of rose-coloured velvet, and at the head was framed in oak a curious Flemish painting of the loves of Vertumnus and Pomona, taken from Ovid.

On the other side an archway, also festooned with yellow brocade, revealed an antechamber, hung with saffron-coloured damask, and on an ebony table a magnificent ruby-coloured Bohemian dessert-service, all pencilled in gold; dishes of silver piled with fruit, and vases and flasks of wine in iced coolers were arranged for a repast.

'The devil!' thought I; 'this is unlucky: madame expects some one, for here is a dessert of love apples and wine of Artois!'

I observed myself in an opposite mirror, and was struck by the splendour of my own appearance in the uniform of the guard; but my brows were knit, and I said aloud--

'Absurd;--is this jealousy?'

'I hope not, my dear M. Blane, for love alone enters here,' said a soft voice; and turning, I saw Madame d'Amboise, in a robe of blue powdered with gold fleurs de lis, and looking so lovely that I was almost bewildered, when kissing her white hand, which was smooth as the finest velvet; then she smiled with that unmistakable air of pleasure and coquetry, which always lights up the countenance of a charming woman at the effect produced by her own beauty. Her invariable attendant, the delicate girl with the golden hair, withdrew abruptly as we met.

My first inquiry was for the Chevalier d'Ische, her brother.

'Oh! he is almost well, and is quite able to walk; but you--oh, you are so welcome, M. Blane! and you charm me by this visit. I was longing so much to hear the sound of your voice again. I see you will make it your duty to please me.'

'Could I but hope to succeed.'

'Let not your heart fail.'

'It fails already, madame.'

'Because I am half in love with you.'

'Only half?' she exclaimed, merrily; 'oh, fie, M. Blane!'

'I dare not be more, madam,' I sighed, with a strange mixture of fear, admiration, and perplexity; 'your beauty awes me.'

'You will become used to it in time; alas! it is the fate of beauty. Come hither,' said she, motioning me to a seat beside her on the down fauteuil, and smiling brilliantly, with a gratification that she cared not to conceal. 'Look at these brilliants,' she added, opening a scarlet case; 'they were brought to me this morning.'

'From Paris?'

'Jealous again! From the Louvre, by M. Boizenval.'

'The King's valet?'

'Yes; and he announced that the King might visit me to-day, hence this collation, towards which your eyes wander so suspiciously. Oh, poor jealous M. Arthur; but what think you of this necklace?'

'It would grace the neck of Anne of Austria; but you, madame, require no aid from ornament.'

'Little fellow, you flatter me already! I have promised M. Poussin, the painter, a sitting to-day; do you think that with these jewels and with this dress I shall make a good picture?'

'Madame, you would make a divine picture in any dress,' said I, carried away by the impulse of the moment.

'Mon Dieu, my boy, what a lover you will make! Who among the Garde du Corps Ecossais will be like you?'

As I had now come to push my fortune in France and in Paris, that place of vague and doubtful morality, I had--fortunately for myself--at memory all the dialogues, proverbs, and 'metrical graces' of the _French Schoole Maister_, published at Edinburgh in 1632; and drew my ideas of continental morals from that small thick volume the _Histoire de Palmerin d'Olive, Fils du Roy Florendos_, translated from Castilian into French by Jean Maugin, _Paris, par Galliot du Pre_, 1573: thus I was never without a ready answer whenever the Countess threw down the glove. Moreover, I was young, and knew little of the world; thus her great beauty and brilliance of manner really dazzled me; and when I bent my eyes upon her, I am ashamed to say, that it was, perhaps, with more of an imploring expression than ever filled them when I attempted to pray; but I soon forgot to do even that in Paris.

After some conversation of a half-bantering and half-complimentary nature, with a strong tinge of love-making running through it all, I begged that she would give me a little relic to wear, as a remembrance of one who had been so kind to me. Taking from the drawer of a buhl table a charming miniature of herself, set in gold, she threw its ribbon round my neck, saying in a whisper close to my ear, very close indeed,--

'Wear this for my sake--it is the work of Nicholas Poussin, and the gift of a king. See his initial L, and a crown in diamonds, are on the back. It may prove a talisman should you ever get into trouble; for, alas! the court of France is surrounded by pitfalls and snares, by lures and assassinations.'

'Ah, madame, that I might always be near you.'

'Why that wish?'

'Forgive me,' said I, kissing the miniature, and placing it in my breast; 'but I feel myself attracted towards you by an irresistible fatality, like--'

'Like what, mon bien amie?'

'Like a poor moth towards the light, which is to consume and destroy it!' said I, with more real pathos and feeling than the object of this emotion merited.

'A terrible simile! then, M. Arthur, you love me _wholly_ now?'

'Oh, Madame la Comtesse, you know not how devotedly.'

'Have you nothing better to tell me than all this farrago?' she asked coquettishly.

'Could I tell you ought that was more interesting?' said I, dropping my cheek upon her soft white shoulder.

'Interesting, mon Dieu! to yourself, perhaps.'

'And to you, too, dearest Countess; for you love me in return, I know that you do.'

'Well, perhaps I do love you a little; but remember that my love is like fortune.'

'How?'

'Fickle.'

'Alas! do not say so,' said I, clasping her waist. 'Do you remember a promise you made me?'

'A promise?' she reiterated, casting down her long lashes, 'I do not remember; what was it?'

'That you would give me one of your garters to wear, as M. de Chatillon wears that of Mademoiselle de Guerchi round his sword-arm.'

'Yes; but, my poor boy, it would bring you to the wheel, perhaps.'

At that moment while my heart beat like lightning, and a flame seemed before my eyes, the thick arras was hastily drawn aside, and the visage of Antoine--the discreet Antoine--appeared, with the greatest alarm depicted thereon; his eyes were arched to the roots of his hair.

'O Madame la Comtesse,' he exclaimed; 'le Roi! place pour sa Majesté le Roi!'

We sprang from the fauteuil in consternation.

'Enter here,' said the Countess, opening the heavy-carved door of a dark Flemish cabinet; 'quick, quick, M. Arthur.'

'Ah, Countess, if the King becomes tender!' said I.

'Well, what then?'

'I may not be able to control my anger.'

'What! you will re-enact Ravaillac here, and make my old cabinet historical, like the house of M. Pontrain, the Notary, in the Ferronerie,' said she, laughing; 'bah! you silly boy: Louis XIII. tender! Mon Dieu, there is no danger of that. In, in; there are times, like this, when one's dearest friends become, like his Majesty, a decided bore!' and pushing me in with her pretty hands, she locked the door, at which, to my great alarm, her little devil of a dog continued to snuff and snort for a time.