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buildings, added to the principal edifice according to the different requirements of successive proprietors, broke the monotony of its lines.
The stables, dog-kennels, sheepfolds, commons, and lodgings for labourers and farmers, formed the enclosure of an immense court, planted with two rows of sycamores. This court was reached by a drawbridge over a wide and deep ditch.
Every evening this bridge was removed, and a heavy door of oak, strongly supported on the inside, put the little colony in safely for the night.
Every window of these buildings opened upon the court, with the exception of a few dormer windows, solidly protected by iron grating, which looked out upon the plain.
Maison-Forte counted about two hundred persons among its dependents,—servants, farmers, labourers, and shepherds.
Among them were sixty men of from thirty to fifty years, accustomed to the use of arms during the civil wars in which the impetuous baron had taken part. Royalist and Catholic, Raimond V. had always mounted his horse when it was necessary to defend the ancient rights and possessions of Provence against governors or their deputies, for the kings of France were not kings of Provence, but counts.
The intendants of justice or presidents of courts, whose office it was to collect the taxes, and to announce to the assembled states the assessment of voluntary gifts which Provence owed to the sovereign, were almost always the first victims of these revolts against royal authority, made with the cry of “Long live the king!”
Under such circumstances Raimond V. was among the first to rebel. In the last rebellion of Cascaveoux,—so named from the word cascavoeu, the Provençal for little bell, which the insurgents fastened to the end of a leather strap, and rang as they cried, “Long live the king,”—none sounded the battle-cry, and shook his bell more violently, or made his dependents shake this signal of revolt, with more enthusiastic ardour than Raimond V.
In that, the baron showed himself the worthy son of his father, Raimond IV., one of the gentlemen most seriously compromised in the rebellion of the Razats, which name originated from the fact that the Provençals had been as spoiled of their possessions as if a razor had been employed. This rebellion broke out under Henry III., in 1578, and was suppressed with great difficulty by Marshal de Retz.
The baron looked with great impatience upon the growth of the power of Cardinal Richelieu, at the expense of the royal authority, and the disappearance of the sovereign beneath the shadow of the prime minister.
Similar movements of resistance manifested themselves in Languedoc and in Provence, in favour of Gaston of Orleans, brother of Louis XIII., whom the royalist faction opposed to the cardinal.
There is no doubt that the baron would never have taken an active part in these intrigues, but for the apprehension caused by the pirates along the coast, but, compelled to concentrate his forces in order to defend his house and estate, he declaimed violently against the cardinal, especially since the latter had given the government of Provence to the Marshal of Vitry.
These important functions had, up to that time, been filled by the Duke of Guise, admiral of the Levant, who, to the great delight of the Provençals, after many obstacles, had replaced the Duke d’Epernon.
“The young lion has devoured the old bear,” said Cæsar of Nostradamus on this subject at the celebration of the nomination of the young Lorraine prince for this important post.
When the Marshal of Vitry was promoted to the position of Governor of Provence, the nobility gave vent to their indignation, because a member of the house of Lorraine was not considered worthy of this dignity, usually reserved for a prince of the blood.
When Louis Gallucio, marquis, was Duke of Vitry, it was remarked that the Cardinal de Retz, without otherwise blaming him for having been one of the murderers of the Marshal of Ancre, said simply of him: “He had little sense, but he was bold to temerity, and the part he had in the murder of the Marshal of Ancre gave him, in the eyes of the world, a certain air of business and execution.” This speech gives us an idea of the times and manners.
The Baron des Anbiez, notwithstanding his fondness for independence and rebellion, was the best and most generous of men.
Adored by the peasants of his domain, and revered by the inhabitants of the little town of La Ciotat, who always found him ready to direct their troops and aid them with all his power to defend themselves from the pirates, he exercised a powerful influence throughout the neighbourhood.
Finally, his vigorous opposition to several orders of the Marshal of Vitry, which seemed to him to aim a blow at the rights of Provence, had been highly and generally approved in the country.
When Stephanette returned to Maison-Forte, the sun was just setting. The first care of the young girl was to go to Mlle. Reine des Anbiez. Reine was accustomed to occupy a chamber situated on the first floor of one of the turrets of the castle.
This room was round in shape, serving her as a cabinet for study, and was furnished with great care and expense.
The baron, loving his daughter to idolatry, had devoted to the interior arrangement of this room a considerable sum. The circular walls were covered with rich Flemish tapestry of deep green, with designs of a darker shade, enwrought with threads of gold.
Among other pieces of furniture was a walnut bookcase, curiously carved in the style of the renaissance, and encrusted with Florentine mosaic. A rich, thick Turkey carpet covered the floor. The spaces separating the beams of the ceiling were of azure blue, studded with arabesques of gold of delicate workmanship.
A silver lamp was suspended from the main girder by a chain of silver. The form of these lamps, still used in some villages of Provence, was very simple. They were made of a square of metal, the edges of which, an inch in height, contained the oil, and formed a sort of beak at each angle from which issued the wicks.
On a table with curved legs placed in the embrasure of the window lay a lute, a theorbo, and some pieces of unfinished tapestry.
Two portraits, one of a woman, the other of a man, in the costume of the reign of Henry III., were placed above this table, and lit up by oblique rays through little windows in leaden frames, which were set in the long and narrow casement.
To supply the want of a chimney a large copper coal-pan, curiously carved, and supported by four massive claws, stood in a corner of the room. It contained a bed of ashes and some embers, upon which were smoking some sprigs of fragrant broom.
Reine des Anbiez wore a dress of heavy brown Tours silk, with a train, and tight waist and sleeves; her cheeks were flushed, and her features expressed not surprise only but fright.
She seized her waiting-woman by the hand, and conducted her to the table, and said to her:
“Look!”
The object to which she called the attention of Stephanette was a little vase of rock crystal.
From its long and slender neck issued an orange-coloured lily, with an azure blue calyx, in which stood pistils of silvery whiteness. This brilliant flower exhaled a delicious odour which resembled the mingled perfume of vanilla, lemon, and jessamine.
“Oh, mademoiselle, what a beautiful flower! Is it a present from the Chevalier de Berrol?”
At the mention of her betrothed’s name, Reine turned pale and red by turns; then, without replying to Stephanette, she took up the vase with a sort of fear, and showed her a beautifully enamelled figure which she had discovered there, and the representation of a white dove with a rose-coloured beak, and extended wings, holding in its purplish bronze feet a branch of olive.
“Our Lady!” screamed Stephanette in fright. “It is the very picture of the enamelled pin that young miscreant robbed you of in the rocks of Ollioules, after he had saved monseigneur’s life.”
“But who brought this vase and flower here?” asked Reine.
“You do not know, mademoiselle?”
Reine