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TITLE: A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE
AUTHOR: STANLEY WEYMAN
EBOOK: E02269 (O'Briens Book Cellar)

Note:

In this Etext, text in italics has been written in capital
letters.

Many French words in the text have accents, etc. which have been
omitted.

A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE

BEING THE MEMOIRS OF GASTON DE BONNE SIEUR DE MARSAC

by  STANLEY WEYMAN

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.        THE SPORT OF FOOLS
CHAPTER II.       THE KING OF NAVARRE
CHAPTER III.      BOOT AND SADDLE
CHAPTER IV.       MADEMOISELLE DE LA VIRE
CHAPTER V.        THE ROAD TO BLOIS
CHAPTER VI.       MY MOTHER'S LODGING
CHAPTER VII.      SIMON FLEIX
CHAPTER VIII.     AN EMPTY ROOM
CHAPTER IX.       THE HOUSE IN THE RUELLE D'ARCY
CHAPTER X.        THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS
CHAPTER XI.       THE MAN AT THE DOOR
CHAPTER XII.      MAXIMILIAN DE BETHUNE, BARON DE ROSNY
CHAPTER XIII.     AT ROSNY
CHAPTER XIV.      M. DE RAMBOUILLET
CHAPTER XV.       VILAIN HERODES
CHAPTER XVI.      IN THE KING'S CHAMBER
CHAPTER XVII.     THE JACOBIN MONK
CHAPTER XVIII.    THE OFFER OF THE LEAGUE
CHAPTER XIX.      MEN CALL IT CHANCE
CHAPTER XX.       THE KING'S FACE
CHAPTER XXI.      TWO WOMEN
CHAPTER XXII.     'LA FEMME DISPOSE'
CHAPTER XXIII.    THE LAST VALOIS
CHAPTER XXIV.     A ROYAL PERIL
CHAPTER XXV.      TERMS OF SURRENDER
CHAPTER XXVI.     MEDITATIONS
CHAPTER XXVII.    TO ME, MY FRIENDS!
CHAPTER XXVIII.   THE CASTLE ON THE HILL
CHAPTER XXIX.     PESTILENCE AND FAMINE
CHAPTER XXX.      STRICKEN
CHAPTER XXXI.     UNDER THE GREENWOOD
CHAPTER XXXII.    A TAVERN BRAWL
CHAPTER XXXIII.   AT MEUDON
CHAPTER XXXIV.    ''TIS AN ILL WIND'
CHAPTER XXXV.     'LE ROI EST MORT'
CHAPTER XXXVI.    'VIVE LE ROI!'

A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE.

CHAPTER I.

THE SPORT OF FOOLS.

The death of the Prince of Conde, which occurred in the spring of
1588, by depriving me of my only patron, reduced me to such
straits that the winter of that year, which saw the King of
Navarre come to spend his Christmas at St. Jean d'Angely, saw
also the nadir of my fortunes.  I did not know at this time--I
may confess it to-day without shame--wither to turn for a gold
crown or a new scabbard, and neither had nor discerned any hope
of employment.  The peace lately patched up at Blois between the
King of France and the League persuaded many of the Huguenots
that their final ruin was at hand; but it could not fill their
exhausted treasury or enable them to put fresh troops into the
field.

The death of the Prince had left the King of Navarre without a
rival in the affections of the Huguenots; the Vicomte de Turenne,
whose turbulent; ambition already began to make itself felt, and
M. de Chatillon, ranking next to him.  It was my ill-fortune,
however, to be equally unknown to all three leaders, and as the
month of December which saw me thus miserably straitened saw me
reach the age of forty, which I regard, differing in that from
many, as the grand climacteric of a man's life, it will be
believed that I had need of all the courage which religion and a
campaigner's life could supply.

I had been compelled some time before to sell all my horses
except the black Sardinian with the white spot on its forehead;
and I now found myself obliged to part also with my valet de
chambre and groom, whom I dismissed on the same day, paying them
their wages with the last links of gold chain left to me.  It was
not without grief and dismay that I saw myself thus stripped of
the appurtenances of a man of birth, and driven to groom my own
horse under cover of night.  But this was not the worst.  My
dress, which suffered inevitably from this menial employment,
began in no long time to bear witness to the change in my
circumstances; so that on the day of the King of Navarre's
entrance into St. Jean I dared not face the crowd, always quick
to remark the poverty of those above them, but was fain to keep
within doors and wear out my patience in the garret of the
cutler's house in the Rue de la Coutellerie, which was all the
lodging I could now afford.

Pardieu, 'tis a strange world!  Strange that time seems to me;
more strange compared with this.  My reflections on that day, I
remember, were of the most melancholy.  Look at it how I would, I
could not but see that my life's spring was over.  The crows'
feet were gathering about my eyes, and my moustachios, which
seemed with each day of ill-fortune to stand out more fiercely
in proportion as my face grew leaner, were already grey.  I was
out at elbows, with empty pockets, and a sword which peered
through the sheath.  The meanest ruffler who, with broken feather
and tarnished lace, swaggered at the heels of Turenne, was
scarcely to be distinguished from me.  I had still, it is true, a
rock and a few barren acres in Brittany, the last remains of the
family property; but the small small sums which the peasants
could afford to pay were sent annually to Paris, to my mother,
who had no other dower.  And this I would not touch, being minded
to die a gentleman, even if I could not live in that estate.

Small as were my expectations of success, since I had no one at
the king's side to push my business, nor any friend at Court, I
nevertheless did all I could, in the only way that occurred to
me.  I drew up a petition, and lying in wait one day for M.
Forget, the King of Navarre's secretary, placed it in his hand,
begging him to lay it before that prince.  He took it, and
promised to do so, smoothly, and with as much lip-civility as I
had a right to expect.  But the careless manner in which he
doubled up and thrust away the paper on which I had spent so much
labour, no less than the covert sneer of his valet, who ran after
me to get the customary present--and ran, as I still blush to
remember, in vain--warned me to refrain from hope.

In this, however, having little save hope left, I failed so
signally as to spend the next day and the day after in a fever of
alternate confidence and despair, the cold fit following the hot
with perfect regularity.  At length, on the morning of the third
day--I remember it lacked but three of Christmas--I heard a step
on the stairs.  My landlord living in his shop, and the two
intervening floors being empty, I had no doubt the message was
for me, and went outside the door to receive it, my first glance
at the messenger confirming me in my highest hopes, as well as in
all I had ever heard of the generosity of the King of Navarre.
For by chance I knew the youth to be one of the royal pages; a
saucy fellow who had a day or two before cried 'Old Clothes'
after me in the street.  I was very far from resenting this now,
however, nor did he appear to recall it; so that I drew the
happiest augury as to the contents of the note he bore from the
politeness with which he presented it to me.

I would not, however, run the risk of a mistake, and before
holding out my hand, I asked him directly and with formality if
it was for me.

He answered, with the utmost respect, that it was for the Sieur
de Marsac, and for me if I were he.

'There is an answer, perhaps?'  I said, seeing that he lingered.

'The King of Navarre, sir,' he replied, with a low bow, 'will
receive your answer in person, I believe.'  And with that,
replacing the hat which he had doffed out of respect to me, he
turned and went down the stairs.

Returning to my room, and locking the door, I hastily opened the
missive, which was sealed with a large seal, and wore every
appearance of importance.  I found its contents to exceed all my
expectations.  The King of Navarre desired me to wait on him at
noon on the following day, and the letter concluded with such
expressions of kindness and goodwill as left me in no doubt of
the Prince's intentions.  I read it, I confess, with emotions of
joy and gratitude which would better have become a younger man,
and then cheerfully sat down to spend the rest of the day in
making such improvements in my dress as seemed possible.  With a
thankful heart I concluded that I had now escaped from poverty,
at any rate from such poverty as is disgraceful to a gentleman;
and consoled myself for the meanness of the appearance I must
make at Court with the reflection that a day or two would mend
both habit and fortune.

Accordingly, it was with a stout heart that I left my lodgings a
few minutes before noon next morning, and walked towards the
castle.  It was some time since I had made so public an
appearance in the streets, which the visit of the King of
Navarre's Court; had filled with an unusual crowd, and I could
not help fancying as I passed that some of the loiterers eyed me
with a covert smile; and, indeed, I was shabby enough.  But
finding that a frown more than sufficed to restore the gravity of
these gentry, I set down the appearance to my own self-
consciousness, and, stroking my moustachios, strode along boldly
until I saw before me, and coming to meet me, the same page who
had delivered the note.

He stopped in front of me with an air of consequence, and making
me a low bow--whereat I saw the bystanders stare, for he was as
gay a young spark as maid-of-honour could desire--he begged me to
hasten, as the king awaited me in his closet.

'He has asked for you twice, sir,' he continued importantly, the
feather of his cap almost sweeping the ground.

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