Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James

maître d'hôtel, and although the prince and his lady were both spoken of with profound respect, none of the rest escaped without some satirical notice, couched in somewhat sharp, though by no means bitter terms. Even Monsieur Blaize himself was not exempt. "He is the best, the most upright, and the most prudent man in the whole household," said the signor; "just in all his proceedings, with a little sort of worldly wisdom, not the slightest tincture of letters, a great deal of honest simplicity, and is, what we call in Italy, 'an ass.'"

      Such a chart of the country, when we can depend upon its accuracy, is very useful to a young man in entering a strange household; but, nevertheless, Jean Charost, though grateful for the information he received, resolved to use his own eyes, and judge for himself. To say the truth, he was not at all sorry to find the good maître d'hôtel in a communicative mood; for the curiosity of youth had been excited by many of the events of the morning, and especially by the detention and examination which he had undergone immediately after his arrival. That some strange and terrible event had occurred, was evident; but a profound and mysterious silence had been observed by every one he had seen in the palace regarding the facts. The subject had been carefully avoided, and no one had even come near it in the most unguarded moment. With simple skill he endeavored to bring round the conversation to the point desired, and at length asked, straightforwardly, what had occurred to induce the the duke's officers to put him and several others in a sort of arrest, as soon as he had entered the gates. He gained nothing by the attempt, however. "Ah, poor lady! ah, sweet lady!" exclaimed the master of the hotel, in a sad tone. "But we were talking, my young friend, of a varlet fitted for your service. I have got just the person to suit you. He is as active as a squirrel, as gay as a lark, understands all points of service for horse or man, and never asks any questions about what does not concern him--a most invaluable quality in a prince's household. If he has any fault, he is too chaste; so you must mind your morals, my young friend. His wages are three crowns a month, and your cast-off clothes, with any little gratuity for good service you may like to bestow. He will be rated on the duke's household, and nourished at his expense; but you will need a horse for him, which had better be provided as soon as possible. I advise you strongly to take him; but, nevertheless, see him first, and judge for yourself. He will be with you some time to-day; and now I must to work again. Ah, ha! It is a laborious life. Good-day, my son--good-day."

      Jean Charost took his leave, and departed; but he could not help thinking that his instructive conversation with the maître d'hôtel had been brought to a somewhat sudden close by his own indiscreet questions.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      Great silence pervaded the palace of the Duke of Orleans, or, at least, that part of it in which Jean Charost's rooms were situated, during the rest of the day. He thought he heard, indeed, about half an hour after he had left the maître d'hôtel, some distant sounds in the same building, and the blast of a trumpet; but whether the latter noise proceeded from the streets or from the outer court, he could not tell. Every thing was still, however, in the corridor hard by. No one was heard passing toward the apartments of the duke, and the young man was somewhat anxious in regard to the prince's long delay. What were to be his occupations, what was expected of him, he knew not; and although he was desirous of purchasing another horse, in accordance with the hint given him by Signor Lomelini, the maître d'hôtel, he did not like to venture out, lest his royal employer should arrive, and require his presence.

      The unpacking and arrangement of his baggage afforded him some occupation, and when that was completed, he took out a book--a rare treasure, possessed by few in those days--and continued to read till the crooked letters of the copyist's hand began to fade upon the vellum, as early night approached. He was just closing the page, when there was a tap at the door, and a short, slight young man presented himself, some four or five-and-twenty years of age, but not much taller than a youth of fourteen or fifteen. He was dressed very plainly, in a suit of gray cloth, and the light was not sufficient to show much more; but every thing he had on seemed to have a gay and jaunty air, and his cap, even when he held it in his hand, exhibited a sort of obliquity of direction, which showed it to be impossible ever to keep it straight upon his head.

      There was no need of asking his name or business, for both were related in the fewest possible words before he had been an instant in the room.

      "I am Martin Grille," he said, "and I have come to be hired by your lordship."

      "Then I suppose you take it for granted that I will hire you?" said Jean Charost, with a smile.

      "Signor Lomelini sent me," replied the young man, in a confident tone.

      "He sent you to see if you suited me," replied Jean Charost.

      "Of course," replied the young man. "Don't I?"

      Jean Charost laughed. "I can not say," he answered. "You must first tell me what you can do."

      "Every thing," replied the other.

      Jean Charost mused, thinking to himself that a person who could do every thing was exactly the one to suit him, in a situation in which he did not know what to do. He answered, however, still half meditating, "Then I think, my good friend Martin, you are just the man for me."

      "Thank your lordship," replied Martin Grille, without waiting for any addition to the sentence; but, before Jean Charost could put in a single proviso, or ask another question, the door opened, and, by aid of the light from the window in the corridor behind it, the young gentleman saw a tall, dark figure entering the room. The features he could not distinguish; but there was something in the air and carriage of the newcomer which made him instantly rise from his seat, and the moment after, the voice of the Duke of Orleans said, "What in darkness, my young friend! My people have not taken proper care of you. Who is that?"

      The question applied to Martin Grille, who was retreating out of the room as fast as his feet could carry him; and Jean Charost replied, placing a chair for the duke, "Merely a servant, your highness, whom I have been engaging--an appendage which, coming from humbler dwellings, I had forgotten to provide myself with till I was here."

      "Ah! these people--these people!" said the duke; "so they have forced a servant upon you already, though there are varlets enough in this house to do double the work that is provided for them. However, perhaps it is as well. But I will see to these affairs of yours for the future. Take no such step without consulting me, and do so freely; for Jacques Cœur has interested me in you, and I look upon it that he has rather committed you to my charge, than placed you in my service. Come hither with me into a place where there is more light. Heaven knows, my thoughts are dark enough."

      Thus saying, he turned to the door, and Jean Charost followed him along the corridor till they reached what had been pointed out as his toilet-chamber, at the entrance of which stood two of the duke's attendants, who threw open the door at his approach. Followed by Jean Charost, he passed silently between them into a large and well-lighted room, and seating himself, fell into a deep fit of thought, which lasted for several minutes. At length he raised his head, and looked up in the young man's face for a moment or two without speaking; but then said, "I can not to-night. I wished to give you information and directions as to your conduct and occupations here; but my mind is very heavy, and can only deal with weighty things. Come to me to-morrow, after mass, and you shall have some hints that may be serviceable to you. At present sit down at that table, and draw me up a paper, somewhat similar to that which I dictated this morning, but more at large. The terms of accommodation have been accepted as to general principles, but several particulars require explanation. You will find the notes there--in that paper lying before you. See if you can put them in form without reference to me."

      Jean Charost seated himself, and took up the pen; but, on perusing the notes, he found his task somewhat difficult. Had it been merely a letter on mercantile business to some citizen of Genoa or Amalfi that he was called upon to write, the matter would have been easy; but when it was a formal proposal, addressed to "The High and Mighty Prince John, Duke of Burgundy," he found himself more than once greatly puzzled. Twice he looked up toward the Duke of Orleans; but the duke remained in profound thought, with his arms crossed upon his chest, and his eyes bent upon a distant spot on the floor; and Jean Charost