CHAPTER XXV.
THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
On descending into the court, M. de Méridor found a fresh horse,
which Bussy had had prepared for him; another waited for Bussy,
and attended by Rémy, they started. As they went along, the baron
could not but ask himself by what strange confidence he had
accompanied, almost blindly, the friend of the prince to whom
he owed all his misfortunes. Would it not have been better to
have braved the Duc d'Anjou, and instead of following Bussy where
it pleased him to lead, to have gone at once to the Louvre, and
thrown himself at the feet of the king? What could the prince
say to him? How could he console him? Could soft words heal his
wound?
When they stopped, "What," said the baron, "does the Duc d'Anjou
live in this humble house?"
"Not exactly, monsieur, but if it is not his dwelling, it is that
of a lady whom he has loved."
A cloud passed over the face of the old gentleman. "Monsieur,"
said he, "we provincials are not used to the easy manners of
Paris; they annoy us. It seems to me that if the Duc d'Anjou
wishes to see the Baron de Méridor, it ought to be at his palace,
and not at the house of one of his mistresses."
"Come, come, baron!" said Bussy, with his smile, which always
carried conviction with it, "do not hazard false conjectures. On
my honor, the lady who you are going to see is perfectly virtuous
and worthy in all respects."
"Who is she then?"
"She is the wife of a friend of yours."
"Really! but then, monsieur, why did you say the duke loved her?"
"Because I always speak truth. But enter, and you shall see
accomplished all I have promised you."
"Take care; I wept for my child, and you said, 'Console yourself,
monsieur, the mercy of God is great;' to promise me a consolation
to my grief was almost to promise me a miracle."
"Enter, monsieur," said Bussy, with his bright smile. Bussy went
in first, and, running up to Gertrude, said, "Go and tell Madame
de Monsoreau that M. de Bussy is here, and desires to speak to
her. But," continued he, in a low voice, "not a word of the
person who accompanies me."
"Madame de Monsoreau!" said the old man in astonishment. But
as he feebly mounted the staircase, he heard the voice of Diana
crying,--
"M. de Bussy. Gertrude? Oh! let him come in!"
"That voice!" cried the baron, stopping. "Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"
At that moment, as the baron tremblingly held on to the banister,
and looked around him, he saw at the top of the staircase, Diana,
smiling, and more beautiful that ever. At this sight the old man
uttered a cry and would have fallen, had he not caught hold of
Bussy, who stood by him.
"Diana alive! Diana, oh, my God!"
"Mon Dieu! M. de Bussy!" cried Diana, running down, "what is the
matter with my father?"
"He thought you dead, madame, and he wept, as a father must weep
for a daughter like you."
"How!" cried Diana; "and no one undeceived him?"
"No one."
"No," cried the old man, recovering a little, "no one, not even
M. de Bussy."
"Ungrateful," said Bussy.
"Oh! yes! you are right; for this moment repays me for all my
griefs. Oh! my Diana! my beloved Diana!" cried he, drawing his
daughter to him with one hand, and extending the other to Bussy.
But all at once he cried, "But you said I was to see Madame de
Monsoreau. Where is she?"
"Alas! my father!" cried Diana.
Bussy summoned up all his strength. "M. de Monsoreau is your
son-in-law," he said.
"What! my son-in-law! and every one--even you, Diana--left me
in ignorance."
"I feared to write, my father; he said my letters would fall
into the hands of the prince. Besides, I thought you knew all."
"But why all these strange mysteries?"
"Ah, yes, my father; why did M. de Monsoreau let you think me
dead, and not let you know I was his wife?"
The baron, overwhelmed, looked from Bussy to Diana.
"M. de Monsoreau my son-in-law!" stammered he.
"That cannot astonish you, father; did you not order me to marry
him?"
"Yes, if he saved you."
"Well! he did save me," said Diana, sinking on to a chair, "not
from misfortune, but from shame."
"Then why did he let me think you dead? I, who wept for you so
bitterly. Why did he let me die of despair, when a single word
would have restored me?"
"Oh! there is some hidden mystery," cried Diana; "my father,
you will not leave me again; M. de Bussy, you will protect us."
"Alas! madame! it belongs to me no more to enter into your family
secrets. Seeing the strange maneuvers of your husband, I wished
to bring you a defender; you have your father, I retire."
"He is right," said the old man, sadly.
"M. de Monsoreau feared the Duc d'Anjou, and so does M. de Bussy."
Diana cast a glance at the young man. He smiled and said, "M.
le Baron, excuse, I beg, the singular question I am about to
ask; and you also, madame, for I wish to serve you. M. le Baron,
ask Madame de Monsoreau if she be happy in the marriage which
she has contracted in obedience to your orders."
Diana burst into tears for her only answer. The eyes of the baron
filled also, for he began to fear that his friendship for M. de
Monsoreau had tended to make his daughter unhappy.
"Now!" said Bussy, "is it true that you voluntarily promised him
your daughter's hand?"
"Yes, if he saved her."
"And he did save her. Then, monsieur, I need not ask if you mean
to keep your promise."
"It is a law for all, and above all for gentlemen; you know that,
M. de Bussy. My daughter must be his."
"Ah!" cried Diana, "would I were dead!"
"Madame," said Bussy, "you see I was right, and that I can do
no more here. M. le Baron gives you to M. de Monsoreau, and you
yourself promised to marry him when you should see your father
again safe and well."
"Ah! you tear my heart, M. de Bussy," cried Diana, approaching
the young man; "my father does not know that I fear this man,
that I hate him; my father sees in him only my saviour, and I
think him my murderer."
"Diana! Diana!" cried the baron, "he saved you."
"Yes," cried Bussy, "but if the danger were less great than you
thought; what do we know? There is some mystery in all this,
which I must clear up. But I protest to you, that if I had had
the happiness to be in the place of M. de Monsoreau, I would
have saved your young and beautiful daughter without exacting
a price for it."
"He loved her," said M. de Méridor, trying to excuse him.
"And I, then----" cried Bussy; and, although he stopped, frightened
at what he was about to say, Diana heard and understood.
"Well!" cried she, reddening, "my brother, my friend, can you
do nothing for me?"
"But the Duc d'Anjou," said the baron.
"I am not aware of those who fear the anger of princes," said
Bussy; "and, besides, I believe the danger lies not with him,
but with M. de Monsoreau."
"But if the duke learns that Diana is alive, all is lost."
"I see," said Bussy, "you believe M. de Monsoreau more than me.
Say no more; you refuse my aid; throw yourself, then, into the
arms of the man who has already so well merited your confidence.
Adieu, baron; adieu, madame, you will see me no more."
"Oh!" cried Diana, taking his hand. "Have you seen me waver for
an instant; have you ever seen me soften towards him? No. I beg
you, on my knees, M. de Bussy, not to abandon me."
Bussy seized her hands, and all his anger melted away like snow
before the sun.
"Then so be it, madame," said he; "I accept the mission, and
in three days--for I must have time to go to Chartres to the
prince--you shall see me again." Then, in a low tone to her, he
said, "We are allied against this Monsoreau; remember that it
was not he who brought you back to your father, and be faithful
to me."
