“Aye, there are spies everywhere,” Macdonald said bitterly. “All sorts of people come and go round the Chevalier and round Prince Charles. Every Scotch or Irish vagabond who has made his native country too hot to hold him, come to them and pretend that they are martyrs to their loyalty to the Stuarts; and the worst of it is their story is believed. They flatter and fawn, they say just what they are wanted to say, and have no opinion of their own, and the consequence is that the Chevalier looks upon these fellows as his friends, and often turns his back upon Scottish gentlemen who have risked and lost all in his service, but who are too honest to flatter him or to descend to the arts of courtiers. Look at the men who are here with the prince now.”
“Macdonald! Macdonald!” the duke said warmly.
“Well, well,” the other broke off impatiently; “no doubt it is better to hold one's tongue. But it is monstrous, that when there are a score, ay, a hundred of Scottish gentlemen of family, many of them officers with a high knowledge of war, who would gladly have accompanied him at the first whisper of his intentions, the prince should be starting on such a venture as this with yourself only, duke, as a representative of the Scottish nobles and chiefs, and six or eight mongrels —Irish, English, and Scotch —the sort of men who haunt the pot houses of Flanders, and spend their time in telling what they have suffered in the Stuart cause to any who will pay for their liquor.”
“Not quite so bad as that, Macdonald,” the duke said. “Still I admit that I could have wished that Prince Charles should have landed in Scotland surrounded by men with names known and honoured there, rather than by those he has selected to accompany him.”
“But you are going, are you not, sir?” Ronald asked Colonel Macdonald.
“No, I do not accompany the prince; but I hope to follow shortly. As soon as the prince has sailed it is my mission to see all his friends and followers in France, and urge them to join him in Scotland; while we bring all the influence we have to bear upon Louis, to induce him to furnish arms and assistance for the expedition.”
CHAPTER XIII: Prince Charles.
Upon arriving at the prince's lodgings Macdonald remained without, the Duke of Athole entering, accompanied only by Ronald.
“The prince is in disguise,” he said, “and but one or two of us visit him here in order that no suspicion may be incited among the people of the house that he is anything beyond what he appears to be —a young student of the Scotch college at Paris.”
They ascended the stairs to the upper story, and on the marquis knocking, a door was opened. The duke entered, followed by Ronald.
“Well, duke, what is the news?”
The question was asked by a young man, who was pacing restlessly up and down the room, of which he was, with the exception of his valet de chambre, an Italian named Michel, the person who had opened the door, the only occupant.
“Ah! whom have you here?”
“Allow me to present to your royal highness Lieutenant Leslie. He is the son of Leslie of Glenlyon, who fought by my side in your father's cause in '15, and has, like myself, been an exile ever since. This is the young gentleman who, two years since, saved Macdonald from arrest in Glasgow.”
“Ah! I remember the adventure,” the prince said courteously, “and right gallant action it was; but how did you hear that I was here, sir?”
“I was told by my good friend and commanding officer, Colonel Hume of the 2nd Scottish Dragoons, your royal highness.”
“I revealed it to Hume before leaving Paris,” the duke said, “he being a great friend of mine and as staunch as steel, and I knew that he could be trusted to keep a secret.”
“It seems that in the last particular you were wrong,” the prince remarked with a slight smile.
“Colonel Hume only revealed it to me, sir,” Ronald said, anxious to save his friend from the suspicion of having betrayed a secret confided to him, “for very special reasons. I had the misfortune to kill in a duel the Duke of Chateaurouge, and as we fought just outside the park of Versailles, and the duke was a favourite of the king's, I had to ride for it; then Colonel Hume, knowing my devotion to the cause of your highness, whispered to me the secret of your intention, and gave me a message to his friend the Duke of Athole.”
“Do you say that you have killed the Duke of Chateaurouge in a duel?” the duke exclaimed in astonishment. “Why, he has the reputation of being one of the best swordsmen in France, and has a most evil name as a dangerous and unscrupulous man. I met him constantly at court, and his arrogance and haughtiness were well nigh insufferable. And you have killed him?”
“I knew him well too,” the prince said, “and his reputation. We do not doubt what you say, young gentleman,” he added quickiy, seeing a flush mount into Ronald's face; “but in truth it seems strange that such should have been the case.”
“Colonel Hume did me the honour to be my second,” Ronald said quietly, “and the Marquis de Vallecourt was second to the duke; some other officers of the Scottish regiment were present, as were two other French noblemen, De Lisle and St. Aignan.”
“We doubt you not, sir,” the duke said warmly. “You will understand that it cannot but seem strange that you at your age —for it seems to me that you cannot be more than nineteen —should have been able to stand for a moment against one of the best swordsmen in France, to say nothing of having slain him.”
“Colonel Hume would scarcely have consented to act as my second had he thought that the contest was a wholly unequal one,” Ronald said with a slight smile; “indeed I may say that he regarded it as almost certain that I should have the best of the fray.”
“Why, you must be a very Paladin,” the prince said admiringly; “but sit down and tell us all about it. Upon my word I am so sick of being cooped up for four days in this wretched den that I regard your coming as a godsend. Now tell me how it was that the Duc de Chateaurouge condescended to quarrel with a young officer in the Scottish Horse.”
“It was a family quarrel, sir, which I had inherited from my father.”
“Yes, yes, I remember now,” the Duke of Athole broke in. “It is an old story now; but I heard all about it at the time, and did what I could, as did all Leslie's friends, to set the matter right, but in vain. Leslie of Glenlyon, prince, was colonel of the Scottish Dragoons, and as gallant and dashing a soldier as ever was in the service of the King of France, and as good looking a one too; and the result was, the daughter of the Marquis de Recambours, one of the richest heiresses in France, whom her father and the king destined as the bride of this Duke of Chateaurouge, who was then quite a young man, fell in love with Leslie, and a secret marriage took place between them. For three years no one suspected it; but the young lady's obstinacy in refusing to obey her father's orders caused her to be shut up in a convent. Somehow the truth came out. Leslie was arrested and thrown into the Bastille, and he has never been heard of since. What became of the child which was said to have been born no one ever heard; but it was generally supposed that it had been put out of the way. We in vain endeavoured to soften the king's anger against Leslie, but the influence of Recambours and Chateaurouge was too great for us. Hume told me some time since that Leslie's son had been carried off to Scotland by one of his troopers, and had returned, and was riding as a gentleman volunteer in his regiment; but we have had no further talk on the subject.”
“You will be glad to hear, sir,” Ronald said, “that my father and mother have within the last few weeks been released, and are now living on a small estate of my mother's in the south. They were ordered to retire there by the king.”
“I am glad, indeed,” the duke said cordially; “and how is your father?”
“He is sadly crippled by rheumatism, and can scarce walk,” Ronald said, “and I fear that his health is altogether shaken with what he had to go through.”
“How did you obtain their release, Leslie?” the prince asked.
“Marshal Saxe obtained it for me,” Ronald answered. “Colonel Hume first introduced me to him, and as he too had known my father he promised that should he obtain a victory he would ask as a boon from the king the release of my father, and he did so after Fontenoy, where the Marquis de Recambours was killed, and the king thereby freed from his influence. The Duke of Chateaurouge, whose hostility against my father had always been bitter, was doubtless greatly irritated at his release, and took the first opportunity, on meeting me, of grossly insulting me. On my replying in terms in accordance with the insult, he drew, and would have fought me in the palace grounds had not Colonel Hume and his friends interfered; then we adjourned outside the park. The duke doubtless thought that he would kill me without difficulty, and so rushed in so carelessly that at the very first thrust I ran him through.”
