have just narrated to me--can hate her family, cheat them of their possessions, violate the laws of hospitality, and conduct herself, on the face of God's earth, as though all were her own, and morality an emanation of her own will, to be put aside at pleasure.-Yes! she can do all this, and receive the commendation of her confessor! Truly do they call her a divinity at Paris, since she is not subject to the penalties which fall on the heads of mortal women.-Nay, father--not one word of remonstrance! Only tell me this-am I to quit D'Usson before the marquis can know of my departure ?"

"You do the Queen of Navarre and myself much wrong,' exclaimed the confessor, writhing beneath the lash of the fair D'Estrées: "I knew not of her intent till success had crowned the attempt; and her majesty wishes only to place herself in a position where she can command justice. has been a suitor-yes, a beggar-for that boon, too long."

She

“Then were I Queen of Navarre, or her secretary and counsellor-he whom you now call Baron de Nevailles," cried Gabrielle, with animation,-"I would not so have committed my good faith! Would it not have been worthier of a Valois, or even of a De Nevailles, whose name I have read of in old chronicles, to summon friends and adherents, beleaguer a castle in the open day, before God and man, and carry it by force of arms, in every way worthy of their ancestry? Are they not ashamed to show their faces? Will they dare meet my father -talk to him, the baron, with his visor up-or will he only survey his kind host through bars of steel? Why you, father, seem ashamed of your part."

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Daughter!" cried the humbled Cordelier, "the church and state are both obliged to act at seasons through expediency rather than doctrine. The ways of truth are straight, but obstacles are often thrown in its paths by the malicious, forcing the well-disposed into a crooked course. Look at the forked lightning launched from Heaven's hand! Is the hand crooked? Is it not rather the resistance—the evil in its path which it has to overcome-which forces it into an angular line? Look at the gentle spray, which grows under the care of the fair chatelaine in the garden of D'Usson-so near to Heaven! Hold it forth in your hand-look at the ends-how parallel! But the length between-how angular! a succession of crooked lines, like the forked play of the lightning! Here is but a type of human nature. You see the original design-the fair straight course of nature thwarted by evil, unseen but in its effects-you witness the result of the struggle-a perpetual effort to

wards a straight career, and a continual involuntary divergence, producing the crooked spray! Such is poor human nature; and such it will be till He whom I serve, and who permits its sway, as a touchstone for the strength and beauty of his own creation, shall, when this dispensation is accomplished, will it from off the earth. But till then the struggle between good and evil will continue, and the human victim gasp out its respective colours, unceasingly conflicting, as the dying dolphin makes the waves reflect in turn every colour of the rainbow."

"O confessor! worthy of the Queen of Navarre!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "Then evil is beautiful."

'Nay, daughter," replied the monk, quickly; "but in this our mortal state it calls forth the hidden virtue of humanity. Had nothing but goodness and philanthropy reigned on the face of the earth, where could have been displayed the holy offices of charity? Where the divine offices which the lowly and good of heart of your sex displayed towards their Redeemer? Where his bright example-a lamp to the end of the world--and a glory for ever, but for the persecution of his cruel enemies? Had mankind never been afflicted, they would never have known their strength-had they never witnessed and never done wrong, their devotion would have lacked the depth of feeling which springs from a heart which has escaped perdition !"

"And you, father, looked like a guilty creature when you came here on your errand," said Gabrielle, whose anger had subsided beneath admiration of the enthusiasm which she had kindled in the monk.

"I have ever been a child seeking repentance and help to escape from a world to which I am chained!" replied the admirer of fattened capons and apologist of expediency.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The plot is laid if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit

As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.

HENRY VI.

To the spectator from the valley, D'Usson with its gray towers reflecting the sun's beams, and its lofty basement rock, the centre of a panorama of romantic beauty, seemed the sure abode of happiness; but far from happy was the condition of the inmates. Gabrielle would not quit her chamber, lest it might be construed into a recognition of the queen's authority; she was resolute in holding herself as a captive, scorning, as she did, to be the guest of the arch-traitress of Navarre.

The victors did not feel themselves secure in their new possession till the temper of the garrison had been put to the proof against the old governor, whose return was daily expected; nor was it prudent for either De Nevailles or Pomini to leave the fortress in order to levy reinforcements, as the number of the queen's party was so small, that each of her friends might fairly account himself essential to her safety.

In this state of uncertainty and alarm affairs remained at D'Usson, till the trumpet of the marquis announced his arrival in the valley; never was heard a more fearful sound, though pealing in the ears of veterans, and also of one who had done good service in the army of his sovereign.

Half-way down the descent was a ruined tower, which had in the feudal era served as a defence to the winding path, and without the capture of which the gates of the castle were inapproachable to foes. It had been dismantled since the erection of the batteries which flanked the gate-tower, as a useless position. The thought flashed across the mind of the baron, that from this post three or four determined arquebusiers might keep at bay the whole force of the marquis; and what was of more importance, prevent him having the least communication with his former garrison. But on the other hand he dreaded a counter-revolution; to the practised eyes of the veterans, his absence would have presented a favourable opportunity of shutting him out, and so making their peace with De Cœuvres.

The possibility of such an error was not to be endured, and he made up his mind to stay within the walls, and allow the unsuspicious old noble to approach.

De Cœuvres was in excellent temper; the accounts of the steward and the produce of his lands were both gratifying; his soldiers had proved themselves willing assistants-and the double journey had been performed without encountering the troops of either of the adverse factions. The old marquis longed to renew his homage to the fair Navarrese queen, and again to sun himself in her smiles-an agreeable contrast to the scorching rays of Phoebus; but this pleasure was denied him.

"La Roche," exclaimed he, addressing the veteran, as the little band was toiling up the ascent; "the seneschal is too proud to come forth to greet us; and methinks the Queen of Navarre might have shown herself on the terrace-it would have made our welcome doubly pleasant."

La Roche did not reply; but when, after rounding a mass of rock, they came within view of the gates, and saw the portcullis lowered as though the fortress were in a state of siege, the old arquebusier uttered one long, deep-Sacre !

"By St. Michael! how is this?" exclaimed De Cœuvres ; "that villain seneschal has been playing us some trick on purpose to amuse her majesty. He shall quit D'Usson ere sunset."

The marquis ordered his trumpeter to sound a parley; the rocks and valleys echoed the warlike notes, which, however, brought no friendly greeting from the castle; a sentinel threw from the gate-tower a packet, which Robert rushed forward to pick up. It was a declaration of the Queen of Navarre, setting forth her unsatisfied claims, and her determination to hold D'Usson till her demands were complied with, either by the King of France or her royal mother; it concluded with a regret for the show of hostilities displayed towards the marquis, but that whatever might be the good feelings entertained towards him as a French gentleman, yet as an officer of his majesty he could not, on any consideration, be permitted to enter the fortress.

"Do I dream?" exclaimed De Cœuvres, when he had finished the perusal of the document; "No! No! It is a conceit of the queen's secretary, in conjunction with that villain Pomini, to have a laugh against me!"

The marquis, however, looking a second time at the declaration, which was worded with all the accuracy of diplo

matic care, shook his head. He feared he had been outwitted, but resolved to make another trial. A second parley was sounded, and Pomini made his appearance behind the portcullis, much afraid of his master's arquebusiers, whom in his just rage he might order to fire upon the unfortunate seneschal. As soon as De Cœuvres perceived his treacherous subaltern sheltered behind the iron-bars, like a prisoner in a cage, his mind again recurred to the idea of a meditated frolic.

Commanding the astonished soldiers to halt, he rode up to the gates; Pomini, though on the safe side, recoiled half a step in fear at his approach.

"When your game is over, Monsieur Jongleur," cried the marquis, suppressing his rage, "you will, I hope, allow our tired bodies a place of repose. This is the cleverest piece of pastime you have achieved since I took you into D'Usson. Have you no fear that we should catch up your wild spirit, and throw in a score of balls to show our sympathy?"

The calmness with which De Cœuvres uttered this speech was the result of a strong effort to conceal his vexation; but he was in that dubious state of mind in which a man finds it so difficult to act with the right feeling, not knowing whether he be made the subject of a joke or a piece of treachery, and unwilling that he should commit himself in the event of either alternative.

"As to fear, monseigneur !" replied Pomini, watching the eyes of the marquis, which were earnestly scanning the interior of the court, to ascertain who might be within hearing, "that ought to be mutual. The old culverins on the batteries are loaded with shot-and we might have tumbled monseigneur into the valley ere he could speak to us."

"Loaded with shot!-Shot for a salute!" exclaimed the marquis, in a voice faltering with apprehension.

"Shot for a salute! Pardieu! monseigneur! No! we have not changed the old customs at D'Usson!" rejoined the seneschal.

"Old customs!

What and when mean you?" asked De Cœuvres, brooding a flood of revenge.

"I mean when monseigneur was governor of D'Usson!" replied Pomini.

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By the host of hell! you infernal thief!" shouted De Couvres grasping the portcullis with such violence as to shake the massive iron, "have I been feeding a viper-a reptile?"

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"A viper-a reptile!" echoed the seneschal, indignant at