CHAPTER II.

THE TRAVELLER FROM ENGLAND.

A great _Berline à quatre chevaux_ halted at the North Gate outside

Paris, and the young man seated within the carriage let down the

window and prepared to once more answer all the questions that would

be put to him. Yet he also thanked Heaven, in a somewhat wearied

manner, that this must be the last of it. After that he would be in

Paris, with nothing before him but to drive as fast as might be to the

Rue Champfleury, known long ago as La Rue Honteuse.

Then the formula began once more, was repeated and gone through with,

precisely in the same manner as it had been gone through with at

Boulogne, where he had landed, at Amiens, Abbeville, and half a dozen

other towns and villages.

"Monsieur's name?" asked the _guet_, respectfully enough, while as

each answer was made he glanced at the passport handed to him and

countersigned by the Ambassador to England from "Louis, Roi de France

et de Navarre, etc."

"Martin Ashurst."

"Country?"

"England."

"Position?"

"Gentleman. Also----"

But here he found that no more explanation whatever was required from

him. Precisely as he had found it all along the road, whenever the

inquiring eyes of warders or _guets_ or gatekeepers (in some cases

soldiers) had lit upon one of the many statements appended to his

passport--the statement that Monsieur Ashurst was nephew to "Madame la

Princesse de Rochebazon."

"Passez, monsieur," said the man, as all the other men had said on

seeing this, and saluting as all the other men had saluted; after

which, with a direction to the coachman to proceed, he retired into

his room in the gatehouse.

"The last, thank God," the occupant of the Berline muttered, "the

last. It has been wearisome, but, well, it is over. Now for my aunt."

In spite of his weariness incurred by an unhalting journey from

London, in which sleep could only be obtained by snatches here and

there, in spite of the dust along the highroads both of England and

France having discoloured his scarlet coat and tarnished his gold

lacings and rendered dirty his Valenciennes cravat, as well as having

turned the whiteness of his wig to a dirty yellowish brown, Martin

Ashurst presented an attractive appearance. His features were handsome

and manly, clear-cut and aristocratic--Madame la Princesse de

Rochebazon, once Aurora Ashurst, had herself possessed the same

features when young--his figure was slight, yet strong and well knit,

his whole appearance satisfactory. Also he bore about him those

indefinable traits which mark the gentleman, which, perhaps, it may be

said without offence to others, mark and distinguish the English

gentleman particularly. A certain calm, a self-contained air, a lack

of perception of the existence of those who were unknown to him, and

thereby without his ken, distinguished Martin Ashurst as it has always

distinguished so many of the well-bred of our land.

Yet his life had not been all passed in England, the first fifteen

years of it being, indeed, spent in France under the patronage of the

aunt to whom the _Berline à quatre chevaux_ was now bearing him as

fast as four heavy Flanders roadsters could drag it.

Gabriel Ashurst, his father, and Gabriel's sister Aurora, had been two

among the hundreds of Royalists who, in the year 1647, were taken by

their parents to France as soon as it was possible to escape out of

England and from the clutches of the Parliamentarians. Then, in

France, in Paris, had begun for them that long career of exile against

which so many of the followers of the Stuarts had repined so much at

first, and which, in due course, so many had come to like and, in some

cases, to appreciate. Also there had come to this exiled family a

splendid piece of good fortune, the like of which did not fall often

in the way of English exiles. Aurora Ashurst, a girl of twenty, had

won the heart of Henri de Beauvilliers, then Baron de Beauvilliers,

but with, before him in the near future, the titles and wealth and

great positions of Comte de Montrachet, Marquis du Gast d'Ançilly, and

Prince de Rochebazon, for the head of the house who held them all was

near his end; they were almost within the grasp of Henri, as he stood

at the altar with his English bride. Three months after their marriage

they were his.

Time passed. Gabriel married, as well as his sister, his wife being a

countrywoman of his own, also in exile with her family. Cromwell died,

the Stuarts were restored. Then Gabriel and his wife returned to

England, but the lad, Martin, was left in charge of the Princesse de

Rochebazon, who had become by now a childless widow--was, indeed,

almost adopted by her. It was true she could not make him heir to the

great titles--those must die out!--but at least she could provide for

him, and she set about doing it. The whole control of the de

Rochebazon wealth was hers to do what she pleased with; she

might, if she had desired, have left their châteaux, their

woods and forests in half a dozen provinces, their hotel in the Rue

Champfleury--everything, to him. Only, because she was a just woman

and a religious, she would not do that, recognising that the wealth

accumulated by generations of French nobles ought not in common

honesty to go to one who had no tie of blood with them and who

belonged to a land which was almost always at war with France.

Therefore, urged partly by the promptings of her own heart and deep

Catholic feelings, partly by the promptings of a priest, and partly by

those of the De Maintenon, as well as by a whispered hint in the soft

courtly tones of _le Roi Soleil_, now cowering under the awful terrors

that too often assail the self-righteous, she left all the wealth of

the heirless De Rochebazons to the Church, reserving only for Martin

Ashurst the fortune she had saved out of her private purse.

Yet 'twas a fortune which would make him rich for life, place him on a

high pinnacle in either France or England, cause women either at St.

James's or Versailles to angle for him, and throw aside forever, as

commodities too expensive to be indulged in, the men whom they loved;

a fortune that would buy him a peerage in England, obtain for him the

_justaucorps à brevet_ in France, and orders and decorations, the

command of regiments, the governorships of provinces, embassies, stars

and ribbons, surround him with parasites and flatterers! Half a

million pistoles! In English money nigh upon five hundred thousand

guineas!

As the berline rolled through St. Ouen and Aubervilliers, the wheels

sometimes sticking in a rut of the ill-kept roads--whereby the great,

cumbersome vehicle lurched so heavily that the young man expected to

be overturned at every moment--sometimes, too, scattering a flock of

ducks and fowls before it as they sought for subsistence amid the dust

and filth, while the coachman and postillion hurled curses at all and

everything that came in their way, and the English man servant in the

banquette roared with laughter, Martin Ashurst thought of what lay

before him in the future. For he knew well enough to what he went--the

princess had long since apprised him of the inheritance that was to be

his--he knew that future. Yet he was not particularly enamoured of it.

"The conditions," he muttered more than once to himself, "are irksome.

To live in France, yet with my thoughts ever cast back to England, to

London, to St. James's and the suppers at Locket's and Pontac's, the

merry nights at Chaves's and White's. And--and--to be banished from

England! Faugh! whatever my aunt has to leave me can scarce be worth

that."

In sober truth, although he knew he was heir to Madame la Princesse,

he did not know how great the inheritance was to be. In thinking it

all over, in talking it all over, too, with his father and mother, he

had imagined with them that there might be some thirty or forty

thousand pounds which would be his, and that, owning this sum of

money, he would thereby be a rich man. But that any such sum as that

which his aunt had really put aside was ever likely to come to him had

never entered his thoughts.

"Also," he mused, "how serve Louis, be subject to him when my own

country may require me? And though we are at peace, how long shall we

be so? Marlborough, the Dutch, are restless; they itch to fly at this

French king's throat. It will come again. It must. No treaty ever yet

put an end to our wars for any considerable time. Also--also--there is

the other thing. In honour I must tell her that, even though by doing

so I cause her to renounce me, to disinherit me. To leave me not so

much as will pay the score at Locket's for suppers. She must know it."

Down the Rue de la Boucherie the berline rumbled, the dry fetid smell

of the blood of slaughtered beasts being perceptible to the young

man's nostrils as he passed through it, since it was still the

shambles of Paris; down the Rue des Chants Poulets and past the Rue

des Mauvais Garçons it went, with still the driver hurling curses at

all who got in his way, at children playing in the road and at a

_cordelier_ telling his beads as he walked, yet glinting an evil eye

at the coachman and muttering maledictions at him under his breath,

and with the English servant still laughing as now he donned his

drugget coat and put on his puff wig. For the driver, in between his

curses and howls and whoops at the animals, had found time to mutter

that the next street was La Rue Champfleury, though, _diantre!_ few

flowers grew there now, except in the gardens of the great Princesse

de Rochebazon.

"Sir," said the man servant, glancing down through the open window in

the back of the great vehicle, "we are nearly there."

"I know it," Martin Ashurst replied. Then asked suddenly, as they

passed under the _Beau Dieu_ stuck in a corner house of the street,

"Why does he roar afresh, and why pull up with such a jerk?"

"There are red cords stretched all about the street, sir, in front of

a great house; also the road is half a foot deep in tan to deaden

sounds. And a fellow with a three-cornered hat as big as a table waves

a gilt stick to him to stop. What shall we do?"

"Why, stop to be sure. Also I will alight. We have arrived."

Whereon he descended out of the berline, bidding the man follow with

his sword, as well as pay the driver and see to the necessaries being

taken off the roof. After which he passed through the cords, and

addressing the Suisse, said:

"How is it with Madame la Princesse?"

"Madame la Princesse still lives, monsieur," the man replied, his eye

roving over the scarlet coat and richly laced hat of the traveller;

noticing, too, the rings upon his fingers and the silver-hilted rapier

carried by the servant. "Doubtless monsieur is the nephew of Madame la

Princesse, expected to-day."

"I am he."

With a bow the man invited Martin Ashurst to follow him, and led him

through a cool vestibule to where some footmen stood about, then

ordered them to conduct monsieur to his apartment, saying that

possibly he would desire to make his toilet.

"The rooms prepared for monsieur are those he has occupied often

before, I hear," this man of importance said. "Upon this _étage_,

giving on the garden, if monsieur pleases."

And now, left alone with only his servant to attend upon him, monsieur

made a hasty toilet, washing from off his hands and face the dust and

dirt of the journey, discarding, too, his scarlet coat and waistcoat

for others of a more suitable colour, changing his wig and shoes and

stockings. Then bade the man go say that if the princess would receive

him he was ready to attend upon her.

Sitting there waiting to be summoned to her presence, his eyes

glancing out through the long open windows on to the fresh, green

garden with its banks of roses, now drooping with the advent of

autumn, he thought of all that she had done for him since first he

could remember. Of how, as a child, when he lived in this great house,

or went with her in the summer heats to fair Touraine--where was a

castle of the de Rochebazon's embowered in woods--or to that other

great château in Perche, or to still a third one which hung over the

golden sands of La Gironde, she seemed to live almost to shower gentle

kindnesses upon him, her brother's child. To do all for him that she

would have done had he been her own; to surround him with luxuries far

too good and dainty for one so young as he; to provide him with tutors

and keepers, with horses and carriages and rich silks and satins, and

gold pieces in his pockets to fling to beggars as other men flung sols

and deniers, because she loved him, and in her love had but one

regret--that he was not a de Rochebazon to succeed to all they owned.

Also, when they were separated, he in England, she at Versailles, how

much she had done for him as he grew to manhood! How much! How much!

Money sent over for his pleasures because she desired that, in all

things, he should have the best, should be able to hold his own with

those who were in the court circle and the fashion. That his early

years should never know any narrowness of means which in after life

might cramp him as he recalled it; also that, as he stepped over the

threshold of youth and reached manhood, he should do so with ease and

comfort.

"I owe her all, everything," he mused to himself as still his eyes

gazed out upon the trim-kept and still luxurious _parterres_ of the

great gardens. "All, all! My father, beggared as he was by his

loyalty, could have done naught beyond equipping me for some

simple, unambitious calling, beyond, perhaps, obtaining me a pair of

colours in some marching regiment. I owe her all--the clothes upon

my back, the food I eat, the very knowledge of how to wield a sword!

And--and--God forgive me! I have deceived her for years, kept back for

years a secret that should not have existed for one hour. Still, she

shall know now. She shall not go to her grave without knowing that I

have no right to own one single livre that she has put aside for me."

As he finished his reflections the door was rapped at, and the

footman, entering at his command, told him that the Demoiselle Manon

was without and waiting to escort him to the bedside of Madame la

Princesse.