My Sword's My Fortune Part 1

My Sword's My Fortune.

by Herbert Hayens.

CHAPTER I.

I Go to Paris.

"Let the boy go to Paris," exclaimed our guest, Roland Belloc. "I warrant he'll find a path that will lead him to fortune."

"He is young," said my father doubtfully.

"He will be killed," cried my mother, while I stood upright against the wall and looked at Roland gratefully.

It was in 1650, in the days of the Regency, and all France was in an uproar. Our most gracious monarch, Louis XIV., was then a boy of twelve, and his Queen-Mother, Anne of Austria, ruled the country. She had a host of enemies, and only one friend, Cardinal Mazarin, a wily Italian priest, who was perhaps the actual master of France.

Roland Belloc, who was the Cardinal's man, had been staying for a day or two in my father's company. He was a real soldier of fortune, strong as a bull, a fine swordsman, and afraid of no man living. He told us many startling tales of Paris.

According to him, everything in the city, from the throne to the gutter, was in a state of unrest: no man knew what an hour would bring forth. One day people feasted and sang and danced in feverish merriment: the next the barricades were up, and the denizens of the filthy courts and alleys, eager for pillage, swarmed into the light.

"Mazarin is like a wild boar," said he, "with a pack of hounds baying round him. There is the Duke of Orleans, the king's uncle, who snaps and runs away; Conde is waiting to get a good bite; while the priest, De Retz, is the most mischievous of all."

"It is almost as bad as war," said my father.

"It is war, and nothing else. But," with a laugh, "the green scarf of Mazarin will be uppermost at the finish. What do you say, Albert? Are you willing to don the Cardinal's colours?"

"I know little of these things, monsieur, but my sympathies are for the Queen-Mother."

"Of course they are!" cried he, giving me a resounding slap on the back; "so are mine, but Anne of Austria would never hold her own without the Cardinal. Come, De Lalande, let the youngster go. You will not regret it, I promise. He may not get Vancey back, but there are other estates to be won by a strong arm. Shake yourself, boy, and come out into the daylight. You are moping here like a barn-owl."

"The simile is good, Roland, for he lives in a barn. If I thought----"

"If you thought! Why, man, there is no thinking in it; the thing is as plain as the Castle yonder from the bridge over the river. He is a strapping lad, and knows how to handle a sword I'll warrant. Eh, Albert? What will he do here? Take root and grow into a turnip as likely as not. Pah! I have no patience with you stay-at-home folks.

Look at his cousin Henri!"

"Henri is two years older."

"Ay, he has the advantage there, but Albert's as well grown, and better. Henri is a young scamp, too, I admit, but he is making a name already. He is hand in glove with De Retz."

"Albert belongs to the elder branch of the family," said my mother stiffly, and the soldier was going to make answer but thought better of it.

"It is kind of you to show such interest in the lad," remarked my father presently, "and we will consider the matter."

"As you please, old friend. Follow your own judgment, but should he take it into his head to wear the green scarf, let him inquire at the Palais Royal for Roland Belloc."

That night, after our guest rode away, I lay awake a long time thinking over his words. The prospect held out by him seemed to be an answer to my dreams. For many years now the fortunes of the elder branch of the De Lalande family had sunk lower and lower. My grandfather had been stripped of vast estates because he would not change his opinions to suit the times, and my father had been, as most folks thought it, equally foolish.

Unhappily, he never by any chance espoused the winning side. His house was a "Camp of Refuge" for broken men of every party, who never sued for relief in vain. The poor and infirm, the blind, the halt, and the maimed, for twenty miles around, were his family, and he never wearied of giving, till, of all our original possessions, one poor farm and homestead alone remained.

The splendid mansion of Vancey, which my grandfather had owned, now belonged to Baron Maubranne, and was often filled with a glittering throng from Paris. Occasionally my cousin Henri made one of the party, and I could not help reflecting somewhat bitterly on the difference between us.

He was two years my senior, though I was as tall as he, and more than his equal in strength. But he was handsomely dressed and in the newest fas.h.i.+on, while I went about in a dingy suit that was not far from threadbare. I never envied Henri, mind you, or thought the worse of him, because his father had prospered in the world, but it was seeing him, that, in the first place, led me to build my castles in the air.

My one idea in those days was to obtain possession of Vancey, where the De Lalandes had lived and died for centuries. How it was to be done I had not the least notion, and I never spoke of it to others; but Roland's talk set me thinking.

His advice seemed good. I must go to Paris and take service with some prominent man. I would serve him faithfully; he would advance my interests, and in the course of time I might save sufficient money to purchase the family estate, whither I would remove my mother and father that they might pa.s.s the end of their days in peace. That was the dream which the soldier's words had started afresh.

My father would have let me go willingly enough, but my dear mother, who had never seen the capital, feared for my welfare.

"This Paris," said she, "is a wicked place, full of snares and pitfalls for young and old. Rest content where you are, my son, and be not eager to rush into temptation. I think not so much of bodily peril as of danger to the soul."

"Albert is a gentleman," said my father, "and the son of a gentleman: he will do nothing dishonourable."

Perhaps after all I should never have left home, but for an incident which happened a few days after Belloc's departure. One evening I had wandered across the meadows skirting the river, and, busy with my thoughts, had unconsciously strayed into the private grounds at Vancey.

The voices of men in earnest conversation broke my dream, and I found myself at the back of a pleasant arbour.

"It is far too risky," said one. "Let De Retz find his tools elsewhere. If the plot fails----"

"Pshaw!" exclaimed another, "it can't fail. I tell you De Retz has spread his net so carefully that we are certain to land the big fish."

Unwilling to pry into other people's secrets, I was turning back when the speakers, hearing the noise, rushed from the arbour, with their swords half drawn. One was the owner of the chateau: the other my cousin Henri.

"What beggar's brat is this?" cried Maubranne. "Off to your kennel, you rascal, and stay there till I send my servants to whip you."

"Why, 'tis my cousin," said Henri, in surprise.

"How came you here, Albert? These are private grounds."

"Yes," I answered bitterly, "and once they belonged to your grandfather and mine."

"Faith," laughed he carelessly, "he should have taken better care of them. How long have you been here?"

"A few minutes. Do not be afraid; I learned none of your business."

"If I thought you had," growled Maubranne suspiciously, "you should never leave the place. _Peste!_ it wouldn't be a bad idea to keep you as it is; you would be back under your own roof," and he ended with a brutal laugh.

"Perhaps I shall be some day; less likely things than that have happened."

At this he laughed again, and bidding me take myself off his land, turned back to the arbour.

The next morning, as I stood on the rustic bridge which spans the stream near Vancey, Henri came to join me. This was an unexpected honour, but he soon made the reason of it plain.

"Perhaps it is no business of mine," said he, "but I have come with a warning. You have made an enemy of Maubranne."

"Then we are quits," I laughed, "as I have no love for him."

"He thinks you played the spy upon him!"