A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de MarsacWeyman, Stanley John
History
A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac
Weyman, Stanley John
France -- History -- Henry III, 1574-1589 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
The remark was well timed and to the point. It startled the man as much
as I had hoped it would. Without raising any objection he ordered his
men to fall back and guard the stairs; and I on my side began to undo
the fastenings of the door.
The matter was not to be so easily concluded, however; for Bruhl’s
rascals, in obedience, no doubt, to a sign given by their leader, who
stood with Fresnoy on the upper flight of stairs, refused to withdraw;
and even hustled the Provost-Marshal’s men when the latter would have
obeyed the order. The officer, already heated by delay, replied by
laying about him with his staff, and in a twinkling there seemed to
be every prospect of a very pretty MELEE, the end of which it was
impossible to foresee.
Reflecting, however, that if Bruhl’s men routed their opponents our
position might be made worse rather than better, I did not act on my
first impulse, which was to see the matter out where I was. Instead, I
seized the opportunity to let myself out, while Simon fastened the door
behind me. The Provost-Marshal was engaged at the moment in a wordy
dispute with Fresnoy; whose villainous countenance, scarred by the wound
which I had given him at Chize, and flushed with passion, looked its
worst by the light of the single torch which remained. In one respect
the villain had profited by his present patronage, for he was decked out
in a style of tawdry magnificence. But I have always remarked this
about dress, that while a shabby exterior does not entirely obscure a
gentleman, the extreme of fashion is powerless to gild a knave.
Seeing me on a sudden at the Provost’s elbow, he recoiled with a change
of countenance so ludicrous that that officer was himself startled, and
only held his ground on my saluting him civilly and declaring myself
his prisoner I added a warning that he should look to the torch which
remained; seeing that if it failed we were both like to have our throats
cut in the confusion.
He took the hint promptly, and calling the link-man to his side prepared
to descend, bidding Fresnoy and his men, who remained clumped at the
head of the stairs, make way for us without ado. They seemed much
inclined, however, to dispute our passage, and replying to his
invectives with rough taunts, displayed so hostile a demeanour that the
Provost, between regard for his own importance and respect for Bruhl,
appeared for a moment at a loss what to do; and seemed rather relieved
than annoyed when I begged leave to say a word to M. de Bruhl.
‘If you can bring his men to reason,’ he replied testily, ‘speak your
fill to him!’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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