"Pardonnez moi," replied the Marquis politely, "that can hardly be,
as the lady has been dead more than a hundred years. That was the
beautiful Duchess de Longueville, who figured during the minority of
Louis the Fourteenth."
"And was there any thing remarkable in her history."
Never was question more unlucky. The little Marquis immediately threw
himself into the attitude of a man about to tell a long story. In fact,
my uncle had pulled upon himself the whole history of the civil war of
the Fronde, in which the beautiful Duchess had played so distinguished
a part. Turenne, Coligni, Mazarin, were called up from their graves to
grace his narration; nor were the affairs of the Barricadoes, nor the
chivalry of the Pertcocheres forgotten. My uncle began to wish himself
a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his merciless memory, when
suddenly the little man's recollections took a more interesting turn.
He was relating the imprisonment of the Duke de Longueville, with the
Princes Conde and Conti, in the chateau of Vincennes, and the
ineffectual efforts of the Duchess to rouse the sturdy Normans to their
rescue. He had come to that part where she was invested by the royal
forces in the chateau of Dieppe, and in imminent danger of falling into
their hands.
"The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the Marquis, "rose with her
trials. It was astonishing to see so delicate and beautiful a being
buffet so resolutely with hardships. She determined on a desperate
means of escape. One dark unruly night, she issued secretly out of a
small postern gate of the castle, which the enemy had neglected to
guard. She was followed by her female attendants, a few domestics, and
some gallant cavaliers who still remained faithful to her fortunes. Her
object was to gain a small port about two leagues distant, where she
had privately provided a vessel for her escape in case of emergency.
"The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform the distance on
foot. When they arrived at the port the wind was high and stormy, the
tide contrary, the vessel anchored far off in the road, and no means of
getting on board, but by a fishing shallop that lay tossing like a
cockle shell on the edge of the surf. The Duchess determined to risk
the attempt. The seamen endeavored to dissuade her, but the imminence
of her danger on shore, and the magnanimity of her spirit urged her on.
She had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. Such was
the violence of the wind and waves, that he faltered, lost his
foothold, and let his precious burden fall into the sea.
"The Duchess was nearly drowned; but partly through her own struggles,
partly by the exertions of the seamen, she got to land. As soon as she
had a little recovered strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt.
The storm, however, had by this time become so violent as to set all
efforts at defiance. To delay, was to be discovered and taken prisoner.
As the only resource left, she procured horses; mounted with her female
attendants en croupe behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied
her; and scoured the country to seek some temporary asylum.
"While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying his forefinger on my
uncle's breast to arouse his flagging attention, "while the Duchess,
poor lady, was wandering amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner,
she arrived at this chateau. Her approach caused some uneasiness; for
the clattering of a troop of horse, at dead of night, up the avenue of
a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of
the country, was enough to occasion alarm.
"A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, galloped ahead,
and announced the name of the visitor. All uneasiness was dispelled.
The household turned out with flambeaux to receive her, and never did
torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came
tramping into the court. Such pale, care-worn faces, such bedraggled
dresses, as the poor Duchess and her females presented, each seated
behind her cavalier; while half drenched, half drowsy pages and
attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep and
fatigue.
"The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by my ancestors. She
was ushered into the Hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled
and blazed to cheer herself and her train; and every spit and stewpan
was put in requisition to prepare ample refreshments for the wayfarers.
"She had a right to our hospitalities," continued the little Marquis,
drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness, "for she was
related to our family. I'll tell you how it was: Her father, Henry de
Bourbon, Prince of Conde - "
"But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau?" said my uncle
rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of getting involved in one of
the Marquis's genealogical discussions.
"Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the apartment you occupied
last night; which, at that time, was a kind of state apartment. Her
followers were quartered in the chambers opening upon the neighboring
corridor, and her favorite page slept in an adjoining closet. Up and
down the corridor walked the great chasseur, who had announced her
arrival, and who acted as a kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark,
stern, powerful-looking fellow, and as the light of a lamp in the
corridor fell upon his deeply-marked face and sinewy form, he seemed
capable of defending the castle with his single arm.
"It was a rough, rude night; about this time of the
year. - Apropos - now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of
her visit.
