Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times. G. P. R. James

d'Albret. Days long gone rose up before me, hopes vanished, pleasures past away, regrets unavailing; and I could not but give myself up to thought."

      Rose asked herself what were the hopes, what the regrets, he spoke of; and her heart beat, and her cheek grew somewhat pale. She looked round, however; Chazeul was talking in a whisper with her guardian; the priest was standing in the window; and she said, in a low voice, "Do not call me Mademoiselle d'Albret, Louis. That is a cold name. It used ever to be Rose, or cousin, in former days."

      "Cousin you are not, except by courtesy," replied De Montigni, in the same tone, "and I did not venture to call you Rose, now that you are another's."

      The colour came warmly into her cheek, but she cast down her eyes, saying, in a tone scarcely audible, "I am not another's yet; and, if ever I am, I shall then be your cousin really."

      De Montigni knew little of the world, it is true; but yet when a woman speaks of such matters, in so low a tone, to one for whom she professes friendship, it shows at least a confidence in him, which is near akin to deeper regard. He was embarrassed, however; and how many opportunities does not embarrassment cause us to lose for ever! how often does it make us seem the very reverse of what we are! The kind appear harsh, the affectionate cold, the modest even impudent. He knew not what to reply; and suddenly breaking off their private conversation, though it might have lasted longer, for his uncle was still talking eagerly with Chazeul, he turned to his companion Chasseron, who, standing a step behind, had remained unnoticed, watching with his clear and penetrating eyes all that was passing before him, and drawing at once his own conclusions.

      "My dear uncle," said the young nobleman, addressing Monsieur de Liancourt, "here is a worthy gentleman to whom I have promised a welcome for the night in your name. I found him in the wood about half an hour ago, attacked by some six or seven marauders, two of whom he had disabled before I came up."

      "Ay, Sir," rejoined Chasseron, "and if you had not come up and fought gallantly when you did come, the rest would have soon disabled me. To your courage and skill I owe my life, pardie!"

      "Indeed!" cried Rose d'Albret, with her cheek glowing and her eyes turned somewhat reproachfully towards Chazeul, "I told you I was sure Louis was attacked, and that the guns we heard were those of some of these plunderers. I knew De Montigni was coming at that hour," she added as a sort of explanation, "and thought it very likely that he would meet with some lawless band in the wood."

      "It was in my defence, fair Lady, that he fought," said Chasseron, "and gallantly he did fight, too."

      "And pray, Sir, who are you?" demanded Chazeul, with an angry spot upon his cheek at hearing the praises of one whom he wished to believe weak and timid.

      "A very poor gentleman, Sir," replied Chasseron, "not many poorer in the realm of France; and yet a gentleman. My name is Michael de Chasseron; and in days of yore, I have seen many a well stricken field; so that I am some judge of such matters, though now I have laid aside that trade, and am, as you may see, but a cultivator of the ground."

      "Michael de Chasseron! I have heard the name," said Monsieur de Liancourt; "at all events you are welcome, Sir; and such entertainment as the Château of Marzay can afford you shall command."

      Chasseron was expressing his thanks briefly, when a loud rough-toned but hearty voice was heard without, exclaiming, "Where is he? where is he? where is my dear boy?" and at the same moment an old man entered the room, who had apparently, though not really, numbered more years than Monsieur de Liancourt himself. He was dressed in a buff coat of buckskin, laced with gold, with a high-standing collar, according to a fashion passed away some fifteen or twenty years before, with no ruff round his neck, but merely a plain linen cape turned back from his grey beard and neck. Over his shoulders hung a riband, from which was suspended the cross of a Commander of the order of St. John, and in his hand he carried a stout staff, on which he leant as he advanced up the hall, somewhat limping in his gait from an old wound in the leg. A deep scar appeared on his brow, and a large hole on his right cheek, mementos of former fields; and his whole frame seemed greatly shattered by injuries and labours. His eye however was clear and bright, his cheek warm and healthy, and his countenance frank and smiling.

      The instant he entered he paused, looked straight towards De Montigni, and then stretched out his arms. The young man sprang to meet his embrace, and the old commander held him for several moments to his heart, unable apparently to speak from emotion. A tear rose in the eye of Rose d'Albret as she witnessed the meeting, and for a moment she turned away towards the window.

      "Welcome, welcome, Louis," cried the old Commander de Liancourt, "welcome back at length, my boy; but what the devil made thee stay away so long? thou shouldst have been here years ago! 'Tis a bad business, Louis, 'tis a bad business; but no matter for that, it can't be helped. We are all fools at some time of our lives; one man when he is young, another man when he is old. Heaven help us, man, how tall thou art grown! and I'll warrant you, notwithstanding all they say of your studies, can wield a sword or couch a lance with any one. Pardie, I'll have thee run a tilt with Chazeul in the court-yard to-morrow!" and dropping his voice, he added with a laugh, "break his head for him, Louis; he is a coxcomb and a knave, though he be my sister's son; but she's not much better, for that matter."

      While he spoke, he held the young man by the hand, and eyed him all over with a look of fond affection, seeming to attend but little to what he said in reply, though De Montigni answered him in warm terms of regard, and declared he looked in better health than when last he saw him.

      "Ay boy, ay," said the old commander, "rest and idleness have done something for me; though if I could have mounted my horse, I would have been in the field long ago; but this accursed wound still keeps me out of the saddle, and I am no better than an old woman,--food for worms--food for worms, Louis! This old carrion of mine is quite ready for the earth, when it be God's will. But you must see old Estoc; he bore your father's cornet at Jarnac; and the old villain does not know you are come, or he would have been here long ago. Halloo there! Estoc! Estoc!" and he made the hall ring with his shout.

      "For heaven's sake, my good brother," said Monsieur de Liancourt, "do not shake the walls of the château down. Some one tell Estoc that Monsieur de Montigni is arrived."

      "Monsieur de Montigni!" said the commander, imitating his brother's tone. "Warm that, Louis!--cordial! Monsieur de Montigni! Ventre saint gris! have you quite forgot he is your nephew, brother? Your eldest sister's son? Ah! poor Louise; if she could but see what I see!--Well, 'tis no matter, the grave is a sure shield against many a wound."

      "Come, come, now brother," said Monsieur de Liancourt, somewhat sharply, "your humour gets intolerable. Did you not promise that I should have none of this?"

      "Promise? No, not a bit of it," cried the old commander; "I always keep my promises, Anthony; I wish others did as well. However, there is no use of talking now. You must have it all your own way. You always did; and a pretty affair you often made of it. Ah! here comes Estoc.--Here he is, old comrade, here he is, with just the same face he went away, only with a beard on it!"

      These words were addressed to a tall, old, weather-beaten man, as thin and as stiff as a lance, who advanced with great strides up the hall, and taking the Baron de Montigni in his arms, gave him a great hug; then suddenly letting him go, he said, "I could not help it, Sir, indeed. Bless my heart, it seems as if you were little Louis still; do you recollect how I used to teach you to ride, and to shoot, and to play with sword and buckler?"

      "Ay, that I do, Estoc," replied the young nobleman; "those lessons have served me well, many a time since, and no longer ago than to-day. But I must give my companion of this afternoon's adventure into your charge, Estoc. Where is Monsieur de Chasseron?" he continued, looking around.

      "He left the room this moment, probably to see after his horse," observed father Walter, advancing from the window for the first time.

      "I will go and find him," answered Estoc; "I passed some one in the vestibule, but as it is growing grey, I scarcely saw him;" and he turned abruptly to depart.

      "Hark ye, Estoc," said the old commander, detaining him for a moment, and speaking in a whisper, "come