The Suitors of Yvonne | Page 3

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This etext was produced by John Stuart Middleton

The Suitors of Yvonne Being a Portion of the Memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
by Rafael Sabatini

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
OF HOW A BOY DRANK TOO MUCH WINE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT
II. THE FRUIT OF INDISCRETION
III. THE FIGHT IN THE HORSE-MARKET
IV. FAIR RESCUERS
V. MAZARIN, THE MATCH-MAKER
VI. OF HOW ANDREA BECAME LOVE-SICK
VII. THE CH?TEAU DR CANAPLES
VIII. THE FORESHADOW OF DISASTER
IX. OF HOW A WHIP PROVED A BETTER ARGUMENT THAN A TONGUE
X. THE CONSCIENCE OF MALPERTUIS
XI. OF A WOMAN'S OBSTINACY
XII. THE RESCUE
XIII. THE HAND OF YVONNE
XIV. OF WHAT BEFELL AT REAUX
XV. OF MY RESURRECTION
XVI. THE WAY OF WOMAN
XVII. FATHER AND SON
XVIII. OF HOW I LEFT CANAPLES
XIX. OF MY RETURN TO PARIS
XX. OF HOW THE CHEVALIER DE CANAPLES BECAME A FRONDEUR
XXI. OF THE BARGAIN THAT ST. AUBAN DROVE WITH MY LORD CARDINAL
XXII. OF MY SECOND JOURNEY TO CANAPLES
XXIII. OF HOW ST. AUBAN CAME TO BLOIS
XXIV. OF THE PASSING OF ST. AUBAN
XXV. PLAY-ACTING
XXVI. REPARATION
CHAPTER I
OF HOW A BOY DRANK TOO MUCH WINE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT
Andrea de Mancini sprawled, ingloriously drunk, upon the floor. His legs were thrust under the table, and his head rested against the chair from which he had slipped; his long black hair was tossed and dishevelled; his handsome, boyish face flushed and garbed in the vacant expression of idiocy.
"I beg a thousand pardons, M. de Luynes," quoth he in the thick, monotonous voice of a man whose brain but ill controls his tongue,--"I beg a thousand pardons for the unseemly poverty of our repast. 'T is no fault of mine. My Lord Cardinal keeps a most unworthy table for me. Faugh! Uncle Giulio is a Hebrew--if not by birth, by instinct. He carries his purse-strings in a knot which it would break his heart to unfasten. But there! some day my Lord Cardinal will go to heaven--to the lap of Abraham. I shall be rich then, vastly rich, and I shall bid you to a banquet worthy of your most noble blood. The Cardinal's health--perdition have him for the niggardliest rogue unhung!"
I pushed back my chair and rose. The conversation was taking a turn that was too unhealthy to be pursued within the walls of the Palais Mazarin, where there existed, albeit the law books made no reference to it, the heinous crime of lèse-Eminence--a crime for which more men had been broken than it pleases me to dwell on.
"Your table, Master Andrea, needs no apology," I answered carelessly.