A STORMY BRIDAL

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1682, 25 May 1904, Page 8

A STORMY BRIDAL

(By Joseph Hatton.)

In the stormiest days of Cardinal Maza. rin his avarice dominated liis policy, as it alfways had done. Otherwise this story would not have been possible. "VV itk one eye on the wealth and estate of the heires® of Altamont, and the other upon th*o s&ferty of tli© throne, he lioxf separated, at the very altar. Mademoisel1© Beiiriette de la Fere from her lover, the Count Mauray, made Henrietta a ward of the Church, and elected himself her guardian and the custodian ot her estates. If he lacked Ms predecessor s genius, Mazarin, with the Queen as much his puppet as the King had been m the hands of Richelieu, wielded a no less despotio power. While he had sent Henrietta from Pains to Altamont after the interrupted ceremony of her marriage, he had seized Mauray and confined Mm in the Bastille. Altamont was a castellated chateau that had more than once stood a siege. It was of some importance that the French Government of the time should hold it against possible attack of the enemy; but Mazarin looked more.to the possession of the vast estates that belonged to it and to the treasure it com tained than to the safety of his adopted country. When he compelled Henriette, the orphan heiress of Altamont, to return home, he in effect made her a. prisoner in her own house, and appointed as her steward and the trustee of the Jnterests of the Obureh a confidential creature of his own, Joseph Brissot, who, though a hunchback, was a man of powerful physique, and. apart from his deformity, not without • a certain distinction of countenance. *, Above everything, he was incorruptible, justifying in very truth his Christian name—at least, so Mazarin believed; but Brissot knew how to disguise his passionate sensuality £™ 1U Mazarin. With these two it was diamond cut diamond.” Just before dawn, one P leasaa f fJI.Jf mer morning, Louise, the d of the heiress, Henriette de a je terrace ed the window that gave upon °' th f ® "I sulpha 1 mist have fallen asleep, tat ifTmowe had stirred I should hare D vL J What a lovely morning! Oh, if We were only as beautiful! Sfirely fiod meant it to be so Yet He has given ScSdinal Mazarin that odious Brissot, and the Duke of Y al ? x !! Louise leant against the massive win-dow-post as she went on communing with hG “Nighlt and day we watch and he does not oome. Yet Heneri, that foolish sergeant of the guard, whispering Hove and hope in my ear, says— The Count has

escaped; Ret our dear lady Henrietta never despair/ And for my lady s sake it have permitted Ms embraces and professed to adore Mm—wretch that I am! TJie turning of a toy a-nd the rustle oi a dress broke in upon the maid's reverie. ''The wountess, to relieve me, she said, and- withdrew a heavy curtain to admit her mistress. - , , ... They called her Countess at Altamont, Henriette -maintaining that though the ceremony of marriage had been stopped by force she was in the eyes of Heaven Count Mauray's wife; so we shall call her Countess too—a young woman of undeniable grace, and beauty. “Ah, Jbouise, my faithful sentinel! she exclaimed, enfolding the maid in. her arms. “No tidings yet ?” “None. But surely you have news, you look so joyous?” "My dreams have been happy, the Countess replied, going out upon the terrace, and then suddenly withdrawing into the room. ‘‘There is someone in the copse below.” she whispered. “How my heart beats! It is as I dreamt. Look, look, Louise!” Louise cautiously peers forth, the Countess at her elbow. Then, suddenly, the Countess advances, exclaiming, in an agitated whisper and waving her handkerchief, “It is the Count!” “Heaven bless my foolish officer of the guard!” says Louise; “he has- slept at his post/' “To the doors, Louise/' says the Countess, now alert and firm. Louise locks one door, draws the portiere over another, and, touching a button, opens the panelled entrance to a chamber already prepared for a guest. The next moment Henrietta is in the arms of her betrothed. They have little time- for love-making. The Count briefly speaks of the manner of his escape, Henriette tells him how she is beset by the Duke of Valois, whom the Cardinal has destined for her husiband. and who, in years gone by, has looked to Altamont with as greedy an eye as Mazarin. The Cardinal had Btruck a bargain with the Duke on the consummation of his projected marriage with Henrietta, and his Grace had taken up his quarters at the adjacent village of Lecon that he might pursue his suit, and also assist the Cardinal's men in their rigid surveillance of the castle. The Countess had also to relate how she was beset with spies; how Brissot, the Cardinal's creature, dogged her footsteps when she walked in the park; how his men were posted here and there, as if to prevent her escaping from the castle, or to oppose the entrance of any friendly i succour. “Come, madame," says Louisa, discreetly on the watch; ‘'“'there arg loos ceps in the corridor.” The lovers follow her, and the door closes behind 1 them. 11. An hour or so later Madame Rlquetti enters the salon where the previous incidents have taken place, showing in the Duke of Valois. Now, Madame Riquetti, the housekeeper, is supposed to be fal'chfuTto the Countess'; but she has fallen from her allegiance before the. bribes of the Duke. “You are impatient,” ©he says. ‘What you tell me is not calculated to keep me cool.” “But surely you do not fear the rivalry of that miserable hunchback, Brissot?” . “I fear everything!” - “If the Countess had an. idea that Bris 1 - sot dared to look upon her. except from the lowliest position of a servant, she would have him shoe. . . . And yec it is strange that he is so often closeted with her. A matter of accounts, she says. But ■" “Mon Dieu! Stop!” exclaimed Valois. “I will see hex 4 at once.” “That is impossible; but I swear that you shall see her to-morrow, and that ■without any chance of interruption. . . Listen l I have inflamed Brissot to persevere in his suit —to use violence, if necessary. If the Count is not dead' she begins to fear he is; and he certainly is not legally her husband* By some indiscretion of Brissot my hope and plan is that she may need a protector. . . . Then, my lord, is your opportunity. And I will make the opportunity for you!” Madame Riquetti has hardly jdismi&sed the Duke when Brissot enters with many papers in his hands. . He pretends to be reading one of them, but as he goes to the table where he is in the habit of entering into business conferences with the Countess he is examining the wily housekeeper. Again it is “diamond cut diamond I .*' “You were speaking with someone?” “And why not?” is the quick reply. “You thought I had gone into the village?” “I saw you go/' says madame. 'You watched me?” rr You interest me so much/' She replied. looking him fearlessly in the face. “Indeed?” said Brissot. somewhat embarrassed at her defiant expression; then suddenly changes the subject. , “Have you heard that the Count has escaped ?” “To a better world?” is the cynical, interrogatory reply of Madam,© RLque'tti. “From the Bastille.” “Have they murdered l him so soon P” “If it were possible that you harboured him/' said Brissot, taking a step nearer and frowning upon" her, “you would be tortured to death—burnt alive!” Madame shrank back trembling, but preserving something of her defiant attitude. “Harbour him! Are you mad?” . » 'You can be bribed/' • “By you, yes; but you know- how I resisted?” . - , . . . ... , “Very well." he said, taking her hand, kissing it, and filling it with the heaviest bribe he had yet bestowed upon her. Between the Duke and Brissot ©be was doing very well. By-and-by she might be able to buy her son's advancement in the Arany. " ‘Am I mad/ you say. I think I am. My love devours me; my hopes and fears torture me.” ‘'Then rid yourself of both I Have the courage of your passion!” “To be denied, and lose even the privi-

lege of a servant?” he exclaims. “I have never loved till now!”

“Really? You belie vour reputation.” “Cease, woman! I am ber slave, her champion. 1 would die for her!” “Then tell her so. She needs a protector, and you have proved an able adviser. Tell her for certain the Count is dead. Offer her the devotion of a life'— freedom from Mazarin. Fling yourself at her feet. She cannot love you; who can ?”

Brissot groans, and raises his hand as if he would lift Ms body with it; but the ugly liunch is immovable.

“Yet sue may be impressed by your devotion/' continues his tormentor. “She on'en speaks to me about the comfort you are to her; how she values your judgment; and, though she hates the Cardinal, she says how good it was of him to place you at the head of hen establishment.”

“You give me heart. I will be advised by you. But tell me who 'twas you talked with just now. I would prove your faith.”

“Then 'twas the Duke; and that “s why 1 urge you to advance your suit. I put him off for your sake. He would have bribed me. I spurned his filthy gold, for I am yours, Brissot, yours till death. 1 have sworn it!”

‘‘My dearest friend!” he exclaims, and kisses her hand again. “Au revoir!” she says, with a fawning smile, and curtseys to the Countess, with whom Brissot lias asked an interview on important matters connected with the household.

All being quiet, Brissot closes the only window that is open, and begins the siege his supposed friend, Madame Kiquetti, has advised. It would only unduly postpone the readers interest in the denouement to relate in detail the scone of passion on both, sides. Brissot begins with professions of tender interest in the Countess's welfare. *me receives his professions of devotion with a calmness that urges him to back up Ms pretensions with a declaration of his love, at which she is roused to a passion of indignation. Passion on both sides; love and lust on one, indignation and disgust on the other. Better deiaith a thousand times than such a mate as he! He warns her that love may turn to hate; that she is in hia power; that a word from him and the Count, may be strangled in liis dungeon. She rebukes Mm again and again,, with bitterness and defiance. He retorts with a snarl, and taunts her with the suit of the Duke of Valois. The Duke is at hand lie says, and she knows it. He will inform her of the Count's death; but he (Brissot) knows that lie lives, and where hands may be laid upon him at any minute. . . This is “a feeler,” in case the Count may have escaped, as at one time Brissot had feared. The Countess is visibly moved and anxious at this suggestion of the Count's escape and succour. Brissot notes Henriette's change of colour to a deadly paleness. lie follows up his advantage by lowering his voice to a whisper and declaring that he knows the Count has escaped, and where he is concealed. Now greatly alarmed for the Count's safety, ana fearing .that her secret is known, the Countess softens her manner towards Brissot, asks Mm to be her friend, to be content with that generous relationship. But this only inflames Brissot the more, and presently, losing all control of himself, lie seizes her hand and attempts to embrace lien whereupon she cri.o3 aloua, “Help!'' Brissot has no more than advanced liis arm towards her than he is hurled to the ground, and Henrietta is in the arms of lior lover. Brissot gathers himself together, draws upon the Count, and Henrietta screams aloud. “Hush, hush, my darling!” urges the Count, as he deftly parries Brissot's thrusts. “Don't alarm the house.” “Traitor! Villian! Coward!” hisses Brissot, pressing him hard, but getting a sudden check that gives Mm pause. The Count, soothing Henrietta with reassuring words, gently pushes, her aside and stands free for Brissot’s next attack. It is of brief duration. Brissot comes at him with a ferocity that lays him open, an easy victim for a skilled swordsman. A dexterous feint on the part of liis adversary and Brissot falls and expires almost without a groan. The Countess covers l.er eyes and staggers to a chair. The Count raises her and conducts her to the door.

“Go, my darling. Be wary; all will be well. I will join you almost immediately/' The Count examines every exit, bars one and closes another. Then, stooping over the body to see that life is really extinct, lie remarks in a bantering tone that he may well be forgiven, under the circumstances, for impersonating his enemy. “My friend, I will pay you the compliment of borrowing something of your vile image for a time.” Upon which he takes off Brissot’s cloak, pulls off his own, drags off Brissot's boots, removes the cross that hangs about his limp neck, and proceeds to exchange apparel, with the corpse. In the midst of this grim occupation he thinks he hears someone approaching the door that is generally used by visitors. “Pray Heaven it be the Duke ” he says, “since I have waded in so far.” He listens. “No, it is nothing.” Then one© more attacking the body, he removes another article of clothing, and ventures to thank God that Brissot’s ooat has. a very convenient hood. ''Come, miserable coward!” be Msses, proceeding to remove the body—“presuming, hunchbacked villain! Let me give you quick if not decent burial. Where shall I bestow you ? Louise will tell me. MeanwMle, to hide him 1” 111. The local fete day of the pretty village of Lecon wa<s a day of surprises. Only some half-mile or so from the Castle of Altamont, the Lion Rouge, in its one narrow street, was naturally more or less busy since the military surveillance which Mazarin had deemed necessary for the protection of his and the Church's ward—na check upon any combination of Count Mauray’s friends, and a guarantee

generally for the safety of Altamont and its treasures, a large moiety of which he intended to.make his own. On this day of surprises an unusually distinguished-looking company was assembled in the porch and around the small space of street upon which the landlord of the popular inn could set out liis tables. His company of late had made a point of enacting the epilogue to their religious services in the adjacent chapel with a plentiful supply of wine, which loosened their tongues and brightened their conversation. Among them on occasion, some four or five days after the death of the infamous Brissot (a secret well kept by the Count's assumption of the role of the hunchback), was Father Benoni, priest and warrior, and confidential officer and attendant of the Cardinal. He had been sent down by Mazarin to spy out the land. Benoni professed to be a traveller on his way to the frontier, and tha guests of the Lion Rouge were interested in his news andi gossip of Paris. Taciturn as a rule. Bononi maintained his disguise by beine excessively talkative. He wore the sober suit of a traveller beneath his cloak, though it was observed that the hilt of his sword was rich with gems, and his spurs: such as might have been worn by a prince. Benoni with court-like grace, obtained permission to command a number of bottles of the best wine in the cellars of the Lion and the company was very jovial. Tim guests, however, paused in tlieir tam and nose' gallantly to their feet to salute the Countess Henrietta and her maids as they appeared upon the scene with an escort of Guards. They had been attending a service specially appointed for the day. The Lion Rouge company remained standing until the little procesL sion disappeared into the open space at the end of the narrow street, where the Altamont coaches were awaiting the Count, and where the horses of the escort had been tethered. Then tile chat and gossip, the quip and jest of the group outside the tavern was resumed with zest, ana much of it naturally was concerned with the beautiful heiress of Altamiont an<T her affairs, which seemed to be common property. “An imposing escort,” remarked one. “Count Mauray has friends not far away/' said another. “The friends are no good without the Count,” said a third, “and he is either in the Bastille or the grave. Ihe Cardinal little dreams what use the Duke of Valois will make of the wealth of Altamont and the power when once he is their master.” Benoni proceeded to "draw” the last speaker, who was a calm, strong-looking man in a somewhat nondescript attire. 'You interest me/' said Benoni. “I have heard the Duke suspected of being no great friend of the Cardinal, but I have always stoutly defended him.” 'Ye are a friend of the Duke, eh ?” was th.o reply. '“My name is Hanriot,” said Benoni—“Hanriot of the Rue Royale, Tours. May I have the honour and privilege to know whom I am addressing?” “Caroux—Francois Caroux, at your service,” said the stranger, making Benoni a profound bow. 'Your servant/' said Benoni, in response; and then remarking, with a nod—“ The Cardinal does not know everything.” “That’s true, monsieur. He is not the onlyTover of the Queen/' “Treason, my friend, treason!” replied Benoni, but with an expression of approval rather than of dissent.

“Then treason is common, especially in Lecon and at Altamont/' “Is it possible that the Cardinal has a rival in the Duke of Valois? Between

ourselves” —Benoni lowered his voice— 4 “I would rejoice to see the Cardinal checkmated.”

“l have no feeling either way/' answered Monsieur; '‘but one has ears to iiear.” ‘‘What, then, can make the Cardinal 8© anxious for the alliance of Valois with, the lady of Altamont?” “Because,” said Caroux, dropping voice, “the Cardinal is being fooled by the Duke, even into treaty-making. Come to me presently at the back of the church, and we*will confer. I know you. Father Benoni, and am your servant to command.” Then, speaking aloud, ha said —“But here comes his Excellency of Valois. Ask the Duke himself.” 'Who, honours me by desiring to ask my opinion,” said Valois, joining the group in his finest uniform, and with a more than usual swagger in Ms gait. “I had the effrontery, most illustrious, to wonder if—well—if his Eminence Cardinal Mazarin is as shrewd as he thinks or as popular as lie would desire.” “And you address your enigma to me?” “With all respect, your name was menu tioned,” said Benoni. '‘as one of the Cardinal's cliief friends.” “And on which side, monsieur, doea the Cardinal count your distinguished services?” said the Duke, with a cynical curl of his lip. “And who are you. Monsieur Sobriety?” The Duke smiled upon his friends as he returned their salutes and took a seat and the lvine that, at a signal, was poured out for him with proper obsequiousness by the landlord. “The Cardinal has no need of the services of so humble a citizen, my lord. I am Monsieur Hanriot, of Tours, & traveller, and your most humble servant.” “Young, monsieur/' replied the Duke. “We are loyal servants of the King—may we count you.the same?” “Of the King and Queen/' Benoni replied. "And if I may be so bold as bo speak my mind, or the sentiment that the Lion Rouge's wine lets loose upon my tongue, to perdition with the Cardinal!' “You are a bold man,” said the Duke. “A simple one.” wasi Benoni's reply. “Maybe,” said the Duke. And at this juncture there was a little stir of evident curiosity at the coming of a stranger, which closed the conversation, started by Benoni, and which might have ended to his disadvantage. _ “I was indiscreet,” he said to himself; “but p. quick shot, though somewhat at random, sometimes finds its mark. I have my cue without further investigation, and thank Heaven and th© Cardinal for the company of musketeers in ambush.” It was the hunchback, Joseph Brissot, who had attracted the attention of the travellers. He came limping down the street, staff in hand, his face bent upon the ground. The reader need not be told that the man they took for Brissot was the Count. The remains of Brissot was already beginning gradually to disappear in quicklime beneath a convenient floor of the castle where Ms unholy ambition and Ms treason to the Cardinal had found their grim goal. The Count deemed it wise to reconnoitre the village, and the more so as he had reason to fear that one of the Attain out servants, who seemed to have penetrated the Count's disguise, was not tru® to the interests of the Countess. By way of precaution he had bound and gagged and looked the fellow up, wMle he examined the attitude of the village and studied the nature and character of th® Lion Rouge company. He believed Himself to be as diplomatic and discreet as the task he had set himself demanded: but he had never known how to control himself under an insult. • “Gentlemen, here is a plienomenon./'

exclaimed the Duke—" Monsieur Brissot, the. Cardinal's confidant, and the steward, master, an d .protector of Altamont; and, would you believe it, a romancer who makes eyes at his mistress, Henrietta de la Fere. And, by the mass, she encourages himl "I thought your lordship," said Benom„ "was a suitor for the lady’s hand 1 /'* "Your thought i 9 true; but the gods are our tormentors. What shall you •fr.MnV of a mistress whom you have to rescue from the arms of a confounded hunchback ?” The reader will check his surprise at this brutal remark on the part of the Duke when he reflects upon the intrigues of Madame Biquetti, who, having seen the Count in the dress of Brissot in more than friendly conversation with her mistress, .ha«d fired Valois with a wild jealousy against Brissot. Madame Biquetti, in heir own interest, and out of a - spirit of mischief as well (she hated both the Duke and Budasot), had described her mistress as entertaining an unnatural love for the hunchbacJ, and pointed out to him the tremendous power that would come into the hands of Brissot as the servant of the Cardinal by am alliance with the mistress of Altamont. The Duke, as deep in love -with the Altamont ©states as With a .passion for Henriette, had. waded so far from, safety in his secret alliance with the Frc'ndeurs that he was ready to believe anything that might lead to an immediate and open declaration of his treason; for he was well backed with traitor troops and with traitor money. "And talk, of the devil,” said the Duke, ■who pretended not to have seen Brissot though he had! gpoken his words loud enough for Brissot to hear them, "talk of the devil, gentlemen-— f ßon jour/ Monsieur Brissot; you look well, not to say distinguished, in spite of—— "M-v liump,” said the Count, as Brissot. imitating the voice and manner J* the dead man. . "Nay, I would not be so critical,” said the Duke; "though ’tis a hump, more’s the pity. And yet ladieis take strange fancies.” "No doubt,” said Brissot, moving as if to proceed on his way. - "You are in a hurry, monsieur,” said the Duke. "Going to confession.?” "Itwas my intention to offer up a prayer to our Lecon saint for the honour and. glory of rranoe,” said Brissot; "A patriot and a courtier,” said the Duke. "In the latter capacity, confession and prayer at an end, won’t you do yourself and the present company the honour of inviting us to the castle? We are in a holiday humour ——” "Yes, yes!” several voices, Monsieur Caroux looking on with an amused smile. ft lt is not my casfcle,” said Brissot; "but to" such as this .good tavern affords you are welcome. .Landlord, these gentlemen honour me by becoming my guests ■” "Do we so indeed, Monsieur Hunchback!” said the Duke with a sneer. The Count, as Brissot, bowed with derisive humility to the Duke. He felt the remark rather as a compliment than an offence. The Duke poured orit a goblet of wide, and drank it at a draught; he had already exhibited an unusual excitement of manner.. ‘ "Monsieur Brissot is generous.” re-

marked. Caroux. "Sb is Mademoiselle Henriette de la Fere, since she takes delight in the companionship of her-steward,, who, is neither priest, soldier,. nor mam” "Alas for his grave disabilities!” said Brissot. with a strange smile that puzzled some of the beholders. "But you are more particularly speaking of the Countess Mauray.” "The Countess Mauray !” exclaimed the Duke, derisively. "I speak off the lady who is'neither wife nor honest? maid.” "Valois. Valois!” •exclaimed one of his friends "you are——-” "Drunk,” said Brissot, interrupting the prdtectin.gr friend, "and a, liar to boot.” The Count had 1 lost all control over himself at the insult offered to the name and virtue of his wife. "Miserable!” exclaimed the Duke, with the remembrance of Madame Bdquelti’s slanders-hot in his mind. "If you were really the man the lady of the castle thinks you* and not an abortion” —and he •laughed, pointing a mocking finger at Brissot, who waa trembling with rage—"l; would invite you to draw 1 ; but as it is*l can. only beat you ” He had. drawn his sword, and was stepping towards Brissot as if to strike ham. with the flat of it. when, suddenly, iti was whipped out of his hand with a deftness that amazed the company. "Pick it up— liar —thief —traitor!” exclaimed Brissot, flinging aside his cloak and. hump, baring' hie head, and standing confessed; the Count Mouray; "and take ■ m lesson from your prisoner off the Bastille V*

/ The consternation was great. Monsieur Caroux picked up theDube’s sword, • aud handed it to his lordship with a bow and a remark—" Madame Biquetti did not mean, you false; you see. she : thought he was* Brissot;” "Stand back!” said (he Duke, thrusting. Caroux: aside. Without another word the Duke rushed upon the Count. "No; no, gentlemen; fair play,” exclaimed .Caroux, stepping between them, has' sword drawn. "Yes,” said others, "for the honour of France.” Then at once a ring was made. Caroux offered'hisser vices to the Count; all pro. per* rales for the duello were observed, ' and the men took their places.

_"Before I kill-you,” said. the. Count, addressing the Duke, "let me tell 'you and this brave company that your treason to the Cardinal has been, discovered; that your; ally,/ Brissot, deceived you both:; his; papers; proving your treason, are. in. in,y possession, and, further, that %IT brand you. with infamy. You are a ' liar,, a, traitor to woman and to the

’ ■' nrifll - rf ßraggart exclaimed- the Duke, in-ferrnpting-the Cloimt’s tirade; "my reply tommy sword/' - * r Aa weak. andhalting as: your honour, y<m?ll find,” said, the Count; and: the ijjaxtixaomeait they we/re at it, with ter- • rihle earnestness. It was, however, soon

seen that Mauray was the better swordsman. For a time he appeared to be playing, with his adversary. During a pause the Count said—" You hoped, to have me rot in the Bastille, forging papers against me to the Cardinal. Shall I kill you—or leave,you to the fate you ordained for me? . I am not' here alone. You gentlemen who are in league with Valois may care to escape. I have a force of resentful musketeers close by, and——” s ■ "Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said the seconds, in a breath; and the fight was resumed, while several of this company were observed- quietly to disappear on the Count’s hint. The next moment there was a trumpet call, amd everybody beard the tramp' of horses not far away. “Perhaps the Bastille will be the greatest punishment,” said the Count, parrying an ugly thrust of’ his adversary, and with an almost corresponding rush sending the Duke’s sword flying among his friends. "On your knees,” said the Count, "or I will kill you, as you deserve!” "I do not kneel to your threat, but in humiliation at my credulity,” said the Duke, on his knees, the Count’s l sword at hisi throat. , The scene had a striking denouement in the appearance of a troop of musketeers, forming with difficulty in the narrow space around the company. Dismounting, the captain laid his hand upon the Duke as he pose from his knees, "You axe my prisoner,” he said. * * * Altamont was saved; and his Eminence the Cardinal Mazarin live l to acknowledge the devotion of his friends 1 , the Count and Countess Mauray.