The Constable De Bourbon

“No, no, that must not be, my pretty damsel,” said Bourbon, checking her. And he added, with a smile, “Go with Hugues to the stable. He needs your protection from the dogs.”

“Ay, take a lantern and go with him, Madelon,” said her father. “Show him where to find food for the horses.”

As the young couple departed, the miller’s wife, Margot, a comely, middle-aged woman, threw a heap of wood on the hearth, and in a few minutes a blazing fire cast a cheerful glow around. While she was thus employed, an active-looking female servant, about Madelon’s age, and not without some pretension to good looks, tripped down the staircase, and hastened to spread a snow-white cloth upon the table, and make other preparations for supper. Babet, for so she was named, took Bourbon for a serving-man, and would have assigned him a place at the lower end of the table, but her mistress soon set this matter right, and ere long the two fugitives were seated opposite each other, discussing a very substantial repast.

By this time Madelon and Hugues had returned from the stables, and the young man took his seat at a respectful distance from his superiors. Before he had finished his supper, Babet, who had gone up-stairs with her mistress, came down again, and made the satisfactory announcement that chambers were ready for the guests, whereupon Bourbon and Pomperant immediately arose, and prepared to retire, intimating their intention of departing an hour before dawn.

The females having likewise retired, Benoit and Hugues drew near the fire, and fell fast asleep, but they were speedily roused from their slumbers by the fierce barking of the dogs. Both started to their feet in great alarm, as the trampling of horses, mingled with the clank of arms, was heard outside, and left no doubt that a troop of cavalry was at hand.

Without a moment’s delay, Benoit extinguished the lamp which unluckily had been left burning on the table, and rushed up the staircase to warn the fugitives.

In another minute a loud knocking was heard at the door, and an authoritative voice demanded immediate admittance. Hugues, however, made no reply, but reconnoitring the party through the window, perceived that it consisted of some twenty mounted men-at-arms, whose leader was knocking against the door with the handle of his sword.

“Unfasten the door instantly, I say,” cried this personage, “or my men shall burst it open. Some one must be astir, for a light has just been extinguished.”

“I knew that cursed light had betrayed us,” groaned Hugues. “If the saints do not help us now, Bourbon will certainly be captured!”

Just then the creaking of a window on the upper floor was heard, and a voice, which Hugues recognised as that of the miller, called out, “Who are you, and what is the meaning of this disturbance?”

“I am the Seigneur Perot de Warthy,” returned the officer. “I am in quest of the traitor and rebel, Charles de Bourbon. I have tracked him to this neighbourhood, and shall search the house to see if he is concealed within it.”

“Mercy on us! what is to be done?” ejaculated Hugues.

“You must look for the Constable de Bourbon elsewhere,” replied Benoit, in a surly tone. “You won’t find him here.”

“I am by no means sure of that,” rejoined Warthy. “Are you the miller?”

“I am Benoit, the miller, at your service.”

“Then listen to me, Maître Benoit,” continued Warthy, “and give heed to what I say. By harbouring Bourbon you incur the punishment of death, and if he is concealed within your house, and you do not at once deliver him up, I will hang you at your own threshold.”

“I have nothing to fear on that score,” returned the miller, resolutely.

“Bravely answered!” exclaimed Hugues. “My father-in-law that is to be is a true man. But I am afraid his courage will be severely tried anon.”

“Are you going to open the door, rascal, or must I break it down?” roared Warthy. “I have been trifled with long enough.”

“Have a moment’s patience and I will let you in,” returned Benoit.

“Be speedy, then,” said Warthy. “Surround the house,” he added to his men, “and see that no one gets out at the back.”

The trampling of horses, accompanied by the clanking of arms, proved that this order was promptly obeyed.

“Bourbon’s only chance is gone,” ejaculated Hugues.

As the exclamation was made, the miller, followed by Bourbon and Pomperant, both with their swords drawn, descended to the room. Madelon came down quickly after them.

“Pass out at this window, monseigneur,” said Benoit, in a low voice to the Constable, moving towards the back of the room. “You may gain the wood at the foot of the hill.”

“Have a care,” whispered Hugues. “The house is surrounded by soldiers.”

“Open the window at once,” said Bourbon. “I will cut my way through them.”

“Give me a sword, père Benoit,” said Hugues.

“Here is one,” rejoined Madelon, unhooking a weapon from the wall, and presenting it to him.

“Stay a moment, monseigneur,” said Benoit. “A plan occurs to me. I should have thought of it before, but I am so bewildered. Underneath this room there is a vault where I store my corn before grinding it. Will it please you to hide there?”

“If the retreat should be discovered, we shall be caught like rats in a trap, and can offer no defence,” objected Bourbon.

“My father has not explained that there is a communication between the vault and the mill,” interposed Madelon. “Your highness can get out that way, should it be necessary.”

“The entrance to the vault is there – under the staircase,” urged the miller. “Madelon will conduct your highness. Lift the trap, girl – lift it quickly,” he added to his daughter.

The trap-door was soon opened by Madelon, who descended by means of a ladder into the vault, and was instantly followed by the fugitives, the trap-door being shut by Hugues, who went down last.

Scarcely had they disappeared, when the outer door was burst open with a tremendous crash, and Warthy, sword in hand, and followed by four men-at-arms, rushed into the house. Alarmed by the noise, Margot and Babet hurried down the staircase, bearing lights, both screaming loudly as they perceived Benoit upon his knees before Warthy, who held a sword to his throat. Flying towards them, and kneeling to Warthy, Margot besought him, in piteous terms, to spare her husband’s life.

“Harm him not, and I will tell all,” she cried, almost frightened out of her wits.

“Speak out then at once, woman,” said Warthy. “Where is the traitor Bourbon hidden?”

“Hold your tongue, wife, I command you,” said the stout-hearted miller.

“But I can’t stand by and see your throat cut, Benoit,” she rejoined. “I must speak.”

“Certainly you must, unless you desire to become a widow,” said Warthy. “You may as well confess that Bourbon is here. Your looks betray you. He cannot escape, for the house is surrounded, and I don’t mean to leave a hole or corner unvisited. Where is the traitor, I say?”

“Where is he, Benoit?” she cried, appealing to her husband. “For my sake, don’t sacrifice yourself.”

“Woman, you have lost your senses,” said the miller, angrily. “What do I know about the Duke de Bourbon?”

“You know a great deal more than you appear inclined to tell, rascal,” rejoined Warthy. “But I will have the truth from you. I give you five minutes for consideration,” he added, releasing him, “and if at the end of that time Bourbon be not forthcoming, I will execute my threat, and hang you at your own door.”

Without another word, he took the light which Margot had set down upon the table, and, signing to two of his men to follow him, ascended the staircase. In less than five minutes he came down again, his countenance betraying anger and disappointment.

“Well, have you found him?” inquired Benoit, who had not been allowed to exchange a word with his wife during Warthy’s absence.

“Not yet, but I soon shall,” replied Warthy. “He has only just left his couch. Now, madame,” he continued, in a stern tone, to Margot, “do you desire to see your husband hanged?”

“Oh no, monseigneur! I would rather you hanged me than Benoit.”

“Nonsense! I don’t hang women. Speak! or my men will take your husband forth. Where is Bourbon hidden?”

“I can’t tell,” she sobbed. “But if he is hidden anywhere, it must be in – in – the vault.”

“A plague upon your mischievous tongue!” cried her husband, reproachfully.