Orrain | Page 2

the quick. My blood flamed with rage,
and I dared him to come forth and meet me as a man; but he only
laughed all the more, and, pointing to the tree of justice outside the gate,
asked how I would like to swing from one of its branches. He added
that, as I was his step-brother, he would give me a high one, if I chose.
I can almost see him now as I write this, with his cruel hatchet face
snarling over the parapet, his red hair, his tall, thin figure and bent
back--if the truth were known, Simon's affairs of gallantry must have
been few.
In brief, despite all my efforts, I was unable to see my father, who died
that night asking for me.
In the hamlet of Orrain itself I could find no shelter, although the
villagers knew and loved me, and this was from fear of the new
Vidame. I, however, found a temporary retreat in the forest, living there
like a wild beast for four days, waiting with a burning heart for a
chance of meeting Simon, but he never came forth.
On the fourth day my father was buried at dead of night in the Chapel

of St. Hugo of Orrain, where every Vidame of Orrain, save one, lies.
Pierrebon, now my steward, and at that time my servant, and the only
companion I had with me, brought me news from the village that this
was to be, and I determined to be there at all hazard. This resolution I
carried out, and Simon and I met beside our father's grave. The time
and the occasion sealed my lips and stayed my hand. Even Simon
spake never a word, but, when it was all over, rode off sullenly through
the night back to the Chateau, his cursed Italians around him, and with
the dawn started off for Paris.
This I did too. There was nothing else to be done, and I returned to my
College.
I was, however, no longer in the position of a poor cadet, without
means or resource. My mother's lands of St. Martin had come to me on
Anne's death. Even my great-uncle the good Bishop agreed with me,
with many sighs, that the profession of arms was more suited to my
present position than the Church, but advised me to stay for a year
more in College, and fortify my mind by taking the course of
Philosophy.
I very willingly assented to this; but the wealthy Chevalier d'Orrain as I
was called--I did not take the name of St. Martin--was a vastly different
person from the poor cadet of the past year. I found myself courted and
sought after. I began to find pleasures in life unknown to me before,
and in the young man of fashion, who entered the world a year later it
was hardly possible to recognise the once quiet and studious Bertrand
d'Orrain.
I plunged into the dissipations of the capital. At the Court I found a
patron in Monseigneur the Duc d'Enghien. My extravagance and my
follies brought me many reproofs from the Bishop of Seez, but the
good man's warnings were in vain, and might have been shouted to the
stars. They were certainly at times loud enough to be heard there.
I often met Simon, now Vidame d'Orrain. He was high in favour with
the Dauphin, who succeeded to the throne as Henri II., and his mistress,

Diane de Poitiers, whom he made Duchess of Valentinois. By tacit
consent there was an armed peace between us, though I well knew he
would take any chance that might arise to my injury. As it was, we met,
and passed each other without greeting, and in silence, ever with black
looks, and hands on the hilts of our swords.
My acres began to diminish and the woods of St. Martin to go down.
Things, in fact, were going from bad to worse, when war with the
Emperor broke out afresh, and I was amongst the first of those who
volunteered under Enghien for the Italian campaign. There I did my
part, and shared in the day of Cerisolles as a captain in the Light Horse
of Monsieur de Randan. Then, on the peace, back to Paris once more
and the old life; with this difference, that now there was no restraining
hand over me, for my great-uncle was dead. He left me his blessing, his
copy of "Plutarch's Lives," and thirty crowns of the sun--all his
fortune--for, though Bishop of Seez, he was a true shepherd of God,
and laid up for himself all his treasures on high.
It was impossible that things could go on much longer without disaster,
and the death--murder, rather--of that gallant prince the Duc d'Enghien
deprived me of a