The Chaplet of Pearls. Charlotte M. Yonge

those traitorous kinsmen?’ cried Berenger.

      ‘Fortunately all are gone on an expedition with the Queen-mother. You will have time to think. I have heard my brother say no one ever prospered who offended the meanest follower of the house of Lorraine.’

      ‘I do not want prosperity, I only want my wife. I hope I shall never see Paris and its deceivers again.’

      ‘Ah! But is it true that you have applied to have the marriage annulled at Rome?’

      ‘We were both shamefully deceivers. That can be nothing.’

      ‘A decree of his Holiness: you a Huguenot; she an heiress. All is against you. My friend, be cautions, exclaimed the young ecclesiastic, alarmed by his passionate gestures. ‘To break forth now and be accused of brawling in the palace precincts would be fatal—fatal—most fatal!’

      ‘I am as calm as possible,’ returned Berenger. ‘I mean to act most reasonably. I shall stand before the King and tell him openly how I have been tamperes with, demanding my wife before the whole court.’

      ‘Long before you could get so far the ushers would have dragged you away for brawling, or for maligning an honour-able gentlemen. You would have to finish your speech in the Bastille, and it would be well if even your English friends could get you out alive.’

      ‘Why, what a place is this!’ began Berenger; but again Mericour entreated him to curb himself; and his English education had taught him to credit the house of Guide with so much mysterious power and wickedness, that he allowed himself to be silenced, and promised to take no open measures till he had consulted the Ambassador.

      ‘He could not obtain another glimpse of Eustacie, and the hours passed tardily till the break up of the party. Charles could scarcely release Sidney from his side, and only let him go on condition that he should join the next day in an expedition to the hunting chateau of Montpipeau, to which the King seemed to look forward as a great holiday and breathing time.

      When at length the two youths did return, Sir Francis Walsingham was completely surprised by the usually tractable, well-behaved stripling, whose praises he had been writing to his old friend, bursting in on him with the outcry, ‘Sir, sir, I entreat your counsel! I have been foully cozened.’

      ‘Of how much?’ said Sir Francis, in a tone of reprobation.

      ‘Of my wife. Of mine honour. Sir, your Excellency, I crave pardon, if I spoke too hotly,’ said Berenger, collecting himself; ‘but it is enough to drive a man to frenzy.’

      ‘Sit down, my Lord de Ribaumont. Take breath, and let me know what is this coil. What hath thus moved him, Mr. Sidney?’

      ‘It is as he says, sir,’ replied Sidney, who had beard all as they returned; ‘he has been greatly wronged. The Chevalier de Ribaumont not only writ to propose the separation without the lady’s knowledge, but imposed his own daughter on our friend as the wife he had not seen since infancy.’

      ‘There, sir,’ broke forth Berenger; ‘surely if I claim mine own in the face of day, no man can withhold her from me!’

      ‘Hold!’ said Sir Francis. ‘What mean this passion, young sir? Methought you came hither convinced that both the religion and the habits in which the young lady had been bred up rendered your infantine contract most unsuitable. What hath fallen out to make this change in your mind?’

      ‘That I was cheated, sir. The lady who palmed herself off on me as my wife was a mere impostor, the Chevalier’s own daughter!’

      ‘That may be; but what known you of this other lady? Has she been bred up in faith or manners such as your parents would have your wife?’

      ‘She is my wife,’ reiterated Berenger. ‘My faith is plighted to her. That is enough for me.’

      Sir Francis made a gesture of despair. ‘He has seen her, I suppose,’ said he to Sidney.

      ‘Yes truly, sir,’ answered Berenger; ‘and found that she had been as greatly deceived as myself.’

      ‘Then mutual consent is wanting,’ said the statesman, gravely musing.

      ‘That is even as I say,’ began Berenger, but Walsingham help up his hand, and desired that he would make his full statement in the presence of his tutor. Then sounding a little whistle, the Ambassador despatched a page to request the attendance of Mr. Adderley, and recommended young Ribaumont in the meantime to compose himself.

      Used to being under authority as Berenger was, the somewhat severe tone did much to allay his excitement, and remind him that right and reason were so entirely on his side, that he had only to be cool and rational to make them prevail. He was thus able to give a collected and coherent account of his discovery that the part of his wife had been assumed by her cousin Diane, and that the signature of both the young pair to the application to the Pope had been obtained on false pretences. That he had, as Sidney said, been foully cozened, in both senses of the word, was as clear as daylight; but he was much angered and disappointed to find that neither the Ambassador nor his tutor could see that Eustacie’s worthiness was proved by the iniquity of her relation, or that any one of the weighty reasons for the expediency of dissolving the marriage was remove. The whole affair had been in such good train a little before, that Mr. Adderley was much distressed that it should thus have been crossed, and thought the new phase of affairs would be far from acceptable at Combe Walwyn.

      ‘Whatever is just and honourable must be acceptable to my grandfather,’ said Berenger.

      ‘Even so,’ said Walsingham; ‘but it were well to consider whether justice and honour require you to overthrow the purpose wherewith he sent you hither.’

      ‘Surely, sir, justice and require me to fulfil a contract to which the other party is constant,’ said Berenger, feeling very wise and prudent for calling that wistful, indignant creature the other party.

      ‘That is also true,’ said the Ambassador, ‘provided she be constant; but you own that she signed the requisition for the dissolution.’

      ‘She did so, but under the same deception as myself, and further mortified and aggrieved at my seeming faithlessness.’

      ‘So it may easily be represented,’ muttered Walsingham.

      ‘How, sir?’ cried Berenger, impetuously; ‘do you doubt her truth?’

      ‘Heaven forefend,’ said Sir Francis, ‘that I should discuss any fair lady’s sincerity! The question is how far you are bound. Have I understood you that you are veritably wedded, not by a mere contract of espousal?’

      ‘Berenger could produce no documents, for they had been left at Chateau Leurre, and on his father’s death the Chevalier had claimed the custody of them; but he remembered enough of the ceremonial to prove that the wedding had been a veritable one, and that only the papal intervention could annul it.

      Indeed an Englishman, going by English law, would own no power in the Pope, nor any one on earth, to sever the sacred tie of wedlock; but French courts of law would probably ignore the mode of application, and would certainly endeavour to separate between a Catholic and a heretic.

      ‘I am English, sir, in heart and faith,’ said Berenger, earnestly. ‘Look upon me as such, and tell me, am I married or single at this moment?’

      ‘Married assuredly. More’s the pity,’ said Sir Francis.

      ‘And no law of God or man divides us without our own consent.’ There was no denying that the mutual consent of the young pair at their present age was all that was wanting to complete the inviolability of their marriage contract.

      Berenger was indeed only eighteen, and Eustacie more than a year younger, but there was nothing in their present age to invalidate their marriage, for persons of their rank were usually wedded quite as young or younger. Walsingham was only concerned at his old friend’s disappointment, and at the danger of the young man running headlong into a connection probably no more suitable