followed Lord Crawford in silence to the Ursuline convent, in which the Countess was lodged, and in the parlour of which he found the Count de Crevecoeur.
'So, young gallant,' said the latter, sternly, 'you must see the fair companion of your romantic expedition once more, it seems?'
'Yes, my Lord Count,' answered Quentin, firmly; 'and what is more, I must see her alone.'
'That shall never be,' said the Count de Crevecoeur. – 'Lord Crawford, I make you judge. This young lady, the daughter of my old friend and companion in arms, the richest heiress in Burgundy, has confessed a sort of a – what was I going to say? – in short, she is a fool, and your man-at-arms here a presumptuous coxcomb – In a word, they shall not meet alone.'
'Then will I not speak a single word to the Countess in your presence,' said Quentin, much delighted. 'You have told me much that I did not dare, presumptuous as I may be, even to hope.'
'Ay, truly said, my friend,' said Crawford. 'You have been imprudent in your communications; and, since you refer to me, and there is a good stout grating across the parlour, I would advise you to trust to it, and let them do the worst with their tongues. What, man! the life of a King, and many thousands besides, is not to be weighed with the chance of two young things whilly-whawing in ilk other's ears for a minute?'
So saying, he dragged off Crevecoeur, who followed very reluctantly, and cast many angry glances at the young Archer as he left the room.
In a moment after, the Countess Isabelle entered on the other side of the grate, and no sooner saw Quentin alone in the parlour, than she stopped short, and cast her eyes on the ground for the space of half a minute. 'Yet why should I be ungrateful,' she said, 'because others are unjustly suspicious? – My friend – my preserver, I may almost say, so much have I been beset by treachery – my only faithful and constant friend!'
As she spoke thus, she extended her hand to him through the grate, nay, suffered him to retain it, until he had covered it with kisses, not unmingled with tears. She only said, 'Durward, were we ever to meet again, I would not permit this folly.'
If it be considered that Quentin had guarded her through so many perils – that he had been, in truth, her only faithful and zealous protector, perhaps my fair readers, even if countesses and heiresses should be of the number, will pardon the derogation.
But the Countess extricated her hand at length, and stepping a pace back from the grate, asked Durward, in a very embarrassed tone, what boon he had to ask of her? – 'For that you have a request to make, I have learned from the old Scottish Lord, who came here but now with my cousin of Crevecoeur. Let it be but reasonable,' she said, 'but such as poor Isabelle can grant with duty and honour uninfringed, and you cannot tax my slender powers too highly. But, O! do not speak hastily, – do not say,' she added, looking around with timidity, 'aught that might, if overheard, do prejudice to us both!'
'Fear not, noble lady,' said Quentin, sorrowfully; 'it is not here that I can forget the distance which fate has placed between us, or expose you to the censure of your proud kindred, as the object of the most devoted love to one, poorer and less powerful – not perhaps less noble than themselves. Let that pass like a dream of the night to all but one bosom, where, dream as it is, it will fill up the room of all existing realities.'
'Hush! hush!' said Isabelle; 'for your own sake, – for mine, – be silent on such a theme. Tell me rather what it is you have to ask of me.'
'Forgiveness to one,' replied Quentin, 'who, for his own selfish views, hath conducted himself as your enemy.'
'I trust I forgive all my enemies,' answered Isabelle; 'but oh, Durward! through what scenes have your courage and presence of mind protected me! – Yonder bloody hall – the good Bishop – I knew not till yesterday half the horrors I had unconsciously witnessed!'
'Do not think on them,' said Quentin, who saw the transient colour which had come to her cheek during their conference, fast fading into the most deadly paleness – 'Do not look back, but look steadily forward, as they needs must who walk in a perilous road. Hearken to me. King Louis deserves nothing better at your hand, of all others, than to be proclaimed the wily and insidious politician, which he really is. But to tax him as the encourager of your flight – still more as the author of a plan to throw you into the hands of De la Marck – will at this moment produce perhaps the King's death or dethronement; and, at all events, the most bloody war between France and Burgundy which the two countries have ever been engaged in.'
'These evils shall not arrive for my sake, if they can be prevented,' said the Countess Isabelle; 'and indeed your slightest request were enough to make me forego my revenge, were that at any time a passion which I deeply cherish. Is it possible I would rather remember King Louis's injuries, than your invaluable services? – Yet how is this to be? – When I am called before my Sovereign, the Duke of Burgundy, I must either stand silent, or speak the truth. The former would be contumacy; and to a false tale you will not desire me to train my tongue.'
'Surely not,' said Durward; 'but let your evidence concerning Louis be confined to what you yourself positively know to be truth; and when you mention what others have reported, no matter how credibly, let it be as reports only, and beware of pledging your own personal evidence to that, which, though you may fully believe, you cannot personally know to be true. The assembled Council of Burgundy cannot refuse to a Monarch the justice, which in my country is rendered to the meanest person under accusation. They must esteem him innocent, until direct and sufficient proof shall demonstrate this guilt. Now, what does not consist with your own certain knowledge, should be proved by other evidence than your report from hearsay.'
'I think I understand you,' said the Countess Isabelle.
'I will make my meaning plainer,' said Quentin; and was illustrating it accordingly by more than one instance, when the convent-bell tolled.
'That,' said the Countess, 'is a signal that we must part – part for ever! – But do not forget me, Durward; I will never forget you – your faithful services' –
She could not speak more, but again extended her hand, which was again pressed to his lips; and I know not how it was, that, in endeavouring to withdraw her hand, the Countess came so close to the grating, that Quentin was encouraged to press the adieu on her lips. The young lady did not chide him – perhaps there was no time; for Crevecoeur and Crawford, who had been from some loophole eye-witnesses, if not ear-witnesses also, of what was passing, rushed into the apartment, the first in a towering passion, the latter laughing, and holding the Count back.
'To your chamber, young mistress – to your chamber!' exclaimed the Count to Isabelle, who, flinging down her veil, retired in all haste, – 'which should be exchanged for a cell, and bread and water. – And you, gentle sir, who are so malapert, the time will come when the interests of kings and kingdoms may not be connected with such as you are; and you shall then learn the penalty of your audacity in raising your beggarly eyes' –
'Hush! hush! – enough said – rein up – rein up,' said the old Lord; – 'and you, Quentin, I command you, be silent, and begone to your quarters. – There is no such room for so much scorn neither, Sir Count of Crevecoeur, that I must say now he is out of hearing – Quentin Durward is as much a gentleman as the King, only, as the Spaniard says, not so rich. He is as noble as myself, and I am chief of my name. Tush, tush! man, you must not speak to us of penalties.'
'My lord, my lord,' said Crevecoeur, impatiently, 'the insolence of these foreign mercenaries is proverbial, and should receive rather rebuke than encouragement from you, who are their leader.'
'My Lord Count,' answered Crawford, 'I have ordered my command for these fifty years, without advice either from Frenchman or Burgundian; and I intend to do so, under your favour, so long as I shall continue to hold it.'
'Well, well, my lord,' said Crevecoeur, 'I meant you no disrespect; your nobleness, as well as your age, entitle you to be privileged in your impatience; and for these young people, I am satisfied to overlook the past, since I will take care that they never meet again.'
'Do not take that upon your salvation, Crevecoeur,' said the old Lord, laughing; 'mountains, it is said, may meet, and why not mortal creatures that have legs, and life and love to put those legs in motion? You kiss, Crevecoeur, came tenderly off – methinks it was ominous.'
'You are striving again to disturb my patience,' said Crevecoeur, 'but I will not give you that advantage over me. – Hark! they toll the summons to the Castle – an awful meeting, of which God only can foretell the issue.'
