The Constable De Bourbon. Ainsworth William Harrison

his brief discourse with Saint-Vallier. “Come with me, I pray you.”

      The Constable bowed, and he and the king quitted the gallery, and entering a corridor on the left, proceeded to a suite of magnificent apartments which François himself had recently constructed. The most friendly understanding seemed already re-established between them. François treated the Constable like a brother, and placed his arm affectionately upon his shoulder.

      “I will now avow the truth to you, cousin,” he said. “This process has been a great pain to me, but there is only one way of settling it. Methinks you can readily guess that mode.”

      “No, sire, I confess I am completely puzzled,” replied Bourbon.

      “You are duller than I thought,” said the king. “The matter rests with the Duchess d’Angoulême. You must talk it over with her.”

      “With the duchess, sire!” exclaimed Bourbon. “Impossible! You must hold me excused.”

      “Nay, I insist, cousin,” rejoined François.

      “The interview will be productive of no good, sire, and will rather aggravate existing difficulties. Again, I pray you to excuse me.”

      “Nay, I am resolved, cousin. I know what is for your good. Come with me to my mother’s private cabinet. She expects you.”

      “Expects me!” cried Bourbon. “Then this is a preconcerted scheme. I warn your majesty it will fail.”

      “I will listen to no more objections,” said François. “You will thank me for my firmness anon.”

      III. LOUISE DE SAVOIE

      BOURBON yielded with an ill grace, and entered an ante-chamber with the king, in which several gentlemen and pages were assembled. Two ushers were stationed at a door at the farther end of the chamber. At the king’s approach this door was thrown open, and Bourbon found himself in the presence of the person he most hated on earth.

      The Duchess d’Angoulême was seated at a table, engaged in converse with the Chancellor Duprat, who arose on the king’s entrance with Bourbon, and made a profound obeisance, but the duchess retained her seat.

      Though at this time Louise de Savoie was nearer fifty than forty, she had by no means lost her personal attractions. She bestowed great care in the preservation of her charms, and Nature seconded her efforts, Careful, temperate, active, both in mind and body, ill health had produced no ravages upon her frame, and at forty-five – nay, even at forty-seven, which was her exact age when Bourbon appeared before her – the duchess looked younger than many an indolent beauty of thirty-five. Her complexion was fresh and blooming, her cheek rounded and full, her eyes bright, her brow white as marble and with scarcely a wrinkle, and her dark tresses entirely untinged with grey. In brief, she was still so handsome that it was supposed she must have discovered some wondrous potion for the preservation of her youth. Her figure was tall, and admirably proportioned, with a slight tendency to embonpoint, which she successfully combated by exercise and abstemiousness. It was from the duchess that François and Marguerite inherited their symmetry of form and beauty of feature. Her hands were small, white, soft, and dimpled, and her long taper fingers were covered with rings. Her deportment was majestic, and at times imperious. She did not neglect to heighten the effect of her charms and imposing appearance by richness of attire. On this occasion she was arrayed in purple cloth of gold tissue, her stomacher being embroidered all over with flat gold and damask. Her sleeves were paned with gold and quilted, and fastened with gold aiglets. She wore a partlet ornamented with rubies and other precious stones; her head-dress, diamond-shaped and having long side lappets, glittered with gems. From her neck hung a chain of gold, enamelled black, sustaining a magnificent diamond cross, and her girdle was ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and pearls. Over the king her son, as we have said, Louise de Savoie had early obtained an extraordinary ascendancy, which she never lost. He appointed her Regent of the kingdom when he set out on his first Italian campaign, and had resolved to entrust the government again to her care during the war which he now meditated for the repossession of the Milanese.

      Ambitious of power, the Duchess d’Angoulême was also greedy and avaricious, and scrupled not to enrich herself from the royal treasures. Of a miserly disposition, she amassed money, not to spend, but hoard it, and she died possessed of enormous wealth.

      Louise was the daughter of Philippe, Duke de Savoie, and Marguerite de Bourbon, and was wedded at the age of twelve to Charles d’Orléans, Comte d’Angoulême. Six years later she became a widow.

      Bourbon’s swarthy cheek flushed, and the blood mounted to his brow, as he stood before the duchess. Bowing haughtily, he remained at a little distance from her.

      Approaching his mother, the king said, in his cheerful accents,

      “I have brought back the truant chevalier, madame.”

      Adding a few words in a low tone, he turned to Bourbon, and telling him he would return anon, quitted the chamber with Duprat.

      Left alone with the Constable, Louise regarded him anxiously and tenderly, but the stern expression of Bourbon’s features underwent no change. The duchess, however, would not be discouraged, but said, in a gentle voice which she thought calculated to move him, “Dismiss that frown, Charles de Bourbon, and come and sit nigh me. Nay,” she added, playfully, “I will be obeyed.”

      But Bourbon moved not, and his brow grew yet more sombre.

      Presently she arose, and, stepping up to him, laid her hand gently upon his arm.

      He shrank from her touch as if a viper had stung him.

      Mastering her anger by a great effort, she said,

      “Come, let us be friends, Charles de Bourbon. We have been enemies long enough.”

      “Friends, madame!” exclaimed Bourbon, bitterly. “You can scarcely expect it.”

      “But you will forgive me, Charles, will you not, when I tell you I still love you?” she rejoined.

      “You are too old for love, madame – far too old,” he rejoined, with a look almost of loathing. “You may have loved me years ago, though your conduct since would lead me to doubt it. But now the feeling ought to he – must be – a stranger to your breast.”

      “My love for you is strong as ever, and enables me even to bear this language from you,” she said. Hear my explanation before you reproach me so severely.”

      “I have not reproached you, madame, but I say that your declarations are utterly inconsistent with your conduct. You have pursued me with unceasing animosity. By your instrumentality, madame – for I well know you were the cause of my removal – I was despoiled of my authority in the Milanese, which I had helped to win, and the government given to Lautrec, by whose mismanagement the fruits of the battle of Marignan were lost. Not only did you prevent the reimbursement of the large sums I had expended for the king’s use in Italy, but you withheld the payment of my pensions as grand-chamberlain of France, as governor of Languedoc, and as Constable. I deserved better treatment from the king, but I knew from whom the wrongs proceeded, and made no complaint. This was not enough. By your instigation a deeper affront was offered me, I will not vaunt my military skill, though I had proved it sufficiently at Marignan, but I was excluded by you – by you, madame, for you directed the king – from the four grand military commanderships formed by his majesty, and given by him to the Duke d’Alençon, the Duke de Vendôme, Bonnivet, and Lautrec, Still I was patient.”

      “Why were you patient, Charles? Why did you not complain to me?” cried the duchess.

      “Though deeply mortified by the affront,” pursued Bourbon, disregarding the question, “I did not hesitate to obey the king’s commands to join the army of Picardy, and brought with me six thousand well-armed fantassins, and three hundred lances. How was I requited? I need not tell you, madame, since the work was yours, that the command of the vanguard, which was mine by right, was given to the incapable D’Alençon. That affront was hard to bear, yet I did bear it. Well might the king call me the Prince Mal-endurant!”

      “Again I ask you, Charles, why did you not appeal to me?” said the duchess.

      “Appeal