A Gentleman of France

A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE
BEING THE MEMOIRS OF GASTON DE BONNE SIEUR DE
MARSAC
by STANLEY WEYMAN

CONTENTS.
* CHAPTER I. THE SPORT OF FOOLS
* CHAPTER II. THE KING OF NAVARRE
* CHAPTER III. BOOT AND SADDLE
* CHAPTER IV. MADEMOISELLE DE LA VIRE
* CHAPTER V. THE ROAD TO BLOIS
* CHAPTER VI. MY MOTHER'S LODGING
* CHAPTER VII. SIMON FLEIX
* CHAPTER VIII. AN EMPTY ROOM
* CHAPTER IX. THE HOUSE IN THE RUELLE D'ARCY
* CHAPTER X. THE FIGHT ON THE STAIRS
* CHAPTER XI. THE MAN AT THE DOOR
* CHAPTER XII. MAXIMILIAN DE BETHUNE, BARON DE
ROSNY
* CHAPTER XIII. AT ROSNY

* CHAPTER XIV. M. DE RAMBOUILLET
* CHAPTER XV. VILAIN HERODES
* CHAPTER XVI. IN THE KING'S CHAMBER
* CHAPTER XVII. THE JACOBIN MONK
* CHAPTER XVIII. THE OFFER OF THE LEAGUE
* CHAPTER XIX. MEN CALL IT CHANCE
* CHAPTER XX. THE KING'S FACE
* CHAPTER XXI. TWO WOMEN
* CHAPTER XXII. 'LA FEMME DISPOSE'
* CHAPTER XXIII. THE LAST VALOIS
* CHAPTER XXIV. A ROYAL PERIL
* CHAPTER XXV. TERMS OF SURRENDER
* CHAPTER XXVI. MEDITATIONS
* CHAPTER XXVII. TO ME, MY FRIENDS!
* CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CASTLE ON THE HILL
* CHAPTER XXIX. PESTILENCE AND FAMINE
* CHAPTER XXX. STRICKEN
* CHAPTER XXXI. UNDER THE GREENWOOD
* CHAPTER XXXII. A TAVERN BRAWL
* CHAPTER XXXIII. AT MEUDON

* CHAPTER XXXIV. ''TIS AN ILL WIND'
* CHAPTER XXXV. 'LE ROI EST MORT'
* CHAPTER XXXVI. 'VIVE LE ROI!'

A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE.
CHAPTER I.
THE SPORT OF FOOLS.
The death of the Prince of Conde, which occurred in the spring of 1588,
by depriving me of my only patron, reduced me to such straits that the
winter of that year, which saw the King of Navarre come to spend his
Christmas at St. Jean d'Angely, saw also the nadir of my fortunes. I did
not know at this time--I may confess it to-day without shame--wither to
turn for a gold crown or a new scabbard, and neither had nor discerned
any hope of employment. The peace lately patched up at Blois between
the King of France and the League persuaded many of the Huguenots
that their final ruin was at hand; but it could not fill their exhausted
treasury or enable them to put fresh troops into the field.
The death of the Prince had left the King of Navarre without a rival in
the affections of the Huguenots; the Vicomte de Turenne, whose
turbulent; ambition already began to make itself felt, and M. de
Chatillon, ranking next to him. It was my ill-fortune, however, to be
equally unknown to all three leaders, and as the month of December
which saw me thus miserably straitened saw me reach the age of forty,
which I regard, differing in that from many, as the grand climacteric of
a man's life, it will be believed that I had need of all the courage which
religion and a campaigner's life could supply.
I had been compelled some time before to sell all my horses except the
black Sardinian with the white spot on its forehead; and I now found
myself obliged to part also with my valet de chambre and groom,

whom I dismissed on the same day, paying them their wages with the
last links of gold chain left to me. It was not without grief and dismay
that I saw myself thus stripped of the appurtenances of a man of birth,
and driven to groom my own horse under cover of night. But this was
not the worst. My dress, which suffered inevitably from this menial
employment, began in no long time to bear witness to the change in my
circumstances; so that on the day of the King of Navarre's entrance into
St. Jean I dared not face the crowd, always quick to remark the poverty
of those above them, but was fain to keep within doors and wear out
my patience in the garret of the cutler's house in the Rue de la
Coutellerie, which was all the lodging I could now afford.
Pardieu, 'tis a strange world! Strange that time seems to me; more
strange compared with this. My reflections on that day, I remember,
were of the most melancholy. Look at it how I would, I could not but
see that my life's spring was over. The crows' feet were gathering about
my eyes, and my moustachios, which seemed with each day of
ill-fortune to stand out more fiercely in proportion as my face grew
leaner, were already grey. I was out at elbows, with empty pockets, and
a sword which peered through the sheath. The meanest ruffler who,
with broken feather and tarnished lace, swaggered at the heels of
Turenne, was scarcely to be distinguished from me. I