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ffirs.indd i 22/09/12 10:16 AM
 PROFESSIONAL NODE.JS®

INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .xxvii

 PART I INTRODUCTION AND SETUP

CHAPTER 1 Installing Node . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
CHAPTER 2 Introducing Node . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .15

 PART II NODE CORE API BASICS

CHAPTER 3 Loading Modules . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
CHAPTER 4 Using Buffers to Manipulate, Encode, and Decode Binary Data . . . . . . 29
CHAPTER 5 Using the Event Emitter Pattern to Simplify Event Binding . . . . . . . . . . 35
CHAPTER 6 Scheduling the Execution of Functions Using Timers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

 PART III FILES, PROCESSES, STREAMS, AND NETWORKING

CHAPTER 7 Querying, Reading from, and Writing to Files . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
CHAPTER 8 Creating and Controlling External Processes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
CHAPTER 9 Reading and Writing Streams of Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
CHAPTER 10 Building TCP Servers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
CHAPTER 11 Building HTTP Servers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
CHAPTER 12 Building a TCP Client . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
CHAPTER 13 Making HTTP Requests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
CHAPTER 14 Using Datagrams (UDP) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
CHAPTER 15 Securing Your TCP Server with TLS/SSL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
CHAPTER 16 Securing Your HTTP Server with HTTPS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149

 PART IV BUILDING AND DEBUGGING MODULES AND APPLICATIONS

CHAPTER 17 Testing Modules and Applications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
CHAPTER 18 Debugging Modules and Applications. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
CHAPTER 19 Controlling the Callback Flow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .177

Continues

ffirs.indd i 22/09/12 10:16 AM

  PART V BUILDING WEB APPLICATIONS
CHAPTER 20 Building and Using HTTP Middleware . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197
CHAPTER 21 Making a Web Application Using Express.js . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
CHAPTER 22 Making Universal Real-Time Web Applications Using Socket.IO . . . . 241

 PART VI CONNECTING TO DATABASES

CHAPTER 23 Connecting to MySQL Using node-mysql . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267
CHAPTER 24 Connecting to CouchDB Using Nano. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
CHAPTER 25 Connecting to MongoDB Using Mongoose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 311

INDEX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351

ffirs.indd ii 22/09/12 10:16 AM

 PROFESSIONAL

Node.js®

ffirs.indd iii 22/09/12 10:16 AM

ffirs.indd iv 22/09/12 10:16 AM
 PROFESSIONAL

Node.js®
BUILDING JAVASCRIPT-BASED SCALABLE SOFTWARE

Pedro Teixeira

ffirs.indd v 22/09/12 10:16 AM

 Professional Node.js®: Building JavaScript-Based Scalable Software
Published by
John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
10475 Crosspoint Boulevard
Indianapolis, IN 46256
www.wiley.com

Copyright © 2013 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana

Published simultaneously in Canada

ISBN: 978-1-118-18546-9
ISBN: 978-1-118-22754-1 (ebk)
ISBN: 978-1-118-24056-4 (ebk)
ISBN: 978-1-118-26518-5 (ebk)

Manufactured in the United States of America

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Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: The publisher and the author make no representations or warranties with
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without limitation warranties of fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be created or extended by sales or
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the publisher nor the author shall be liable for damages arising herefrom. The fact that an organization or Web site is
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trademarks or registered trademarks of John Wiley & Sons, Inc., and/or its affi liates, in the United States and other coun-
tries, and may not be used without written permission. Node.js is a registered trademark of Joyent, Inc. All other trade-
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mentioned in this book.

ffirs.indd vi 22/09/12 10:16 AM

 This book is dedicated to my wife, Susana.
Throughout all these years she has always been an
example of strength and persistence.

ffirs.indd vii 22/09/12 10:16 AM

ffirs.indd viii 22/09/12 10:16 AM
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PEDRO TEIXEIRA is a prolific open-source programmer and author of many Node.js modules. After
graduating with a degree in Software Engineering more than 14 years ago, he has been a consultant,
a programmer, and an active and internationally known Node.js community member.
He is a founding partner of The Node Firm and a Senior Programmer at Nodejitsu Inc., the leading
Node.js platform-as-a-service provider. He is also the author of the popular Node Tuts screencasts.
When Pedro was 10 years old, his father taught him how to program a ZX Spectrum, and since
then he has never wanted to stop. He taught himself how to program his father’s Apple IIc and then
entered the PC era. In college he was introduced to the universe of UNIX and open-source, becom-
ing seriously addicted to it. In his professional life he has developed systems and products built
with Visual Basic, C, C++, Java, PHP, Ruby, and JavaScript for big telecommunications companies,
banks, hotel chains, and others.
He has been a Node.js enthusiast since its initial development, having authored many applications
and many well-known modules like Fugue, Alfred.js, Carrier, Nock, and more.

ffirs.indd ix 22/09/12 10:16 AM

ffirs.indd x 22/09/12 10:16 AM
 ABOUT THE TECHNICAL EDITOR

MANUEL KIESSLING is a software development and systems administration team lead, using and
teaching agile practices in both domains. He runs several open-source projects, is an active blogger,
and wrote the freely available Node Beginner Book. He currently lives near Cologne, Germany, with
his wife and two children.
He is the co-author of Chapter 22, “Making Universal Real-Time Web Applications Using Socket.IO,”
and Chapter 23, “Connecting to MySQL Using node-mysql.”

ffirs.indd xi 22/09/12 10:16 AM

ffirs.indd xii 22/09/12 10:16 AM
 CREDITS

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ffirs.indd xiii 22/09/12 10:16 AM

Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 While I was in this state of perplexity, we discovered a cavern, or deep
fissure in a mass of ivy-covered rock close by us—the same rock on which
the old castle stood. The bridle of Dagobert, whose equanimity (never very
great at any time) was rather ruffled by the thunder, I buckled to the branch
of a tree. Entering, I examined the place by firing my pistol among some
dry leaves, and thus creating a momentary light, found it to be a complete
alcove in the rocks, full of the withered spoils of the last autumn. I led in
Nicola, placed her in a comfortable nook, and after securing the horses
close by, in such a manner that to break loose or escape would be, for them,
impossible, I rejoined her; and there we sat, hand in hand, in that dark rocky
chamber, listening to the wild storm that bellowed without, and watching
the gleams of lightning that flashed and glared on the stems of the summer
forest.

I had my pistols at hand, prepared for any emergency; and making for
Nicola a bed composed of dry leaves and our mantles, I besought her to be
composed, and to endeavour to sleep; but she pressed my hand gently, and
declared herself to be too much alarmed and too excited to think of
sleeping; and there we were alone, at night, in that old haunted forest on the
borders of Champagne.

I pressed her dear and tiny hand from time to time, and occasionally
there was a response, which sent a thrill of happiness to my heart; then she
crept closer to my side, for the darkness was intense, and the uproar of the
elements without was somewhat appalling.

As we sat there, the deep, hoarse, solemn murmur of the wind, as it rose
and fell, had in it something very impressive. At times it wailed like the
mingled voices of a vast multitude; then it chafed among the tossing
branches like the waves of a distant sea, in fierce and sudden gusts; anon it
would die away, and we heard only the hiss of the rain that poured so
ceaselessly down on the leaves of the drenched forest. At times strange
sounds seemed to mingle with the passing wind. I deemed these to be the
cries of affrighted wolves; and often sat pistol in hand, lest some of those
dreadful denizens of the wild should find our place of shelter, and rush
headlong in.
 The lightning that came in brilliant and quivering flashes revealed the
rugged outline of the cavern-mouth, and the wet dingles which stretched
away in vague and dark perspective; and the whole scene, with all its
concomitants, was so terrible, that Nicola drew her hood over her eyes, and
at times drooped her forehead on my shoulder. She was faint with fear, and
weary by fatigue; and, being a good little Catholic, I heard her muttering
her prayers from time to time. Moreover, she made a vow, if she escaped all
the terrors of the night, to visit the most renowned shrine in Lorraine, that
of St. Lucy the Scot at St. Michel.

Then she uttered a feint cry, and clutched my arm!

A thunderbolt—a blazing ball of fire—which seemed to fall with a

startling roar, and by its own specific weight, struck at the mouth of the
cavern, a large tree, a strong and ancient oak, that had stood perhaps for a
hundred years, and clashed it to pieces, cleaving it, like a mighty wedge of
flame, to the roots in a moment. For a time the sulphureous odour was
stifling; but it subsided at last, and with it the terror of my trembling
companion.

'We are quite safe, Nicola,' said I, placing an arm gently round her.

'Safe—you think so? Ah! M. Blane, make a sign of the cross, just once—
to please me.'

'Mademoiselle, in me it were a mockery,' said I; 'for my forefathers were

the first to follow the precepts of the Lollards of Kyle.'

'Then their descendants should make amends, by being the first to follow
mine. You deem it, as they did, Popish likely? What matter how you name
it, or they named it; for, be assured, it is the sign of Heaven: and I shall
make three over you,' said she, waving her pretty hand thrice, in the dark,
across my eyes and brow.

'Dearest Nicola!'

'If you press my hand thus, I shall take the liberty of withdrawing it. St.
Ephrem says, Look at the little birds, when they stretch out their winglets
cross-wise—lo! they straight ascend towards heaven; but when they fold
them, they fall panting and breathless down to—where?'

'The earth, I presume.'

'Yes—then think of these things.'

'Dear Nicola, I can think only of you.'

'When you have seen Marie Louise of Lorraine, you will think of me no
more.'

'Peste! my dear Nicola, I have no desire to see your Mademoiselle Marie

Louise; nor shall I trust myself near the dangerous vicinity of her or her
people, at least until I exchange the costume of an abbé for the iron
trappings of the Garde du Corps Ecossais.'

'And we shall have parted at the gates of Nanci?' said she, in a low voice.

'Ah, Nicola,' I replied, 'you know not how the anticipation of that parting
wrings my heart!'

I sighed, and drew her close and closer still to my breast: she made no
resistance; but I was conscious that she wept bitterly, and this secret
emotion moved me deeply, and brought my passion to a height.

'Nicola,' said I, abruptly; 'will you marry me, dear Nicola? Oh, you do
not know how much—how tenderly, I love you!'

'Marry me—a poor soubrette—you, a chevalier of the King's Guard—

one of the proud noblesse of the Guard du Corps Ecossais!'

'Yes—I, Nicola.'

'Oh, monsieur, you must not speak in this way, or think of such a thing; I
am only a poor girl!'

'Why?'
 'What would the army—what would all Paris, say?'

'I will marry you with joy, Nicola, and take you home to my own dear
country. The Countess—'

'Countess again!'

'Pardon me, dearest, I am not about to praise her, but merely to say that
she has promised that through the powerful interference of Richelieu and
King Louis, the cruel act which proscribes me shall be rescinded; and I
know she will keep that promise. At home, I have lands, broad acres of corn
and meadow, that lie by the banks of the Dee; I have fell and forest, a tower
and hall, where your merry laugh shall make the echoes joyous again; and
all that I have, with my heart and love, will I share with you, Nicola,' said I,
borne away by the honest ardour of my passion, and the impulses of youth.

I felt her tremble still more, and her tears fell fast upon my cheek.

'Were I to admit that I loved you, would you be more devoted to me?'

'Impossible! I could not be more devoted than I now am.'

'Oh, silly M. Blane! I heard you once say nearly the same thing to that
woman d'Amboise.'

'No more of these memories, dearest Nicola, or I shall sink with shame!'

'Then let us be silent!'

'Nay, nay; say that you love me—that you will marry me,' said I, in a
whisper; 'speak, Nicola, speak! for this suspense and silence are torture!'

'It may not, cannot be; our ranks in life are unequal, and our paths lie far
apart.'

'Love, marriage will make them one.'

'Never!' she replied, in a broken voice; 'our paths in life must, I repeat,
lie far, far apart.'
 'Nicola!'

'I am but a poor little soubrette, a penniless girl of humble origin; and
how would your proud Scottish kinswomen, with all their crests and
quarterings, receive me, if they knew of this?'

'It can never be known, Nicola; and as the wife of my heart, the lady of
Blanerne, I can find strong hands and steel blades enough in Glenkens to
force the proudest peer in Scotland to vail his bonnet to you!'

'Force him! and this is one item of the happiness you would offer me.
That I love you, monsieur,' said she, weeping,' let these hot tears attest, but
cease to speak more of love or of marriage to me. Such visions can never be
realized; I could never brook the humiliation you would prepare for me; for
I have much of pride and hauteur in my heart—albeit, you deem me so
timid, meek, and gentle. I will strive to be your friend; but this love I shall
conquer, crush, forget perhaps.'

'When?'

'When we separate;—alas! I cannot hope to achieve this fatal end while I

remain with you.'

'No—no, Nicola!' said I, pressing her to my heart, as the tenderness and

ingenuity of this admission, with the plaintive softness of her voice, touched
me inexpressibly; 'you shall never succeed in being so cruel as to forget the
pleasant days of our companionship, and the love we have avowed.'

'It may be so.'

Then there ensued a long pause, and we continued to sit in darkness and
silence, hand-in-hand, our hearts and lips united as our thoughts; until at
last, overcome by agitation and fatigue, Nicola feel asleep—asleep upon my
breast!

Such a strange thing it is, this love.

 I had met Nicola, and left her; met her again and again, to leave her,
without other thought than that she was beautiful; she had been nothing to
me then; but from the time that love began to spread its halo round her, she
seemed as necessary to me as the air or the sunshine, yea, as life itself. We
seemed now to have but one existence, and the marvel to me became, how
had I lived, and breathed, and spent so many years without her; and without
discovering that her place in the world of my heart had been vacant. It is
very mysterious all this; but every lover has the same idea, or he is no lover
at all.

My whole being seemed now inspired by a new joy; and I no longer

remembered how time had passed with me before this fountain of passion
had welled up within our souls with the first kiss we exchanged in that dark
cavern, which, with all its attendant terrors, had so suddenly brought our
emotions to a crisis: and so passed our night in the old haunted forest of
king Charles VIII.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

WHAT HAPPENED AFTER.

With night and darkness the storm passed away, and, when morning
broke, no trace of it remained but the torn and twisted branches, the
thunder-riven oak, and the diamond-like dew, that dropped from every leaf,
and bowed the laden grass. Nicola awoke refreshed, but I was pale, weary,
and excited: the livelong night I had not slept, having sat by the side of my
companion, watching and half-supporting her, full of happiness, and of
many thoughts, some of which made me anxious enough at times. But I
kissed the sleeping eyes of Nicola, and forgetting all but that she loved me,
I proceeded to groom and re-saddle our poor nags, which had borne the
terrors and discomfort of the past night with all the equanimity of old troop-
horses.
 Flocks of those little birds of the woodcock species, known in France as
chevaliers aux pied verts, were fluttering about in the misty swamps and
little tarns formed by the torrents of rain that had fallen overnight; the
startled hares and rabbits bounded from among the wet leaves, and fled
before us as we mounted and set forth from our comfortless billet; and
steering through the forest by the direction of the sunbeams, sought once
more the way which led towards Lorraine.

We soon found it, and passing into that hostile province, left behind us
the fertile plains of beautiful Champagne. Our first halt was at Vaubecourt,
on the left bank of the Aisne: it is a fief of the princes of Lillebonne, who
are a branch of the house of Lorraine. Nicola gazed wistfully at the gilded
spires of the quaint château, saying she had friends there, who would gladly
receive her.

'But I promised to see you as far as Nanci?' said I, with a tone of

disappointment and anxiety.

'True,' she replied, with tears in her eyes; and we rode on in silence and
sadness, oppressed by our own thoughts; for we were now approaching the
place and the day of our final separation.

My heart was perplexed by its mingled joy and sorrow. How delightful it
was to be convinced of the entire love of this gentle creature, and hear her
sweet and winning voice give me timid assurance of it again and again; but
how bitter was the knowledge that a day was at hand when I should hear
that voice and those assurances no more!

In her manner there was a soft tenderness which a lover alone could
detect, and it filled me with delight. She had so fully avowed a reciprocity
of regard that now I had nothing more to urge on that point; save, that we
should not separate at Nanci—for to that parting I looked forward with a
sincere and acute sorrow. I strove vainly to forget that it overhung me, and
for a time to be happy; for when gazing upon Nicola, the delightful
consciousness of proprietary in that charming form, and community of
sentiment in her affectionate heart, filled me with exalted and joyous
emotions.
 This love for Nicola, which in me had sprung up so suddenly,
strengthening with intimacy, and the length of our journey, was the first true
passion of my heart, which hitherto had never known aught of an emotion
so absorbing.

Never before had the thought of a woman—of a mere girl—come

between me and the great desire of my soul—honour and fame in the
French army; but now I thought only of Nicola, and of spending my life
with her, and for her alone.

I strove to study, to estimate my real emotion for her, and the probable
duration of it. Was this love misplaced? Reason said it was. Cold Reason!
Yet I loved her, and love levels everything; but this passion ran full butt
against a thousand old social (or anti-social) prejudices which had formed
the leading principles, the life, the second religion as it were, of my family
for centuries—never to wed one of a blood, or name, or race inferior to
their own!

Nicola was but a waiting-woman—the soubrette of the French king's

dissipated mistress—and yet I loved her with all the heedless ardour of a
boy.

Rank and name, pride, prejudice, and pedigree, with all their old heraldic
quarterings and mummery, what were they to me, but something to lay at
the feet of this charming French girl when I said that I loved her?

For some miles of the way Nicola had been very sad; but something in
the spirit of the above paragraph, which I had infused into my conversation,
raised her spirit, and she rallied as we approached St. Michel.

'Dear Arthur,' said she, patting my bridle-hand, while a beautiful smile lit
up her loving blue eyes, 'you have a princely heart! I would that I were a
countess—yea, even mademoiselle of Lorraine for your sake.'

'The beautiful Marie-Louise?'

'Yes—even the beautiful Marie-Louise—she who is deemed so proud, so

artful, and intriguing.'
 'Wherefore?'

'Because you could not say or sacrifice more for me, a poor girl, than I
would then do for you, a simple gentleman.'

'Listen to me, Nicola. Lovely as this princess, the bride of Count

Pappenheim, is famed to be, high though her race, and splendid her fortune,
I would not give one golden hair of your beautiful head, Nicola, for Louise
with all her rank and splendour.'

'Dear, kind, and loving Arthur!' said she, smiling through her tears; 'but I
ought not to love you.'

'Nicola?'

'It is very true—but too true.'

'And why?'

'For many reasons more than I dare to say. One I may mention——'

'Name it. But already you have named so many.'

'You are a Huguenot—I a Catholic.'

'Well, and what of that?'

''Tis an error in faith my doing so; but I fear that we poor women are all
pagans in the question of duty when it jars with love.'

'Then kiss me, my beautiful heathen.'

We were now close to the gate of St. Michel, and, alas! consequently
only thirty miles from Nanci, and we felt more triste than ever.
 CHAPTER XL.

THE DAUGHTER OF MACBETH.

The old town of St. Michel, the capital of a bailiewick of the same name,
now rose before us on an eminence. The banner with the three fleur-de-lis
waved above its ramparts, showing that French troops occupied it, and they
proved to be a squadron of Roger de St. Lacy's dragoons. Louis XIII. had
first taken this little barrier town, the seat of the Parliament of Lorraine
during the war of 1632, but restored it again by the treaty of Livourdin. It
was now chiefly noted for a splendid Benedictine monastery, where the
reliques of St. Lucy the Scot were brought for preservation from the church
of Mount St. Lucy, which stood near the Rhine, some miles distant.

The silvery mist was rising from wood and hollow as we approached the
town. The green leaves glistened in the sun, and the long, graceful willows
waved in wind, which rustled the chestnut foliage.

We breakfasted at a hamlet situated in a dell near the Meuse; and after

showing our credentials at the gate as an abbé and daughter of Father
Vincent de Paule, we rode straight to the Benedictine abbey, at the outer
porch of which we dismounted; and then, leaving me with the horses,
Nicola, with a sweet smile, a graceful nod of her pretty head, and a promise
not 'to tarry long,' entered the magnificent old Gothic church of St. Bennet.
Having buckled the bridles of our horses to iron rings in the walls, I sat for
some time on the stone bench of the portal, lost in reverie, before I became
aware that an old priest, in the usual dress of a French ecclesiastic, with a
little black silk calotte cap drawn over his white hairs, had seated himself at
my side, and was regarding me with attention.

I bade him good morning, for the day was yet young.

'Bon jour, M. l'Abbé,' said he, 'but by your bearing I do not take you to
be an ecclesiastic.'
 'Indeed!'

'Monsieur will excuse me, but such is the case.'

'How?'

'Abbés do not sit with one leg over the other, or play with their
moustaches, neither do they usually wear a sword, for such are not
conventual customs.'

'But I am travelling, and find a warlike aspect advantageous at hotels and

barrier-gates; and then we all know that Monseigneur the present
Archbishop of Paris was the best swordsman in France.'

'Except the Chevalier Hepburn.'

'Yes.'

'Ah! of course; except our countryman, the Chevalier Hepburn.'

'How! our countryman?' I asked.

'I detected the Scot as well as the soldier, sir,' said the old man, smiling
and pressing my hands. 'I presume you belong to the French army?'

'Perhaps I do; but you are very inquisitive.'

'Do not be alarmed; though I live in the territories of Duke Charles, I am

Father Allan Colville, a priest of the Scottish college founded by Gregory
XIII. at Pontamoussin, some miles from this, in the bailiewick of St.
Michel, and have no interest in the quarrels of kings and dukes, though the
young Prince of Vaudemont, who has a fancy for me, made me custodier of
the reliques of St. Lucy, before which your companion is now at prayer. The
sister of Vincent de Paule is your wife, I presume, in disguise?'

'No,' said I, colouring to the temples.

'Your sister, perhaps?'

 'No,' I repeated, with increasing vexation; 'the exigencies of war force us
to travel together, though we are neither kith nor kin.'

'Pardon me,' said the padre, adding (to change the conversation),
'perhaps you know that St. Lucy was a country-woman of our own?'

'Like St. Fiacre, I suppose; but you must excuse my ignorance, for I
never heard of the good lady until to-day,' I replied, with a smile.

'She was the daughter of a king.'

'I am rather sceptical on these points, father,' said I, smiling again, 'for in
France all the ancient saints are sons or daughters of kings, counts, and
emperors. Sanctity in those days was increased by rank.'

'You will find in Camerarius and in the French Breviary that she was the
daughter of a Scottish king, of Macbeth the Usurper; who, to atone for the
crimes of her father, after escaping from the castle of Dunsinnane, retired in
1160 to serve God in obscurity. Wandering from our native land she reached
the banks of yonder river, the Meuse, and choosing a solitary place, a
wooded mountain in the diocese of Verdun, there built unto herself a cell,
where she died, in 1190, in all the odour of sanctity, and was enrolled
among the saints by the Bishop of Verdun, Henry of Blois, otherwise called
of Winchester, brother of Stephen king of England. Great pilgrimages have
been made to her reliques, which in the summer season are kept in the
church of Mont St. Lucy, erected in her honour in 1625 by a prince of the
house of Guise, who espoused a sister of the present Duke Charles IV.'

'This is a curious story,' said I; 'but I suppose these reliques are only a
few bones.'

'Heaven pity thee!' exclaimed the old priest; 'bones, quotha! I would that
you were one of the ancient faith to see the saint as we see her—to see her
as if she died but yesterday.'

'Indeed!'
 'Her body is completely enclosed in a transparent coffin of the purest
Venetian crystal, and therein she lies, robed in white, looking lovely in her
virgin purity, for in death her features resumed all the bloom of youth. Her
tresses are of the brightest gold; her features are soft and placid; the long
lashes of her eyes are closed, imparting a charming expression of modesty
and repose to her sleeping face, and a virgin crown encircles her brows. Her
hands, small and delicate, are crossed upon her breast; one retains a golden
chalice, the other her crucifix; and when prayers of more than ordinary
purity are raised to heaven at her shrine, her lips have been seen to smile,
and a shining brightness to spread over her face and robes—a light that
filled the beholders with extasy and awe. Moreover, through the pores of
that crystal coffin there cometh at times a fragrance—a delightful perfume,
like that emitted of old by the body of Polycarp, the early martyr.'

'And she was a daughter of Macbeth! By my soul, I would give a louis to

see all this.'

The priest shook his head.

'And her body is quite undecayed, you say.'

'Less so than yours or mine,' retorted the priest.

'And yet she died—'

'More than five hundred years ago.'

'Excuse me, Father Colville, but really—'

'You think this strange; but does not Volterranus tell us of the body of a
young girl—fair, delicate, and beautiful—being found in a Roman
sepulchre during the pontificate of Alexander VI.?'

'Very likely; but I do not believe in Volterranus.'

'He says, that she was enclosed in a marble chest: her loveliness dazzled
all; her hair, which was long and flaxen, was gathered upon her head by a
tiara of shining gold. At her feet stood a burning lamp, the light of which
was extinguished by the atmosphere on the vault being opened. And, by an
inscription on her tomb, this fair young girl proved to be "Tulliola, the best-
beloved daughter of Cicero;" but because she was an unbaptized pagan,
Pope Alexander ordered her body, so wonderfully preserved, to be cast into
the Tiber, which was done accordingly. But to return: our shrine of St. Lucy
was visited, in 1609, by the Duchess of Lorraine—a lady of the house of
Mantua.'

'The mother of the present Prince of Vaudemont.'

'No; the mother of his half-sister, the famous Mademoiselle Marie

Louise, who is now in Paris. It was also visited with great solemnity by his
present majesty Louis XIII., when he was besieging St. Michel four years
ago; and on that occasion his favourite, Madame d'Amboise, laid all her
rings and bracelets on the shrine. It is to be visited by Mademoiselle of
Lorraine, after her marriage with Count Pappenheim—an event to which I
look forward with a somewhat selfish interest.'

'Why?'

'Because the wedding-dress of the bride is to be my gift, as keeper of the

reliques.'

From this musty garrulity and monastic gossip, of which—with a mind

so preoccupied—I felt heartily weary, I was relieved on Father Colville
being summoned by an old Benedictine; and just as he retired, my attention
was attracted by a handsome and well-appointed cavalier, who, with two
valets, like himself well mounted and armed, rode hastily up to a large tree
which stood before La Pomms d'Eve, an auberge opposite the abbey.
Imperiously summoning the landlord, he called for wine, but without
dismounting.

Something in the air of this young spark, and in the cock of his feather,
seemed familiar to me; and, on approaching, I recognised the young
Marquis de Toneins, camp-master of the Regiment de Normandie, and son
and heir of the Marechal Duc de la Force.
 CHAPTER XLI.

STARTLING TIDINGS.

'And let me the canakin clink, clink!

A soldier's a man;
A life's but a span;
Why, then, let a soldier drink!'

I hummed the song of the subtle Iago in the Moor of Venice, and, like him,
adding—

'Some wine, ho!' stepped towards the tree under which the Marquis and
his two followers were regaling. The latter stared at me with the usual
insolence of liveried valets, until their master raised his hat, exclaiming—

'Pardieu! who do I see? M. Blane of the King's Guards—M. Blane here,

and dressed as an abbé!'

'Yes, Marquis—but so dressed, for a time only.'

'A strange garb for the king's most faithful soldier—and his rival too, at
times, if all tales be true.'

'Marquis, permit me to observe that your remarks are very unwise.'

'Letters from Paris could tell us nothing about you—you were keeping
your whereabouts so very quiet, that it was rumoured in the Garde du Corps
Ecossais, you were about to become ridiculous.'

'Marquis!'

'By marrying and becoming quite a respectable person.'

 'A false rumour, on my honour!' said I, reddening as I remembered the
conversation in the forest last night; 'but what have you to tell me of the
Garde du Corps, Marquis? Who are dead and who alive now?'

'Faith I can scarcely tell you; but I do not think the cuirassiers muster
above seventy-five now. They have been carrying themselves with glory,
these lords of the creation, and playing the devil in Alsace and on the Rhine.
You delivered my letters to Marion de l'Orme?'

'Yes.'

'And how was the little one looking?'

'Divine as usual.'

'Bon! did you see anything of Madame la Duchesse de Charost?'

'The beautiful divorced—no.'

'Yet you were all winter in Paris!'

'I was studying, my dear friend.'

'Studying—you?'

'Studying practically the interior economy of your French prisons.'

'Tête Dieu! I don't understand you—but your life in Paris seems to have
been very circumscribed.'

'Because it was confined to an upper chamber of the Bastille.'

'The Bastille—diable!'

'I expected that exclamation; the prince of darkness being the potentate
usually applied to by such wild gallants as you.'

'But let me hear all about this; for even at this distance from Paris, the
Bastille has a very alarming sound.'
 I told him my story, at least so much of it as I deemed prudent to reveal;
and contrived to lay all the blame of my captivity to the score of De
Brissac's jealousy.

'So when you reach Paris, M. le Marquis,' said I, in conclusion, 'do me

the favour to rip up a little of M. de Brissac's skin. I owe him a peculiar
grudge for the part he played in my affair, and especially for his manner of
playing it. Do this for me; I shall follow suit if he escapes you, and if I live
to see the old towers of Notre Dame again. I had no time to give him an
airing on the Boulevards, or at Montmartre, before leaving Paris, being
ordered off on such short notice—moreover, he never leaves the side of
Marion de l'Orme.'

'Mort de ma vie! then I am wholly at your service,' said the Marquis,

whose eyes sparkled with anger at this information.

'Believe me, I shall be ready to do so much for you again.'

'I always deemed De Brissac to be an unsophisticated country Benedick,

who luxuriated at his petit château near Versailles, and was actually in love
with his own wife. So, so—he has been at the Rue de St. Jacques. Peste! I
shall give him a wholesome horror of that locality after I reach Paris.'

On this matter these sparks really fought near the ferry of the Nesle. De
Brissac afterwards became involved in the plots formed by the King's
dissolute and libertine favourite, Henri de Cinq-Mars against Richelieu in
1642; but the Cardinal played his cards with his usual skill and subtlety, for
Cinq-Mars perished on the scaffold at Lyons, and De Brissac was broken on
the wheel in the Place de la Grève at Paris. But I am anticipating.

'This is the finest wine I have tasted since I crossed the Rhine,' said the
Marquis, setting down his cup and gathering up his reins; 'ere long I shall
be in my native province of Champagne, and then I shall have such wine as
hath never been pressed in Germany since Father Noah planted the grape
and conferred on mankind the benefit of getting drunk. And now farewell; I
am bound to Paris, with despatches from the Marechal-Duke, my father. In
a week I shall have kissed Marion, thrown myself at the feet of Charost, run
De Brissac through the body, danced with the girls at the Hotel d'Argent,
and given a benefit to those at the Hotel de Bourgogne. I shall have
coquetted with all the fleuristes on Pont aux Colombes; got drunk at the
Fleur-de-lis; rattled the bones of Beelzebub in a dice-box with Ferte
Imbault, and Heaven knows all what more. 'Tis said this war will soon be
over, for Richelieu has discovered and sent to the Bastille, Mademoiselle de
Lorraine, whom he will probably marry perforce to some French peer. Thus
Louis XIII. will easily bring the Duke her father to terms, it is thought. But,
apropos, before we part, let me warn you to beware how you venture near
Nanci.'

I had been glancing anxiously from time to time at the porch of the
Benedictine church, in expectation of seeing my devotee appear; and I had
soon tired of the harebrained young Marquis, whose light conversation
savoured so much of Paris and the old style of the French camp. It bored
and disgusted me after the pleasant days I had spent in the pure and virtuous
society of Nicola; but now his warning interested me.

'I am to avoid Nanci, you say—why, Marquis?'

'It is full of the enemy.'

'This is indeed unfortunate for me.'

'Rather, as it lies in your front. While my valiant papa, the Marechal-

Duke, was occupying himself near Strasburg, Charles IV., with his son, the
Prince of Vaudemont, and that young fire-eater, Wolfgang Count
Pappenheim, with four thousand chosen troops, crossed the Rhine by a
bridge of boats, and reaching the old capital of Lorraine by a forced march,
are now actually holding high festival in the ancient palace of the duchy.'

'Parbleu! I must be careful—being under orders, or promise rather, to see

a lady to the gates of Nanci.'

'A lady?'

'Yes.'

'From whence?'
 'Paris.'

'Peste! is she pretty?'

'I cannot say—she is an ecclesiastic.'

'Nom d'un Pape! and do you think to make me believe that you have
travelled all the way from Paris with a pretty woman, without seeing so
much as her face? Very likely, M. le Garde Ecossais!'

At that moment, Nicola in her sombre garb appeared at the huge Gothic
porch of St. Bennet, where she looked around her irresolutely.

'Oho, M. l'Abbé,' said the reckless Marquis, 'there is your little penitent
awaiting you. Pleasant this! by my faith, I shall doff the corslet, and don the
cassock too—but a safe journey to you—au revoir!'

'Adieu!'

I raised my hat, and, followed by his two attendants, the Marquis

galloped gaily down the road which led towards the forest wherein Nicola
and I had passed the night.

On joining her, she greeted me with what was almost a caress; and
whether it was the effect of her devotion I know not, but now she seemed
placid, content, and even cheerful—yet my heart was still wrung.

'To-morrow we will be at Nanci; and on the morrow after we will be

parted, Nicola, parted to meet no more,' said I, lifting her into her saddle.

'My dear, dear Arthur,' said she, bending her face close to mine; 'your
accent and expression tear my heart with sorrow—you doubt me—oh! what
shall I say, to convince, and to reassure you?'

'Why should all this be, Nicola; listen to me. Here are a church and a
priest,' (Father Colville was at that moment waving to us an adieu from the
porch,) 'why cannot we marry? Here is a ring too—it was my mother's,
Nicola. 'Tis but a few words—"with this ring, I thee wed—this gold and
silver I give thee—and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow," and then
heaven alone could separate us.'

'Poor Arthur! your gold and silver, as yet, the pay of a Scottish
cuirassier; your worldly goods in France, the dust of a day's march. Yet
would I wed you,' she added, while her tears fell fast and hot; 'but I have
others than myself, to consult, others who would rather see me in my grave
than the wife of soldier of fortune. Our ranks are unequal; and I—with all
your present love—would wed but future misery.'

'Oh! Nicola, and have you no trust in me? What mean you by present
love, and future misery?'

'Would you rejoin the proud, fiery, and haughty Garde de Corps
Ecossais, with a French soubrette as your bride?'

'No—we would quit France.'

'Does not this admission show there is a shame to shun?'

'A shame, Nicola!' I stammered.

'Yes—and what of the Countess's promises to you—are they as yet

fulfilled?'

'Alas! no.'

'And your despatches for M. le Chevalier Hepburn; are they as yet

delivered?'

'True—true; but the dread of losing you renders me desperate, and blind
to everything.'

'Enough, dear Arthur—let us talk of this no more.'

'Yet, Nicola, for you I would risk any danger; for I love you, as I have
never loved any woman, since I buried my poor mother, who sleeps far
away from me, in the old churchyard at Glenkens.'
 As if she dreaded her own resolution, Nicola whipped up her horse, and
muffling her face, and, as I thought, her sobs, in her hood, rode on. I
followed, and thus we sorrowfully left the gates and ramparts of St. Michel
behind us. I informed her of the risk we ran—I at least—as Nanci was full
of the troops of Duke Charles, and of Wolfgang Pappenheim, his intended
son-in-law.

She expressed joy to hear that the brave old Duke was in possession of
his hereditary home, which, as she was a Lorrainer, was only natural and
proper; but she shuddered at the name of young Pappenheim, who, to all his
father's brilliant courage, united the cunning of the fox with the pitiless
ferocity of the tiger.

CHAPTER XLII.

VAUDEMONT.

As we proceeded, we hourly heard of the terrors and ravages committed

by the Count de Bitche, colonel of the petardiers of Lorraine, a man steeped
to the lips in crime and sin; and by Wolfgang and his imperial corps, a
Croatian regiment, upon those Lorrainers who had made terms with
Cardinal de Lavalette, with Hepburn, or La Force; and more especially
upon those who had supplied the troops of those leaders with forage, food,
or money. Some were broken alive on the wheel, others shot or hung,
according to the whim of their captors; and rumour affirmed that the young
Prince of Vaudemont went hand in hand with his future brother-in-law in
the committal of these atrocities, especially in Alsace, the duke of which
was a mere child of nine or ten years old. From her recent residence in
Paris, Nicola believed that she had everything to fear from the terrible
Croats, and grew paler than a lily, when, near Commercy, a town on the left
bank of the Meuse, we passed a row of men hanging by the neck upon trees
by the wayside, with their visages black, swollen, and frightful, exposed to
our gaze, and to the ravages of a flight of bloated ravens that were wheeling
round them.

At Commercy, which is celebrated only for the manufacture of those

little cakes called Madeleines, we saw the noble château of the Princes of
Vaudemont, an open, black, and roofless ruin, just as it had been left by
Lieutenant Frank Ruthven, of Ramsay's musketeers, who had crossed the
Meuse one dark night at the head of eighty Scots, stormed the gates, and
burned the seat of the heirs-apparent of Lorraine.*

* It is now a French cavalry barrack.

A night in the forest, exposed to the inclemency of such a storm, had not
improved the condition of our horses, worn as they were by so long a
journey; and Dagobert, whose old military hardihood a winter passed in the
snug stables of the Château d'Amboise had considerably impaired, was
especially cut up: thus, after a slow and tedious ride of some miles, I found
it necessary that we should halt at a little wayside auberge, about a league
beyond Commercy. The host, though reluctant at first to admit any stranger,
so great was the terror inspired by Pappenheim's Croats, and the Duke's
Imperialists, was ready enough to afford us quarters on perceiving our
ecclesiastical garb, in his simplicity believing that, in case of foragers or
plunderers coming that way, we might give a little protection to his
household—a vain hope indeed.

Nicola was so sad, weary, and reflective, that I did not again renew the
ever-present subject of my thoughts and of the past day's conversation, but I
kissed her tenderly at the door of her apartment, and bade her adieu for the
night, adding that I would summon her betimes on the morrow, which
would be the last day of our journey together.

Alas! I knew not that it was the last time I should ever see her again—as
my beloved Nicola at least.
 Over a stoup of wine, I sat moodily in the recess of a window of the little
auberge, recharging my pistols to keep them in service order; and then I
watched the setting sun, as he sank in all his summer splendour, and cast
long golden gleams across the wooded dell, through which flowed the
waters of the Meuse, when the report of shots close by gave me an alerte,
and inspired me with an irresistible and unwise desire to discover the reason
thereof. I ordered out my horse, thrust the pistols into my girdle, and
mounting, rode leisurely along the highway for half a-mile or so, until I saw
the cause of the alarm. A few troopers were galloping over an eminence,
bearing each a couple of sheep across his saddle, while a cloud of smoke,
streaked with flame, arose from the crumbling walls of a farmhouse, which
in mere wantonness they had set on fire.

'If 'tis thus Duke Charles celebrates his temporary return to Lorraine,'
thought I, 'his people had better bend their necks to Richelieu and King
Louis.'

Turning my horse's head, I rode leisurely back at the same pace towards
the auberge, till at a turn of the road, which was bordered by high green
hedges, I came abruptly upon two cavaliers, mounted, and armed with
sword and pistol. As the path was narrow, we simultaneously saluted each
other, and drew up to reconnoitre; for the time, place, and politics, made us
alike wary and suspicious.

'Sabre de Bois!' exclaimed a familiar voice, using that exclamation

which in France is old as the Crusades, and means a cross or sword of
wood; 'I think I should know that face and figure. Oho, M. Blane! we have
changed guises since we met last year at Sezanne. 'Tis thou art now the
abbé and I the layman. By St. Nicolas of Lorraine, but this is very droll!'

The speaker was the Prince of Vaudemout, and I heard him with mingled
anger and irresolution.

'Shall I recal the advice, the threat you made me, on that day at the hotel
in Sezanne?'

'You may, M. le Prince; but what was it?'

 'Simply this: Retire; leave our vicinity; this espionage is not honourable,
and you test me too far. Those words were well calculated to rankle in a
heart so proud as mine. Do you remember them?'

'I do.'

'And then you threatened to denounce me and poor Raoul d'Ische, whose
soul, I hope, has long since gone to glory. Why should I not denounce you,
and deliver you to the nearest provost-marshal?'

'For two sufficient reasons, Monseigneur le Prince.'

'Name them.'

'First, you are too accomplished and brave a soldier to do an act of

wanton cruelty; and I am, also, I hope, too accomplished and skilful a
swordsman to let any two men in the army of the Empire deprive me of this
weapon, which is now my sole inheritance.'

'Milles demons! thou art a gallant fellow, and I love this spirit well; but
nevertheless I must have you; so we will fight it out fairly on the sward
here, and my aide-de-camp, the Count de Bitche, will be our umpire.'

'With pleasure,' growled the Count, through his enormous moustaches.

'Agreed,' said I, bowing to that ruffianly noble, whom I had given such
good cause to remember our meeting in the cavalry charge at Bitche; and
his sinister eyes, as they gave me a fierce glance of recognition, flashed like
a sword-blade when it is suddenly drawn from the scabbard. 'My life has
been risked and jeoparded so often, that when night sets in, I feel at times
astonished to find myself still in the land of the living. But, prince, lest I
should fall in this encounter, give me your word of honour,' said I, sadly and
impressively, 'that you will fulfil my last injunctions.'

'My dear fellow, I have not the least desire to kill you. Mordieu! not I;
but I must disarm and take you prisoner.'
 'Not if I can prevent you; but should aught fatal to me occur, will you, as
a gentleman, promise to conduct safely and honourably to the gates of
Nanci a young girl of Lorraine, whom I have brought with me from Paris,
and who is now——'

'Where?'

'At a little auberge in yonder hollow near the Meuse.'

'Where three willow trees overshadow the water?'

'Yes.'

'On my honour as a gentleman I will do this, faithfully and truly.'

'Prince, I thank and believe in you.'

The Count de Bitche, a fierce-looking fellow, with a dark and sinister

expression, uttered a most unpleasant laugh; upon which I gave him a
scornful glance of defiance, and bit my glove. We had now reached a
smooth piece of sward, a little way aside from the high road; a grove of
chestnut trees grew half round it; the evening light was clear; in the distance
lay Commercy, with its spires standing in dark outline against the blood red
disc of the setting sun. We all dismounted, and gave our bridles to the Count
de Bitche, who linked them to his own. We then threw our hats, cloaks, and
gloves, on the ground; buttoned up our pourpoints to the throat, drew our
rapiers, and stood on guard, De Bitche keeping near the Prince to prompt
and give him hints: thus he was doubly armed against me; but my heart was
too full of hope and pride to find space for fear.

I prayed for victory only that I might return to Nicola, who knew so little
of the danger I encountered, and whose dear, modest face and loving eyes I
might never see again.

Our swords met, clashed, and for a moment were engaged to the very
shell; then we withdrew, watching each other warily, blade pressed heavily
against blade. The Prince, a skilful swordsman, made a feint on one side,
and then a lunge on the other, by which he ripped up an inch or two of my
sword-arm. Now, as my skin is a ware upon which I set some value, I
became filled with sudden fury, and pressed him with such vigour, that he
was driven back, fighting hard, almost to the chestnut trees.

'At him with your rapier a la stoccata!' said De Bitche, who had drawn
his dagger, an unwarrantable proceeding, and his voice grew husky as he
spoke, 'Ill betide you, Prince! be wary, or he will nail you to a chestnut tree.'

'Silence, Count!' I exclaimed, 'or, by Heaven, I will nail you first!'

He slunk back to where the horses stood, and in an instant after I heard a
snort, almost a cry, from one of them, and casting a glance that way, saw
Dagobert plunging fearfully. This unusual circumstance so fully arrested my
attention, that I narrowly escaped being run through the lungs; but
recovering my guard, before the Count could withdraw his useless thrust, I
grasped his rapier by the cross, wrested it away, and for a moment menaced
his throat with my point; then I stepped back breathless with excitement and
fatigue.

The pale face of Vaudemont flushed crimson with shame and vexation.
He uttered a fierce oath.

'Conquered again, and by you too—this is too much! I shall never again
be able to hold up my head.'

'Nay, monsieur,' said I, bowing low, and presenting to him his sword-hilt;
'let us be friends from this time forward; and be it understood, that on
whatever field we meet again, you and I, at least, engage no more.'

'So be it, M. Blane,' said he, grasping my hand with the sudden cordiality
of a generous heart; 'we part friends; and in this half-hour's encounter, you
have taught me some tricks in fencing which I shall not soon forget. Adieu
—return to your pretty one at the auberge, and conduct her, yourself, to the
gate of Nanci; but promise me, that you do not enter; for if taken prisoner
there, even I may fail to protect you, as in Nanci, at least, the Duke my
father reigns supreme.'
 He saluted me; leaped on his horse, and, followed by his amiable aide-
de-camp, the Count de Bitche, who gave me a peculiar and malevolent
smile, galloped away.

CHAPTER XLIII.

L'HOMME PROPOSE—DIEU DISPOSE.

'Dagobert, you devil of a nag,' said I, stroking his fine head; 'you nearly
caused a kind master to lose his life, by making such an uproar.'

Gathering the reins I prepared to mount, when suddenly the animal

snorted again, and swerving round in an unusual manner, nearly fell upon
his haunches. Blood on the grass now attracted my attention; and, to my
astonishment, I found that the poor animal was wounded in the off hind-leg,
and by a slash from a sharp instrument, was irretrievably hamstrung!

I remembered the malevolent expression that lighted the eyes of the

wicked Count de Bitche; and that I had seen him near my horse with his
dagger drawn; I remembered also, the wild snort and plunge, given at that
moment by the animal, a movement which, by startling me, so nearly
caused me to lose my self-possession and life together; and my heart filled
with anger and compassion, at the cruelty of this barbarous Imperialist; for
the noble horse was destroyed by a mutilation, beyond the skill of farriery
to cure; and as I wiped, with my handkerchief, the moisture caused by
agony in the fine eyes of my beautiful Spanish barb, I felt a tear start to my
own; for I knew that now poor Dagobert must die. I thought of my pistols to
end his misery—

'No, no, Dagobert—another must do this sad office for you. My old nag,
you and I have been too often under fire together—we have too often
shared the same meal, the same biscuit, and the same bed of straw, for you
to die by my hand. Another shall do this, and place the greenest sods above
you too.'

And thinking thus, I led him slowly, halting and with difficulty, along the
road, which he marked with blood, towards the little inn that lay in the
valley of the Meuse, intending to have him shot and buried there by the
aubergiste, to whom I would give my saddle and holsters for his trouble.

Thus I lost a charger, the gift of Clara d'Amboise, and worth at least six
hundred crowns of the sun.

On the morrow I meant to conduct Nicola to Nanci; and there, in my

own name and character, to enclose to the Duke of Lorraine, a solemn
challenge to the cruel and infamous Count de Bitche. Full of these fiery
thoughts, and pausing at every two or three paces, for my poor horse
moaned in its agony, I proceeded slowly along the narrow path between the
hedgerows, and under chestnut-trees in full foliage, towards the auberge;
and as I went, the darkness grew deeper, for the sun had long since set. The
stars studded the sky; and between its wooded banks, the Meuse gleamed
like a silver current, as the round white summer moon rose above the hills.

At the door of the wayside inn (a grotesque-looking house of carved

wood, with its upper windows opening from a steep roof, which was buried
under a load of woodbine, honeysuckle, hops, and ivy) I was met by the old
aubergiste, with fear and wonder expressed in every feature of his otherwise
rather stolid visage.

'Oh Monsieur l'Abbé! Monsieur l'Abbé!' he exclaimed; 'and so you are

not killed after all!'

'Killed—no.'

'Nor even wounded?'

'No; but why do you ask?'

'Because—but where is mademoiselle, your sister—that dear, pious

daughter of Vincent de Paule?'
 'Asleep, in her chamber, I presume; but what mean you by all these
questions?' I demanded, while a vague emotion of alarm agitated me.

'Mademoiselle, about half-an-hour ago, was told that you had been
attacked on the road, and left dangerously wounded; that you were dying, in
fact, and had sent for her; so she instantly went with them, in search of you.'

'With them!—with whom, fellow?—and who told her all this?'

'M. le Comte de Bitche, who came hither hurriedly and clamorously

inquiring for the young girl of Nanci, whom an abbé had brought from
Paris. He gave her these dreadful tidings, and sadly terrified and grieved the
poor little thing became; but she threw on her hood, and hastened to you.'

'Accompanied by whom?—speak fellow, speak!'

'M. le Comte, and two other gentlemen of Monseigneur de Vaudemont's

suite.'

'Eternal infamy! it has all been a decoy—a snare! Oh, Nicola, Nicola!
what insanity prompted me to leave you, even for a moment? Was the
Prince with them?'

'No monsieur, no,' replied the aubergiste, trembling.

'Which way did they take her?—towards Commercy?'

'No; towards Nanci.'

I was about to spring on poor Dagobert, but remembered his mutilation,

and perceived at once the whole details of the trick which had been played
me by the Count de Bitche, on hearing my request concerning the safety of
Nicola—a request made so solemnly to Vaudemont before we fought. And
so she had been carried away by this brutal and unscrupulous noble, whose
forcible abduction of the beautiful Countess of Lutzelstein was so notorious
throughout all Germany and France; a crime which was followed by
another more terrible; for the corpse of that unfortunate lady, who had been
savagely strangled, was left ignominiously stripped in the woods near his
castle in Lorraine; and in her hands was found a portion of a velvet
pourpoint, which she had clutched in her dying struggles, and which, by its
remarkable lacing, was known to have been worn by the Count.

And Nicola was in his power!

'The Count is a sorcerer, Monsieur l'Abbé,' said the aubergiste,

imploringly; 'so beware what you do. He is said to attend the sabbat in the
forest of St. Michel; he anoints himself with the fat of unbaptized children;
he dries up the milk of poor men's cattle, and turns the gold of the rich into
birchen chips; and he has an ointment which he puts on his eyes, to enable
him to see where treasure is hidden. It was thus he found the gold which
Charles VII. buried in his old Rendezvous de Chasse, in the forest of
Loches, where it was guarded by a dragon. Beware, M. l'Abbé, beware! or
at least do not name me; for I am a poor man, whom he would think no
more of hanging than he would of drinking a cup of wine.'

Heedless of all these warnings, on foot I rushed along the road, with my
sword drawn; but night had now closed in, and objects had become vague
and indistinct. I placed an ear on the ground to listen, but heard only the
throbbing of my heart; my whole brain seemed to have become one huge
pulse. Nicola, whom I might never see again, seemed before me, with all
her thousand winning ways, her beauty and her gentleness, her modesty and
timidity—Nicola subjected to the rude advances of this brutal and licentious
lord!

My heart grew sick!

It was too much to think of—too exasperating a subject for

contemplation; and half-blind with rage and grief. I rushed along the Nanci
road, which stretched far away before me, lonely and silent in the light of
the rising moon.

Thus Nicola was lost or taken from me; and all the injunctions from the
Countess, and my responsive promises, came back to my memory with a
glow of shame and mortification, for, by my own neglect, I felt that I had
forfeited my honour, and would be disgraced in the estimation of them both
for ever. But these reflections were altogether secondary to the horror I