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Updated: June 29, 2025
True, his late Majesty, King Louis XI, had sworn Pacque Dieu! that d'Arnaye loved underhanded work so heartily that he conspired with his gardener concerning the planting of cabbages, and within a week after his death would be heading some treachery against Lucifer; but kings are not always infallible, as his Majesty himself had proven at Peronne.
But the Sieur d'Arnaye only laughed. "I cannot give my parole," he said, "since I mean to escape for all your brother's care." Then he fell to pacing up and down before her. "Now, by Monseigneur Saint Medard and the Eagle that sheltered him!" he cried, in half-humorous self-mockery; "however thickly troubles rain upon me, I think that I shall never give up hoping!"
Villon is good French for vagabond, an excellent name for an outcast. And as God lives, I will presently drag that name through every muckheap in France." Yet he went to Jehan de Vaucelles' home. "I will afford God one more chance at my soul," said Francois. In the garden he met Catherine and Noel d'Arnaye coming out of the house. They stopped short.
At Arras he fought beneath the orifiamme; at Guinegate you could not have found a more staunch Burgundian: though he was no warrior, victory followed him like a lap-dog. So that presently the Sieur d'Arnaye and the Vicomte de Puysange with which family we have previously concerned ourselves were the great lords of Northern France. But after the old King's death came gusty times for Sieur Raymond.
The foliage about him moved at most as a sleeper breathes, while Florian descended eastward through walled gardens, and so came to the graveyard. White mists were rising, such mists as the witches of Amneran notoriously evoked in these parts on each Walburga's Eve to purchase recreations which squeamishness leaves undescribed. For five years now Tiburce d'Arnaye had lain there.
Thereupon he cut Roger down at a blow and composedly set to wiping his sword on the grass. The Englishman lay like a log where he had fallen. "Lord," Adelais quavered, "lord, have you killed him?" Fulke d'Arnaye sighed. "Helas, no!" said he, "since I knew that you did not wish it. See, mademoiselle, I have but made a healthful and blood-letting small hole in him here.
Of the six acknowledged children surviving him, only one was legitimate a daughter called Matthiette. The estate and title thus reverted to Raymond d'Arnaye, Noel's younger brother, from whom the present family of Arnaye is descended. Raymond was a far shrewder man than his predecessor.
Noel d'Arnaye and Catherine de Vaucelles were married in the September of 1462, and afterward withdrew to Noel's fief in Picardy. Madame d'Arnaye, also, it is gratifying to record, appears to have lived in tolerable amity with Sieur Noel, and neither of them pried too closely into the other's friendships. Catherine died in 1470, and Noel outlived her but by three years.
For I doubt if your blood runs so thin as yet that you have quite forgot young Raymond d'Arnaye and the gracious ladies whom he loved, I think that your heart must needs yet treasure the memories of divers moonlit nights, even such as this, when there was a great silence in the world, and the nested trees were astir with desire of the dawn, and your waking dreams were vext with the singular favor of some woman's face.
So a queer thing happened, and it was that the earth upon the grave began to heave and to break in fissures, as when a mole passes through the ground. And other queer things happened after that, and presently Tiburce d'Arnaye was standing there, gray and vague in the moonlight as he stood there brushing the mold from his brows, and as he stood there blinking bright wild eyes.
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