France -- History -- Henry II, 1547-1559 -- Fiction; Montgomery, Gabriel, comte de, 1530-1574 -- Fiction
"I don't know it, Monseigneur, but I believe and hope so; for his was a
strong and sturdy nature like yours, and should have resisted suffering
and misfortune as valiantly. Now, if he is alive, he is not the one to
refuse, as Madame Diane did, to reveal the secret on which your
happiness depends!"
"But where shall we find him; of whom demand him? In Heaven's name,
Aloyse, tell me!"
"It is a terrible story, Monseigneur! And I swore to my husband, by your
father's command, never to reveal it to you; for as soon as you know it,
you will plunge into the midst of fearful dangers, Monseigneur, and will
declare war against foes a hundred times stronger than yourself. But the
most desperate peril is preferable to certain death. You had made up
your mind to die; and I knew that you would not grow weak in that
determination. After all, I prefer to expose you to the doubtful chances
of the bitter conflict which your hither dreaded in your behalf. At all
events, your death will be less certain, and will be delayed a little.
So I am going to tell you everything, Monseigneur; and it may be that
God will pardon me for proving false to my oath."
"Yes, of course, dear Aloyse. My father! my father living! Oh, quickly!
speak!"
But at this moment there was a soft knock at the door, and Nostradamus
appeared.
"Aha, Monsieur d'Exmès," said he, "how bright and lively you are! I'm
glad to see it! You were not like this a month ago. You seem to be all
ready to take the field."
"Yes, indeed,--to take the field," said Gabriel, with sparkling eye,
looking meaningly at Aloyse.
"So I see that the physician has no further business here," said
Nostradamus.
"Nothing, save to receive my grateful thanks, Master, and I dare not say
the value of your services, for under certain circumstances one's life
is not valuable."
And Gabriel, pressing the doctor's hand, left in it a roll of
gold-pieces.
"Thanks, Monsieur Vicomte d'Exmès," said Nostradamus. "But give me
leave to make you a present which I think will prove of value to you."
"What is it, pray, Master?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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