CHAPTER LXV.
HOW M. DE ST. LUC SHOWED M. DE MONSOREAU THE THRUST THAT THE KING
HAD TAUGHT HIM.
"Are you ready?" cried Monsoreau.
"No; I have the sun in my eyes."
"Move then; I warn you I shall kill you."
"Shall you really? Well, man proposes, and God disposes. Look
at that bed of poppies and dandelions."
"Well!"
"Well, I mean to lay you there." And he laughed as he drew his
sword. Monsoreau began the combat furiously, but St. Luc parried
his thrusts skilfully.
"Pardieu! M. de Monsoreau," said he, "you use your sword very
well; you might kill any one but Bussy or me."
Monsoreau grew pale.
"As for me," continued St. Luc, "the king, who loves me, took
the trouble to give me a great many lessons, and showed me, among
other things, a thrust, which you shall see presently. I tell
you, that you may have the pleasure of knowing you are killed
by the king's method; it is very flattering." And then suddenly
he rushed furiously on Monsoreau, who, half wild with rage as
he was, parried five thrusts, but received the sixth full in
his chest.
"Ah!" said St. Luc, "you will fall just where I told you," as
Monsoreau sank down on the poppies. Then, wiping his sword, he
stood quietly by, watching the changes which came over the face
of the dying man.
"Ah, you have killed me!" cried Monsoreau.
"I intended to do so, but now I see you dying, devil take me if
I am not sorry for what I have done. You are horribly jealous,
it is true, but you were brave. Have you any last wish? If so,
tell it to me; and, on the faith of a gentleman, it shall be
executed. Are you thirsty? Shall I get you water?"
Monsoreau did not reply. He turned over with his face to the
earth, biting the ground, and struggling in his blood. Then he
tried to raise his head, but fell back with a groan.
"Come, he is dead; let me think no more about him. Ah! but that
is not so easy, when you have killed a man." And jumping back
over the wall, he went to the château. The first person he saw
was Diana talking to his wife.
"How well she will look in black," thought he. Then, approaching
them, "Pardon me," said he, "but may I say a few words to Jeanne?"
"Do so; I will go to my father,"
"What is it?" said Jeanne, when Diana was gone; "you look rather
gloomy."
"Why, yes."
"What has happened?"
"Oh, mon Dieu! an accident."
"To you?"
"Not precisely to me, but to a person who was near me."
"Who was it?"
"The person I was walking with."
"M. de Monsoreau?"
"Alas! yes; poor dear man."
"What has happened to him?"
"I believe he is dead."
"Dead!" cried Jeanne, starting back in horror.
"Just so."
"He who was here just now talking----"
"Yes, that is just the cause of his death; he talked too much."
"St. Luc, you are hiding something from me!" cried Jeanne, seizing
his hands.
"I! Nothing; not even the place where he lies."
"Where is it?"
"Down there behind the wall; just where Bussy used to tie his
horse."
"It was you who killed him."
"Parbleu! that is not very difficult to discover."
"Unlucky that you are!"
"Ah, dear friend! he provoked me, insulted me, drew the sword
first."
"It is dreadful! the poor man!"
"Good; I was sure of it; before a week is over he will be called
St. Monsoreau."
"But you cannot stay here in the house of the man you have killed."
"So I thought at once, and that is why I came to ask you to get
ready."
"He has not wounded you?"
"No, I am perfectly unhurt."
"Then, we will go."
"As quickly as possible, for you know the accident may be discovered
at any moment."
"Then Diana is a widow."
"That is just what I thought of."
"After you killed him?"
"No, before."
"Well, I will go and tell her."
"Spare her feelings."
"Do not laugh. Meanwhile you get the horses saddled. But where
shall we go?"
"To Paris."
"But the king?"
"Oh! he will have forgotten everything by this time; besides,
if there is to be war, as seems probable, he will be glad of
me. But I must have pen and ink."
"For what?"
"To write to Bussy; I cannot leave Anjou without telling him why."
"No, of course not; you will find all that you require in my room."
St. Luc went in, and wrote,--
"DEAR FRIEND,
"You will learn, by report, ere long, the accident which has
happened to M. de Monsoreau; we had together, by the old copse,
a discussion on broken-down walls and horses that go home alone.
In the heat of the argument, he fell on a bed of poppies and
dandelions so hard that he died there.
"Your friend for life,
"St. Luc.
"P. S. As you may think this rather improbable, I must add that
we had our swords in our hands. I set off at once for Paris to
make peace with the king, Anjou not seeming to me very safe after
what has occurred."
Ten minutes after a servant set off for Angers with this letter,
while M. and Madame de St. Luc went out by another door, leaving
Diana much grieved at their departure, and much embarrassed how
to tell the baron what had occurred. She had turned away her
eyes from St. Luc as he passed.
"That is the reward for serving your friends," said he to his
wife; "decidedly all people are ungrateful excepting me."
