THE DDCHESS’S RED ROSE.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXVI, Issue 14234, 3 December 1906, Page 10

THE DDCHESS’S RED ROSE.

(By G. E. BULL.) [All Rights Reserved.^ CHAPTER’ I. “ Duchess 1” “ Madame 1” The agitated Duchess de la Sacque bent ' gracefully over the queen-mo-ther’s hand, and in that moment she regained the command of her features. There was a conscious pause while the queen’s shrewd dark eyes travelled over the terraced garden down to the fair banks of the Loire. But the beauty of the scene, the fantastic magnificence of the Chateau of Blois failed to appeal to the Italian. To her it was a prison where she was detained against her will far from Paris, the very Sphinx of jntrigue, and at that time a perfect hotbed of heretic proclivities. “ You have heard the news, Duchess?” There was a hard, sharp ring in the queen’s voice which foreboded trouble, and the duchess had not sorted a Medici for ten years in vain._ “ Yes, madam,” she assented quickly, Was not the little grey-roofed town of Blois, which lay huddled under the shelter of the great chateau, pulsating with the intelligence that the six famous brothers, clad in the crimson. of their house, had that morning clanked through the sleepy, sombre streets of the Maison de Guise? Tiiey had dismounted to refresh themselves, but every succeeding hour was marked by the advent of a courier, hastening to prepare quarters for the great duke, and his scarcely lees famous brother, the cardinal, in the precincts of the chateau itself. The eagles of Lorraine had come to torment their prey, and that prey was of the highest in.the realm, the queen-mother and her son, his most Christian and most impotent Majesty, King Francis 11. The queen struck the arm of her high gilt chair violently. “ And yet you can repeat nothing but ‘ madam,’ yes madam—like a parrot, or a puling cliild,” she shrieked violently. “By my faith, things have come to a pretty pass, when I, the nieoe of a Pope, the mother of four Valois, and the widow of his illustrious Majesty King Henry 11., am kept cooped up, helpless, surrounded by women and knaves—cowards all!”

The lashing contempt in her voice stung the listening woman by her side, in whose veins ran some of the purest blood in France.

“Madam!” said she, too haughty to expostulate or reproach, “ you have only to command.” The queen rose and paced the terrace like some graceful, imprisoned tigress. Her passion had again burnt out, and she was once more herself, cold, calculating, alert. “ 1 wonder if that is indeed so,” she mused. But she had already, with the swiftness' of a masterly mind, realised the possible, if perilous, path to save herself from danger! Peril never daunted Catherine, especially when the chief risk was to another.

“ No,” was the almost gentle answer, “ you at least have served me faithfully. Diana.” The duchess raised her head quickly. She had served her apprenticeship in a stern school, and was only a degree less clever than her mistress. She knew Catherine’s maxim, “Flatter none but your enemies.” Had the queen at length come to distrust her, too? Were ton years of faithful service to count as nothing, or were the foolish intrigues of her husband at length to meet with their just punishment?.

“You have no worse intelligence, I hope, madam?” The duchess was a born actress; there was not a tinge of personal anxiety in her even, courteous voice. “ Worse! Yes, indeed, miserable that I am! The duke was fortunate enough to reach the gate of Blots at the Very same moment as, the Duke of Conde’s messenger, and his letters to me are doubtless now against Duke Francis’s breast.”

In spite of herself the duchess’s ruddy lips grew white. She moistened them furtively. “And those letters, madam? Were they of importance?” “ Importance, child! Maladetta Maria! you weary me. Are you not aware that the prince is the leader of the cursed enemies of our old faith, that Francis de Guise has sworn to extirpate heresy at a blow, that these letteis will convict me of intriguing with the heretics, and will be a tool in the hands of that soldier, that priest and that girl!” Her words of biting scorn left Diana no doubt but that the queen referred to Francis and Charles Lorraine, and to the bitterest of all her enemies, Mary" Stuart. Diana never spoke, she would have been a brave woman who offered Catherine de Mcdicis any mawkish sympathy. “ And,” continued Catherine sweetly, “of course, the Duke d© la Sacqne is concerned also. You would not have been doubting that, madam. His slim finger is delicately implicated in every conspiracy, and I vastly fear that this mav mean his death.” The roses upon Diana’s bosom stirred, and the queen’s eyes were fixed upon those .same roses with a strange gleam. “No. no, madam,” said.the duchess persuasively., “There must be some remedy.” “ If we can obtain the despatches,” replied Catherine between her teeth, “if not, Dieu grace! I cannot save the duke.”

There was a long silence, and for a moment Catherine feared that she was playing a losing game,; such called forth all her Machiavellian skill. “Ma!” she exclaimed in Italian, “I suppose non© can blame you. Few women would move to save a faithless husband.”

Diana flushed, and Catherine, as she cruelly measured the tool she had resolved to use. could not help marvelling at the dignity of the woman she had wounded. No wonder the whole court was intoxicated by the warm subtle beauty of La Sacquo, although she was thirty, and blessed with the most insignicant and vacillating ofi husbands, oven ■ the fair, youthful charm of Mary Stuart was thrown into the shade. Catherine, who seldom admired a woman, was struck-by the irresistible attractiveness of the duchess. The carmine of her cheeks enhanced the ivory' of brow and teeth, and the chestnut curls upon neck and brow wore as lovers’ dreams. Her every movement was gracious and pleasing. Her pearl grey dress rustled soothingly, and the scent of the roses at her breast seemed a part of her own personality, fragrant— intoxicating—elusive. The duchess had a rare gift—the diguitv of silence. , “You have only to command me. madam,” she repeated in her usual crisp, low voice. “I am completely at vour service.” Catherine tapped her small foot and examined her well-formed hand, both alike renowned throughout Europe. Could Guise display those Tetters, his bold over her son would be secure indeed. her own influence would he wrecked, and the house of Lorraine a notable step nearer tlie.crowp of the Carlovingians. ’ There was a stir in. the distant courtyard. The clatter of houses’ hoofs had reached both women. They knew what it portended. . . “The duke has arrived,” Catherine remarked calmly. “Madam! Madam!” cried the duchess, stirred at length to the depths, “as yon are a woman, tell me what to do.” ! Once more the Medici strategy had “ You are very charming, duchess,’' saidj the queen-mother,' not, however, in the voice of one who compliments, ■“but what of beautyif we cannot use it?. It was said at one time, need-1 recall it to you, that Francis do Guise would have given his sword to make you his wife.” • The duchess’s, breath oamo quickly. “ Ah, madam,” cried she, the carmine vanished from her cheeks, “ but you do me too much honour, but—but what of it?” - ■ , The queen bent forward until she almost touched her maid-of-bonour’s ear. She daintily fingered the Duchess s roses. . “Ah! no, madam, not that!’ cried Diana, as one in pain. The queen, laughed unpleasantly and shrugged her shoulders. “Eh bien,” she said; “no matter—but the duke’s head falls.” Diana turned, her face livid but resolute. _ » “ As you will, madam,” she answered steadily. “ I will do it.” “In that case,” said the queen in her ordinary voice, “see that my perfumer is accorded an audience.” CHAPTER 11. In-the soft candlelight the duchess was even more enchantingly beautiful. The Duke of Guise bent over her hand vnui a more courtly reverence than he ever vouchsafed to the Florentine Queen. “ You sent for me, madam?” “ Certainly,” answered the duchess merrily; “would you have me slow to welcome an old friend, monseigneur?” “ Nay, madam,” was the gallant reply, “ you are too radiantly young for such a thing to chance.” “ Ah, Francis, Francis!” she motioned him to a seat beside her; “ you were always a good hand at compliments.” He shook his bead slightly in answer to her inviting gesture. “ Such a pleasure cannot he mine to-night. The king has summoned an extraordinary council, and a soldier’s first duty is to obey.” “And above all you are a soldier, monseigneur?” “And your servant, madam.” ho answered with a low bow. His hand was moving restlessly to and from the hilt of his sword. Though his doublet was richly embroidered, and his short coat of the costliest velvet, his pale, scarred face, his tall, spare figure, looked sinister and exotic in the rosy light of the duchess’s dainty boudoir.

“ Sir,” said Diana, with the most enchanting suspicion of a pout. “This is strange behaviour in a lady’s presence.”

The duke’s eyes followed Diana’s and he Unshed to find himself convicted of a gaueherie. “ Ah, pardon, madam,” he exclaimed, “but in these days of danger, when most heads are shaking and many falling, one’s hand must never bo far from the sword.” He remembered how loyal a friend, how trustworthy amidst a court of intrigue, he had always found this woman, and a rare confidential mood took possession of him. “ The Duke of Conde,” ho said “has sworn to have my head, and I ”

“ And you have sworn to have the Prince of Conde’s.”

“Perhaps,” ho answered, with a grim, inscrutable smile. “ One should not bo slow to return a courtesy.” “ And with such pregnant duties of State every demand of friendship is forgotten,” murmured the duchess reproachfully. “ You cannot spare a moment ”

“ For a soldier, duchess, the only safe course is to forget everything but the present.” “Ah, monseigneur, but to a woman that brings pain—but—if you must go ” waits, madam—and I am

torn two ways—ah, incomparable Diana!” Sho stopped him -with a gesture, one knew that he had really lovcd_ her, and it was agony enough to see him on his knees beside her, she could not bear }ii,s protestations. . “Then,” said she, gaily, leaning forward, “ I must give you something by which to remember.” She drew a rose from the cluster at her breast. A rare smile illumined the duke’s stern face. . “ Ah, madam,” said he, with the ex-travao-ant gallantry of his times, which did not ill-become him, “you too much honour the poor soldier’s doublet. He was only conscious of the powerful sweetness -of the flower, of the proximity of her hands, then the looni began to move, and he felt hnnself sinking—sinking—sinking. An! the subtle devilry of Italian art far surpassing the marvels of modern amesthetics! . Witli extraordinary swiftness the duchess drew a packet from the duke s breast sealed with the seal of the House of Bourbon, counter-sealed with that of the House of Lorraine. Only in the privacy of her own chamber and with quivering hands did Diana break the seals; then, with a cry of despair she fell upon her bedfar she had been duped in her turn—■ the paper® ware blank. The duchess passed a sleepless night. In the morning her woman when she drew back the curtains thought at first that she looked upon a dead face. “Madam, how ill you look!” stammered the serving-woman. “Here is an important note from his Grace of Guise. I would not have disturbed you hut the courier said his master had given orders that it was to be delivered the moment you awakened.” The duchess seized the letter without a word. It was written in a shaky hand on the finest paper, and ran as follows: — “ I am desolated that I cannot wait upon you this rimming, but that absurd Pare says riiy wine proved too strong for me last night. The knave! A Guise would always anticipate a lady’s wishes. The despatches were destroyed before we met last night. I cannot understand your anxiety—for your husband was not implicated, but I. can admire your courage, and as always trust your honour. Ah, madam, if you would seek another service !, Intrigue is not for women.—F. de Guise.” •

“ Ah !” sighed, the duchess, with an April'smile: “This is worth the failure.”.

But Catherine de Medici lost her most, faithful maid-of-lionour.