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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c056edc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65039 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65039) diff --git a/old/65039-0.txt b/old/65039-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 435c096..0000000 --- a/old/65039-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13983 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sir Isumbras at the Ford, by D. K. Broster - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Sir Isumbras at the Ford - -Author: D. K. Broster - -Release Date: April 10, 2021 [eBook #65039] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD *** - - - - - SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD - - - - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - IN COLLABORATION WITH - G. W. TAYLOR - - - CHANTEMERLE - - THE VISION SPLENDID - - - - - SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD - - - BY D. K. BROSTER - - - LONDON: - JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. - 1918 - - - - - TO - - BARBARA AND HER SON PHILIP - - - - - "And als he wente by a woodë schawe, - Thare mette he with a lytille knave - Came rynnande him agayne-- - 'Gramercy, faire Syr Isumbras, - Have pitie on us in this case, - And lifte us uppe for Marie's grace!' - N'as never childe so fayne. - Theretoe of a mayden he was ware, - That over floude ne mighte not fare, - Sir Ysumbras stoopède him thare - And uppe ahent hem twayne." - - _METRICAL ROMANCE OF SIR YSUMBRAS._ - - - - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - BOOK ONE - - THE ROAD TO FRANCE - - I. ANNE-HILARION GETS OUT OF BED. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 - - II. AND IS PUT BACK AGAIN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 - - III. PURCHASE OF A GOLDFISH, AND OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS. . . 19 - - IV. VISIT TO TWO FAIRY GODMOTHERS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26 - - V. THOMAS THE RHYMER. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37 - - VI. "A LITTLE BOY LOST". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45 - - VII. THE CHEVALIER DE LA VIREVILLE MEETS "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN". 54 - - - BOOK TWO - - THE ROAD TO ENGLAND - - VIII. SOME RESULTS OF LISTENING TO POETRY. . . . . . . . . . . 69 - - IX. THE _TROIS FRÈRES_ OF CAEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 - - X. HAPPENINGS IN A POSTCHAISE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90 - - XI. "FIFTY FATHOMS DEEP" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 - - XII. INTRODUCING GRAIN D'ORGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 - - XIII. FAR IN THE FOREST. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124 - - XIV. CÆSAREA THE GREEN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134 - - XV. CAVENDISH SQUARE ONCE MORE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145 - - XVI. THE AGENT DE LA CORRESPONDANCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151 - - XVII. STRANGE CONDUCT OF THE AGENT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160 - - XVIII. EQUALLY STRANGE CONDUCT OF "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN" . . . . . 168 - - XIX. LA PORTE DU MANOIR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179 - - XX. SEA-HOLLY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188 - - XXI. HOW ANNE-HILARION FED THE DUCKS. . . . . . . . . . . . . 203 - - - BOOK THREE - - THE ROAD THAT FEW RETURNED ON - - XXII. "TO NOROWAY, TO NOROWAY" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217 - - XXIII. DISPLEASURE OF "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN" . . . . . . . . . . . 226 - - XXIV. CREEPING FATE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231 - - XXV. HISTORY OF A SCAR. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242 - - XXVI. STE. BARBE--AND AFTERWARDS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250 - - XXVII. LA VIREVILLE BREAKS HIS SWORD. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261 - - XXVIII. MR. TOLLEMACHE AS AN ARCHANGEL . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272 - - XXIX. VÆ VICTIS! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 286 - - XXX. ATROPOS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 294 - - XXXI. THE PAYING OF THE SCORE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 302 - - XXXII. DEAD LEAVES. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309 - - XXXIII. THE MAN SHE WOULD HAVE MARRIED . . . . . . . . . . . . . 318 - - XXXIV. MONSEIGNEUR'S GUEST. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324 - - XXXV. MR. TOLLEMACHE AS A LINGUIST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 335 - - XXXVI. ANNE-HILARION MAKES A PLAN, AND THE BISHOP A REVELATION. 345 - - XXXVII. THE CHILD UNLOCKS THE DOOR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354 - - - BOOK FOUR - - THE OLDEST ROAD OF ALL - - XXXVIII. FLOWER OF THE GORSE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365 - - XXXIX. FLOWER OF THE FOAM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375 - - - - - BOOK ONE - - - THE ROAD TO FRANCE - - "But, Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue, - Whatever ye may hear or see; - For speak ye word in Elflyn-land, - Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie." - - _THOMAS THE RHYMER._ - - - - - CHAPTER I - - ANNE-HILARION GETS OUT OF BED - - - (1) - -"And well ye ken, Maister Anne, ye should hae been asleep lang syne!" -said Elspeth severely. - -Master Anne--M. le Comte Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny--gave a little sigh -from the bed. "I _have_ tried . . . if you would say 'Noroway,' -perhaps? . . . Say 'Noroway-over-the-foam,' Elspeth, je vous en prie!" - -"Dinna be using ony of yer French havers tae me, wean!" exclaimed the -elderly woman thus addressed, still more threateningly. "Aweel -then. . . . Ye're no' for 'True Thomas' the nicht?" - -The silky brown head on the pillow was shaken. "No, please. I like -well enough the Queen of Elfland, but best of all 'Noroway-over-the-foam' -and the shoes with cork heels." - -Elspeth Saunders grunted, for there was something highly congenial to -her Calvinistic soul in that verse of 'Thomas the Rhymer' which deals -with the Path of Wickedness--'Yon braid, braid road that lies across -the lily leven,' and she was accustomed to render it with unction. -However, she sat down, took up her knitting, and began: - - "'The king sat in Dunfermline toun - Drinking the blude-red wine,'" - -and the little Franco-Scottish boy in the curtained bed closed his eyes, -that he might seem to be composing himself to slumber. In reality he -was seeing the pictures which are set in that most vivid of all -ballads--Sir Patrick Spens receiving the King's letter as he walked -on the seashore, the sailor telling of the new moon with the old in -her arms (a phenomenon never quite clear to the Comte de Flavigny), -the storm and shipwreck, and the ladies with their fans, the maidens -with their golden combs, waiting for those who would never come back -again. - - "'And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens - Wi' the Scots lords at his feet,'" - -finished Elspeth. The knitting needles proceeded a little with their -tale, then they too stopped. - -"Losh! the bairn's asleep already!" thought Mrs. Saunders, looking -over her spectacles. She tiptoed from the room. - -Yet although Anne-Hilarion's long lashes lay quietly on his cheeks he -was not by any means asleep, and under those dark curtains he watched, -not without a certain drowsiness, the gigantic shadow of his attendant -vanish from the wall. The night-light shed a very faint gleam on the -vast mahogany wardrobe, whose polished doors reflected darkly much -that passed without, and suggested, to a lively imagination, all kinds -of secret happenings within. It also illumined Anne's minute garments, -neatly folded on a chair, his high-waisted blue kerseymere pantaloons -on the top of the pile, and the small coat, into which Elspeth had -been sewing a fresh ruffle, over the back. This much of his apartment -could Anne see between the chintz curtains, figured with many a -long-tailed tropic bird, which hung tent-like from the short pole -fixed in the wall above his pillow. But he could not see Mme. d'Aulnoy's -fairy-tales, in their original French, which were lying face downwards -on the floor not very far away (and which he would be scolded for -having left about, when they were found to-morrow); nor the figure of -Notre Dame de Pontmain, in her star-decked robe of blue and her long -black veil, holding in her hands not her Son but a crucifix--the -figure which M. l'Abbé, being of Laval, her country, had given to the -little boy. For this image had a knack of disappearing entirely when -Anne's father the Marquis was away, since, as may readily be supposed, -it found no favour in the eyes of Mrs. Saunders, and was an even more -violent irritant than all 'the bairn's Popish exercises,' to which she -would so much have liked to put an end. That she might see as little -as possible of the heathen idol she had banished it, with its bracket, -to an obscure corner of the room, over the discarded high nursery-chair -in which Anne, at six years old, no longer took his meals. The fact of -the image's being in the room at all just now showed that the Marquis -was at home . . . for to him, as to his small son, in this April of -the year 1795, the solid Cavendish Square house was home, though it -belonged to neither of them. Anne-Hilarion, for his part, could -remember no other. - - - (2) - -The unusual presence of a statue of the Virgin, and of Mme. d'Aulnoy's -_Contes de fées_ on the second floor this London house, was, naturally, -but a consequence of that same series of events which had brought -thither their small owner. Seven years before, the only daughter of -James Elphinstone of Glenauchtie, a retired official of high standing -in the service of John Company, had lost her heart to a young Frenchman, -the Marquis René de Flavigny, whom she had met on a visit to Paris. -Although the necessary separation from his daughter was very bitter -to him, Mr. Elphinstone could find no real objection to the match, -and so the Scotch girl and the Frenchman were married, lived happily -on de Flavigny's estate in the Nivernais, and were joined there in -due time by a son. - -But Anne-Hilarion had not chosen well the date of his entry into this -world. On the very July day that René and Janet de Flavigny and all -their tenants were celebrating the admirable prowess displayed by M. -le Comte in attaining, without accident or illness--without flying back -to heaven, as his nurse had it--the age of one year, the people of Paris -also were keeping a festival, the first anniversary of the day when the -bloody head of the governor of the Bastille had swung along the streets -at the end of a pike. Before that summer was out the Marquis de -Flavigny, urged by his father-in-law, had decided to place his wife and -child in safety, and so, bidding the most reluctant of good-byes to the -tourelles and the swans which had witnessed their two short years of -happiness, they left France for England. Perhaps they would have -fared no worse had they remained there. For Janet de Flavigny caught -on the journey a chill from which she never recovered, and died, after -a few months, leaving to her little son not even a memory, and to -these two men who had passionately loved her a remembrance only too -poignant. - -Her death forced both their lives into fresh channels. Mr. Elphinstone -left Scotland and settled in London, where, to distract himself from -his grief, he began to write those long-planned memoirs of his Indian -career which, after more than four years, still absorbed him. As for -the Marquis de Flavigny, having once emigrated, he could not now -return to France even had he wished it. He therefore threw himself -heart and soul into the schemes of French Royalism, at first for the -rescue of the Royal Family from their quasi-imprisonment in their -own palace, and--now that King and Queen alike were done to death, -their children captives and a Republic in being--into all the hopes -that centred round the stubborn loyalists of Brittany, Maine, and -Vendée, round du Boisguy or Stofflet or Charette. And though the -rightful little King might be close prisoner in the Temple, his -uncles--the Comte de Provence (Regent in name of France) and the -Comte d'Artois--were still at large, as exiles, in Europe, and it -was to one or other of these princes that Royalist émigrés looked, -and under their ægis that they plotted and fought. Not many of them, -impoverished as they were by the Revolution, had the good fortune -to possess, like René de Flavigny, a British father-in-law who put -money and house at his son-in-law's disposal, welcomed his friends, -and strove to bear his absences on Royalist business with equanimity. - -The fact was that the young Frenchman had become very dear to Mr. -Elphinstone, not only for Janet's sake but also for his own. He had -liked de Flavigny from the first moment that he met him; it was only -during the shock of finding that Janet wished to marry him that his -feelings had temporarily cooled. Indeed, René de Flavigny's character -and disposition were not ill summed up in the word 'lovable.' He -had little of the traditional French gaiety--and still less after -his wife's death--just as Mr. Elphinstone had little of the traditional -Scotch dourness. And the old man knew how happy his daughter was with -him. Afterwards, their common bereavement drew the two more than ever -together. Mr. Elphinstone discovered in his son-in-law tastes and -sympathies more akin to his own than he had imagined, and sometimes, -though he would not have had him settle down, at thirty-two, into a -bookworm like himself, he regretted the political activities in which -the Marquis was immersed, for he knew him to be of too fine a temper -to take pleasure in the plottings and intrigues which almost of -necessity accompany the attempts to reinstate a dispossessed dynasty. -And while not, perhaps, taking those plottings over-seriously, he -realised that his son-in-law's tact and ability made him a very useful -person to his own party and a person proportionately obnoxious to the -other. The game he was engaged in playing against the French Republic -was not without danger; that adversary across the Channel was known to -have hidden agents in England, and if these had the opportunity as -well as the orders, it was not scruples that would hold them back from -actual violence. Still, that was a contingency sufficiently remote, -although the thought of it sometimes caused Mr. Elphinstone to feel, -during his son-in-law's absences, a certain uneasiness for his safety -as well as regret at the loss of his society. - - - (3) - -Anne-Hilarion was quite aware, in a general way, of his father's -occupations. In fact, as he lay now in his bed, looking through the -curtains at the wardrobe doors, he was meditating on the important -meeting which Papa was having with his friends this very evening in -the dining-room. He did not know exactly what they were discussing, -but from something which Papa had said in his hearing he believed -that there was some question of going over to France--in ships, of -course, since there was sea (he did not know how much) between -England and that country. And because his mind was full of Sir -Patrick Spens and his shipwreck, this undertaking seemed to him -terribly dangerous, and he much wished that Papa were not thinking -of it. - - "To Noroway, to Noroway, - To Noroway o'er the faem," - -the words lilted in his head like the rocking of a boat. They would -be going over the foam to that land which he did not remember: - - "Half owre, half owre, to Aberdour, - 'Tis fifty fathoms deep. . . ." - -Anne had no idea what fifty fathoms might mean, but it sounded -terrifying. Suppose Papa were to be drowned like that--suppose he -too were obliged to stuff 'silken cloth' into the hole of the ship -to keep out the water which would not be kept out! . . . - -Anne-Hilarion sat up suddenly in bed and threw back the clothes. -A very strong impulse, and by no means a righteous, was upon him, -but he was ridden by an agonising fear, and there was nothing for -it save to go down and ascertain the truth. He slipped out of bed -and pattered on to the landing. - -The stairs were steep, there was little light upon the road, the -balusters looked like rows of brown, square-faced soldiers. Not now, -however, was there room for thoughts of Barbe Bleue, that French -ogre, who was possibly hanging the last but one of his wives at that -moment in the linen-press, nor of the terrible Kelpie of the Flow, -which might that evening have left its Scottish loch and be looking -in, with its horse face, at the staircase window. No, the chief -terror was really Elspeth, who would certainly snatch him swiftly -back to bed, not comprehending (nor he either, for that matter) how -it was she who had started him on the path of this fear. So he went -down as quickly as one foot at a time permitted, knowing that -Grandpapa would be safe and busy in his study, and that Baptiste, -his father's old body-servant, was, if met, more likely to forward -him in his journey than to hinder him. He would, in fact, have been -rather glad to encounter that elderly slave of his as he made his -solitary way down to the dining-room, past the descending row of -antlers and dirks and lairds of Glenauchtie in their wigs and tartan. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - AND IS PUT BACK AGAIN - - - (1) - -But on the dining-room wall it was Janet Elphinstone, a fair-haired -child of ten, in a long white dress girt with a blue sash, her arm -over the neck of a deerhound, who looked down at the guests assembled -round her father's table. Not one was of her own nationality, for Mr. -Elphinstone himself had withdrawn after supper, following his custom on -similar occasions, and was by now very tolerably engrossed, as usual, -with his memoirs. His national shrewdness made him perfectly aware -that some of his friends, and probably all of his domestics except -Baptiste, esteemed that in his unfailing hospitality to his son-in-law's -unfortunate compatriots he was allowing himself to be victimised by -a pack of starveling adventurers, as he had once heard them called; -but he considered that his conduct in this regard was no one's affair -but his own, and for several of the Marquis's friends he had a great -respect--they bore misfortune so gallantly. So he scratched away -contentedly in the library, while in the dining-room René talked to -his companions. - -For though it was not primarily the personal attraction of the Marquis -de Flavigny which bound together this evening's visitors, but rather -devotion to a common cause, they were all his friends, from the old -Abbé with the kindly, humorous mouth and the snuffy rabat to the tall, -lean man with a scar on his cheek who, at the end of the table, was -lazily drawing devices on a map spread before him on the mahogany, -among the empty glasses. They were talking of the intrigues and -counter-intrigues which ate like a canker into the heart of the -Royalist cause, dividing that never very stable house against itself, -setting the party of the Comte de Provence against that of his younger -brother, the Comte d'Artois, and filling the clear-minded or the -generous with mingled sorrow and disgust. - -"I declare," said the gentleman with the scar at the end of the -table, without lifting his eyes from his occupation, "that the behaviour -of the Abbé Brottier, when I think of it, renders me the prey of -indigestion. So I try not to think of it." - -"Perhaps you remember, my son," interposed the old priest, "what -Cardinal Maury is reported to have said of him--that he would bring -disunion into the very host of heaven. And we émigrés, alas, are not -angels." - -"M. de la Vireville's disgust is natural," observed a middle-aged, -thin-featured man on the other side of the Abbé. "I have no doubt he -finds the atmosphere of London stifling, and is longing to be back in -the broom of Brittany with his Chouans." - -"It is my desire, de Soucy," confessed he with the map, briefly. -"But even there one is not safe from the meddling of that intriguer -and the agence de Paris. However, this does seem a chance of moving, -for once, without it, for I understand you to say, René, that Mr. -Windham seriously suggests your going personally to Verona to see -the Regent?" - -"He thinks it advisable," answered de Flavigny. "For my part, I would -much rather not put my finger between the trunk and the bark, but it -has been quite clear since last November that the agence de Paris is -trying to get Spanish help instead of accepting that of England, and -therefore someone not under the Abbé Brottier's influence ought to lay -before the Comte de Provence what the English Government is inclined -to do for us--and lay it before him directly, without the intervention -of the Duc de la Vauguyon, who, as you know, is also a partisan of -Madrid. Let me read to you, if I may, the notes of my conversation with -Mr. Windham this morning." - -He began to read out what had passed between him and that cultured, -high-minded English gentleman, now Secretary for War, to whom the -French émigrés in general owed so much. But he had not proceeded very -far before the Chevalier de la Vireville, his bright, bold eyes fixed -attentively on him, gave an exclamation: - -"Messieurs, a new recruit! Welcome, small conspirator! Come in--but -shut the door!" - -And all the rest turned on the instant to look at the little figure, -clad only in a nightshirt, which was visible in the doorway, behind -René de Flavigny's back. - -"Anne!" exclaimed the latter. "Whatever are you doing here--and in -that costume!" - -A trifle daunted, the child hung back, clutching the door handle, -though he knew all the company, and one of them--he who had hailed -him--had his especial favour. Then he made a dash for his father. - -"Papa," he burst out, clinging to him, "do not go to Noroway-over-the-foam! -You know what it says, how the feather-beds floated about in the -waves, and they lost their shoes, and the sea came in, and they were -all drowned fifty fathoms deep!" - -"My child," said the young man gently, putting his arm round him, -"what on earth are you talking about? I think you must be walking -in your sleep. Nobody is going to Noroway, so nobody will be drowned. -And you must not interrupt these gentlemen. You see, we are busy. -You must go back to bed, my little one. La Vireville, have the -goodness to ring the bell, will you?" - -The tall Chouan leader rose at once from his place, but, instead of -obeying, he snatched the cloth off a neighbouring table, and in a -moment had picked up the intruder and enveloped him in it. "Bed is -not recommended, I think, René, for this parishioner. We cannot, -however, have such a sans-culotte amongst us. That lack being remedied, -I fancy we shall sleep more comfortably here, don't you, Anne?" And -he was back in his place, the boy, wrapped in the red and black -tablecloth, on his knee, before even paternal authority could object. - -"I am sure that is the best solution," said the old Abbé, smiling -at the child over his glasses. "Pray proceed, Marquis." - -So René de Flavigny finished his notes, and looked round for opinions, -while his son whispered to the Chevalier de la Vireville, "Where -is Verona? Could it be fifty fathoms deep there?" And the Chouan -said softly, "No, foolish one, for it is nowhere near the sea, and -all this talk only means that Papa is going to Italy to see the Regent, -who is a stout, middle-aged gentleman, and not a king's daughter, -so you need not be frightened." - -"I am of Mr. Windham's opinion," the Vicomte de Soucy was meanwhile -saying; "and I verily believe that he has our interests at heart, -probably more than Mr. Pitt, certainly more than Mr. Dundas. If the -British Government really means seriously to support an expedition to -France, the Regent should be sounded." - -"How much does the Duc d'Harcourt know of the Government's dispositions?" -asked someone, referring to the Regent's accredited representative -in London. - -De Flavigny shook his head. "I do not know." - -"In any case you must disregard him--go behind him, in fact," observed -the Chevalier de la Vireville, settling Anne-Hilarion in his arms. - -"I suppose so," said de Flavigny, with an expression of distaste, -for he did not like the task, as he had said. - -"And Monseigneur le Comte d'Artois?" asked the Abbé. - -"Of course the Government will acquaint him in good time. Almost -certainly His Royal Highness will wish to lead the expedition. But -since he is so near, at Bremen or thereabouts, there will be little -difficulty in personal communication with him later, if this project -of the Government comes to anything." - -"As no doubt it will not," observed La Vireville sceptically. - -"If ever it did, _Monsieur Augustin_," remarked M. de Soucy, with an -emphasis on the name, "it would concern you very much, I imagine. For -if, as seems natural, it took place in the West, you could join it -with your Chouans, while we, though we should bring our swords, could -bring nothing else." - -La Vireville nodded. - -"It goes without question," said a voice, "that any expeditionary -force should be landed in the West; the question is, Where?" - -"A port would be needed, of course," said de Flavigny, "and the port -would be best as near M. de Charette as possible, if not actually in -Vendée." - -"If the country south of the Loire is suggested," objected La Vireville, -"the expedition will not have any support to speak of from the Chouans. -I know the Breton; he will not willingly leave his province, even -his corner of it. It will be as much as we can do to induce those of -Northern Brittany to go to South Brittany, supposing, for instance, a -landing were effected in the Morbihan, as being near Vendée." - -"It was the Morbihan that Mr. Windham had in his mind, I think," -said the Marquis de Flavigny. "He had even thought of a place, but -he said that if it was finally decided upon, it would have, of course, -to be kept secret till the last moment." - -"And what was the place?" - -René de Flavigny lowered his voice. "Quiberon Bay." - -"Not a name of good omen to a Frenchman," observed the Abbé, thinking -of Hawke's victory of nearly half a century ago. - -"Where exactly is Quiberon Bay?" inquired M. de Soucy, who was of -Lorraine. - -The Chevalier de la Vireville pushed the map of Brittany towards him, -putting his finger on a long, thin tongue of land at the bottom. -"Permit me to observe, Messieurs," he said, "that we are wandering -from the immediate question, which is, Verona or not Verona? I -cannot see that to approach the Regent can do harm, and so long -as I myself," he smiled, "am not required to undertake diplomatic -service, I am more than willing to push a friend into it. If it be -conceded that one of us should go, then I think that de Flavigny is -the person. He has rank, something of diplomatic training in the -past, and--though I say it to his face--an address likely to commend -itself to Monseigneur. Then, too, René, you were in his household -in old days, were you not?" - -"I was one of his pages," assented the Marquis. "Well, gentlemen, -if you wish it, I will go to Verona, and, I suppose, the sooner the -better. Will you drink a glass of wine to my mission? Surely, Fortuné, -that child is a nuisance, and must be asleep by now?" - -For Anne-Hilarion, huddled in the tablecloth, was lying as still as a -dormouse, and no longer sitting upright against his friend's breast, -trying to follow the conversation. - -"I will take him to bed," announced the émigré, without giving an -opinion on the Comte de Flavigny's condition. "You permit, René?" - - - (2) - -But as the Chouan was replacing him under the parrots and humming-birds, -Anne-Hilarion murmured sleepily, "I am glad that Papa is not going -to fetch the King's daughter; but if he is going to this place--Ver . . . -Verona, will you not come and see me, M. le Chevalier, while he is away?" - -"But I am going away too, in a few days," replied his friend. "To -Jersey, and then to France." - -"Then will you come and say good-bye to me?" - -"Yes, I will do that," assented the émigré. "Now go to sleep. Good-night, -my little cabbage." - -Then he too went quickly and quietly out of the room, for neither -had he any desire that the justly scandalised and incensed Elspeth -should fall upon him. But, alas, the dragon was standing outside -the door. - -"Eh, sirs!" she ejaculated at sight of him. "'Tis easy tae see ye hae -nae childer o' yer ain! Tae tak' yon bairn oot o' his bed at sic a -time o' nicht!" - -M. de la Vireville might have retorted that not only was he innocent -of this crime, but that he had, on the contrary, restored the -wanderer--though not instantly--to that refuge. Also, had he but -known, it was Elspeth, with her rendering of a too-suggestive tale, -who had been at the bottom of Anne's exploit, and was therefore, -partly at least, responsible for the consequences which were to -follow it. But, being French and not Scotch, he had never heard -of Sir Patrick Spens, and could not claim second-sight. He set up -a weak defence by observing that the Marquis knew of the occurrence. - -"Indeed, it's a verra gude thing for the bairn that his father _is_ -gaein' awa," retorted Elspeth instantly. "'Tis bad eno' wi' Glenauchtie -himsel'" (thus she preferred to speak of Mr. Elphinstone), "but when -there's twa puir misguidit bodies tae----" - -La Vireville, who was already a step or two down the staircase, -stopped suddenly. - -"How do you know that the Marquis is going away?" - -"And hoo should we not ken it, sir?" demanded she, stiffening. -"'Tis common news amangst us in the hoose." - -"Indeed? Then, as M. de Flavigny himself has only known it for the -last quarter of an hour or so, I should recommend you, Mrs. Saunders, -to quell this gift of prophecy in your fellow-servants. Above all, -see that it is confined to the house. Do you understand?" - -And the Frenchman ran downstairs again, a little frown on his forehead, -leaving Elspeth petrified with indignation on the landing. - - - (3) - -Down in the hall de Flavigny was speeding the last of his guests. -The Chouan went back into the deserted dining-room to wait for him. -Standing in front of Janet de Flavigny's picture he looked up at -her. He had never seen her in life, for his friendship with her husband -was only some two years old, and owed its rapid growth partly, no -doubt, to just the right amount of dissimilarity of character between -them. Of tougher fibre than his friend, and of a disposition less -openly sensitive, Fortuné de la Vireville, who had known more than -his share of knocking about the world, had something of an elder -brother's protective attitude towards him, though de Flavigny was -only three years younger than himself. It was this which was causing -him to wait for the Marquis now. - -"Shut the door a moment, René, will you," he said, as his friend -came back. "How is it that the domestics seem to know so much about -your future movements? Mrs. Saunders has just considerably surprised -me by telling me that you are going away." - -The Marquis looked at him and bit his lip. "I suppose," he said, -after a moment, "that I must have said something to Baptiste about -preparing my valise in case I went. But Baptiste, of course, is -above suspicion." - -"Granted. But he repeated that order, not unnaturally perhaps, to -the other servants." - -"There is no great harm in that," replied de Flavigny, with a smile. -"It is not a piece of information of much interest to anyone outside -the house, and is not therefore likely to be conveyed elsewhere." - -"Ah, pardon me, mon ami," interposed the Chevalier de la Vireville -quickly, "you underrate your importance. There are people who would -find it quite interesting if they knew of it--our dear compatriots -of the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, for instance. And they -have spies in the most unlikely places." - -"But not in this house," said René, throwing himself into a chair. - -"Perhaps not," agreed his friend. "I should certainly not suspect -Elspeth or that Indian of M. votre beau-père of selling information. -As to the others, I do not know." - - * * * * * - -M. de Flavigny was perfectly right; there was no spy in Mr. -Elphinstone's house at the moment. He did not know that the -unsatisfactoriness of the destitute French lad, whom Mr. Elphinstone -(out of the kindness of his heart and on Baptiste's suggestion) had -seen fit to engage for some obscure minor office in the kitchen regions, -had that day reached such a culminating point as to lead to his summary -dismissal, and that he was at that very moment preparing to carry his -unsatisfactoriness and other useful possessions--including a torn-up -letter in de Flavigny's handwriting--to some destination unknown. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - PURCHASE OF A GOLDFISH, AND OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS - - - (1) - -Four days later Mr. Elphinstone and his grandson were breakfasting -alone in the room where Anne-Hilarion had remained, so unsuitably -attired, to hear matters not primarily intended for the ears of -little boys. And now the Comte de Flavigny was seated again at that -very table, his legs dangling, eating his porridge, not with any great -appetite, but because it was commanded him. - -And Mr. Elphinstone did the same, glancing across now and again with -his kind blue eyes to observe his grandson's progress. The suns of -India, where so much of his life had been passed, had done little -more than fade his apple cheeks to a complexion somewhat less sanguine -than would have been theirs under Scottish skies. His very precise -British attire bore no traces of his long sojourn in the East, save -that the brooch in the lace at his throat was of Oriental workmanship, -and that the pigeon's-blood ruby on his finger had an exotic look--and -an equally exotic history. Anne-Hilarion knew that it had been given -by a rajah to his grandfather, instead of an elephant, and never -ceased to regret so disastrous a preference. - -If James Elphinstone had known, when he left India, that in years to -come an elephant would be so fervently desired in Cavendish Square, -it is possible that he might have considered the bringing of one -with him, such was his attitude (justly condemned by Mrs. Saunders) -towards Janet's child. At this moment, in fact, he was meditating -some extra little pleasure for Anne-Hilarion, to make up for his -father's departure of two days ago. M. le Comte, though he had a -certain philosophical turn of mind of his own, fretted a good deal -after M. le Marquis, and his grandfather was wondering whether to -assign to that cause the very slow rate at which his porridge was -disappearing this morning. - -"Come, child, I shall be finished long before you," he observed at last. - -Anne-Hilarion sighed, and, addressing himself once more to the fray, -made great play with his spoon, finally announcing, in true Scots -phrase, that he had finished 'them.' - -"That's right," said the old gentleman. "Some more milk, my bairn? -Bring your cup." - -Anne slipped down and presented his mug. "I think we were going out -this morning, Grandpapa," he observed, with his little engaging air, -watching the filling of the receptacle. - -"So we were, my lamb. And we were going to buy something. What was it?" - -"A goldfish," whispered the little boy. "A goldfish!" He gave his -grandfather's arm a sudden ecstatic squeeze, and climbed back to -his place. - -"To be sure, a goldfish," was beginning Mr. Elphinstone, when at -that moment in came a letter, brought by Lal Khan, the dusky, turbaned -bearer--source, once, of much infantile terror to M. le Comte, but now -one of his greatest friends. On him Anne-Hilarion bestowed, ere he -salaamed himself out again, one of his sudden smiles. Mr. Elphinstone, -after hunting vainly for his spectacles, opened the letter. It drew -from him an exclamation. - -"Here's actually a letter from your father already, Anne. He has written -from Canterbury, on his way to Dover." - -Above the milk he was drinking, Anne-Hilarion's dark, rather solemn eyes -were fixed on his grandfather. - -"Dear me, this is very curious," said Mr. Elphinstone, looking up -from the perusal of the letter. "Your father finds, he says, that -some old friends of his family are living there--at Canterbury, that -is--two old French ladies. What's the name? . . . de Chaulnes--Madame -and Mademoiselle de Chaulnes. He came across them quite by chance, it -appears. And--I wonder what you will say to this, Anne--he wants you -to go and stay with them for a few days." - -"Now?" asked the little boy. - -"Yes, quite soon. They are very anxious to see you, having known your -grandparents in France. There is a letter from them enclosed in your -Papa's. I am to send you with Elspeth. See, I will read you Madame de -Chaulnes' letter." - -And he read it out to his grandson, in its original French, a tongue -which he spoke well, though with a Scottish flavouring. - - "'MONSIEUR,--It has been, as you may well imagine, a pleasure as - great as it was unexpected to encounter, in his passage through - Canterbury to-day--on his way to a destination as to which prudence - invites silence--the son of my old friend Mme. de Flavigny. From - his lips I have learnt of his marriage--of so short a duration, - alas!--with your beautiful daughter, in whose untimely grave one - sees that so much of his heart is buried; and also of the existence - of the dear little boy who remains to him as a pledge of their love. - - "'I do not know, Monsieur, if René--I can scarcely bring myself to - call him anything else--has ever spoken to you of my sister-in-law - and myself, and our old friendship with his family.'"--"I do seem - to remember his mentioning the name," observed Mr. Elphinstone, - fingering his chin.--"'It is possible that he has done so, and - that this fact, joined to the letter which he was good enough to - write to accompany this, may move you to a favourable reception - of my request, which is, that some day, before the weather becomes - unpleasantly hot for travel, you should allow the little boy and - his nurse, Mrs. Saunders, to pay us a few days' visit here at - Canterbury. Perhaps, indeed, if I might suggest such a thing, this - would serve to distract him during his father's absence. Our - modest dwelling boasts a garden of fair size, and my sister and - myself are both devoted to children. You, Monsieur, from what we - hear of your charities to us unfortunate exiles, will well - understand what the sight of the grandchild of our departed - friends would mean to two old women, and it is this conviction - which emboldens me to make a request which I know to be no - light one. - - "'I have the honour to remain, Monsieur, your obedient servant, - - "'BARONNE DE CHAULNES.'" - -Mr. Elphinstone reflected. "I shall not like parting with you, child," -he murmured, half to himself. "Not at all, not at all. But I suppose -if René wishes it, as he obviously does . . . And it is not far to -Canterbury. Shall you like to go and visit these old French ladies, -Anne?" - -"I do not know," replied the Comte de Flavigny, considering. "You are -not coming too, Grandpapa?" - -"No, no. But Elspeth will be with you." - -"Perhaps I shall like it. Have they a dog, ces dames, des chats?" - -"Cats, very probably. But I do not know. I think you will find it -interesting, Anne, for a few days. You will be able to play in the -garden there. These old ladies"--he referred once more to the -letter--"Mme. de Chaulnes and her sister-in-law, can tell you, I -expect, all about your father when he was a little boy like you." - -"Yes," assented the prospective visitor in tones of resignation rather -than of anticipation. "But----" He looked mournful. - -"Yes, my bairn?" - -"The goldfish!" - -Mr. Elphinstone laughed. "Oh, the goldfish! That is easily arranged. -We will go out directly after breakfast and buy it, while Elspeth is -packing." - -"I could take it with me?" - -"Well, I don't know. . . . Yes, I suppose you could." - -Anne fell into meditation on the goldfish. He evidently saw it swimming -before him, and the idea of parting so soon from this treasure, not yet -even acquired, was clearly distressing. - -"Then, if I could take it, Grandpapa, perhaps I would not mind very -much, as Papa wishes it." - -"That's a good child!" exclaimed Mr. Elphinstone, relieved. Not that -Anne-Hilarion was, as a rule, anything else but good, yet, as he was -very sensitive and his grandfather ridiculously tender-hearted, the -old man dreaded even the remotest shadow of a difference of opinion. -"It will only be for a few days," he went on, "and I think you had -better go at once, this afternoon, in fact, so that you will get back -all the earlier, in case Papa should return from Italy sooner than we -expect." - -This he said with a view of heartening his grandson, well knowing that -the term of 'a few days,' elastic as it was, could hardly see René -back from Verona. - - - (2) - -But if Anne-Hilarion was resigned, Mrs. Saunders received the news of -the proposed expedition in a manner indicative of the highest disapproval. -Such a plan was, she declared, against sense and nature; she could -not imagine what the Marquis was thinking of. He must be clean daft. -No one but a man would have conceived of such a scheme. She supposed -that was the way they did things in France. Fifty odd miles to -Canterbury--seven hours at the very least; the bairn would take his -death of fatigue; and here was Glenauchtie proposing that they should -start that very afternoon! She was a little mollified, but not greatly, -on hearing that they were only to go as far as Rochester that day, -and sleep there, continuing their journey next morning. - -But 'Glenauchtie,' for all his gentleness, was always obeyed, and -Elspeth packed her charge's 'duds' and her own that morning with -considerable promptitude in spite of her protestations. - -Meanwhile Mr. Elphinstone, after writing a letter to Anne's hostesses, -which he dispatched direct to Canterbury, and sending a servant to -take two places in the afternoon stage-coach to Rochester, set out -with his grandson to buy the promised goldfish. It proved to be a -transaction which took time, because Anne found it difficult to make -up his mind between two similarly priced fishes, one of which, though -larger than the other, was not of so good a colour. As he remarked, -in a tone of puzzled reproach, the gold was coming off, and this -disillusioning fact caused him to put to the shopman, in his clear, -precise, and oddly stressed English, many searching questions on what -further sorrowful transformations of the sort might be expected in any -fish he bought. Finally the smaller and more perfect fish was selected, -and they left the little shop, Anne carrying his purchase very carefully -by a piece of string tied round the top of its glass bowl. - -"Will it be lonely, Grandpapa? Do you think we ought to have bought -two?" he suggested, as he trotted along by Mr. Elphinstone's side, -all his energies directed to keeping the water steady. - -"There would hardly be room for two in there, child. Perhaps when you -come back from Canterbury we might get another, and have them both in -a larger bowl. But the present is best for travelling purposes." - -"Yes, perhaps it is best to have only one goldfish. Last year, when -I had tadpoles, they ate one another--you remember, Grandpapa? This -goldfish could not eat _itself_, could it, Grandpapa?" - -"I should hardly think it possible," replied Mr. Elphinstone gravely. - -"I shall be able to show it to M. le Chevalier," observed the little -boy happily, holding up the bowl and surveying the swinging captive. -"--Oh, Grandpapa, but perhaps I shall not see him! He promised to come -and say good-bye to me, but when he comes I shall be gone to Canterbury, -and when I return from those ladies he will have gone away to Jersey. -Oh, Grandpapa, isn't that sad!" - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - VISIT TO TWO FAIRY GODMOTHERS - - - (1) - -The coach ride to Rochester, the night's stay there, and the journey -on to Canterbury through the fine April weather had been all delight -to Anne-Hilarion. And now he was being helped down at the gate of the -dearest little garden, surrounding the dearest little house, and walking, -with his hand in Elspeth's, up a cobbled path between wallflowers and -forget-me-nots to a little green-painted door with shining handle, -under a portico with fluted pillars. This door opened, and inside, -in a small panelled entrance hall that was also a room, stood a -veritable fairy godmother of an old lady, leaning, as a fairy godmother -should, on a black and silver stick with a crooked handle. She had, -moreover, black lace mittens on her hands, a cap of fine lace on her -silver hair, and, under the cap, just such a face as a fairy godmother -might have, even to the delicately-cut hooked nose and bright blue eyes. - -"Welcome, welcome, my child," said she in French, stooping--but not -much, for she was little herself--and kissing the boy. A faint, -delicious scent came out of her grey silk dress. "I hope you are not -tired, my dear? And this is your attendant. What is your name, if you -please?--no, I know it; Mrs. Saunders, is it not?" - -The dragon curtsied--Elspeth's curtsy, which could express many things, -but seldom what a curtsy is supposed to indicate. - -"Doubtless you have some baggage," said Mme. de Chaulnes--if this were -she. "Ask the driver to set it down by the gate, and presently we will -find some passer-by to bring it in, for we are only women here. Now, -my child--Anne, that is your name, is it not?--here is my sister-in-law, -Mademoiselle Angèle de Chaulnes, waiting to make your acquaintance." - -Anne then perceived that it was a second fairy godmother who had -opened the door to them. She too was small and exquisitely dressed, -in lavender silk, but she held no stick, seemed younger than the other -(but for all that, to a child's eye, phenomenally aged), and had a -face which, lacking Mme. de Chaulnes' fine aquiline features, was, -to Anne's mind, more 'comfortable.' - -"The little darling!" she murmured as she kissed him. "And what have -you there--a goldfish?" For all the time Anne-Hilarion was carefully -holding his glass bowl by the string. - -After that, Elspeth having arranged about the baggage, they went -upstairs into a spotless little bedroom smelling of lavender. - -"I am very sorry," said the elder of the old ladies, addressing herself -to Elspeth, "that there is not a bed for you in the house. You see, -our establishment is very small. But we have arranged for you to sleep -at a house a few minutes away, where there is a good woman who will -make you very comfortable. You can put the little boy to bed before -retiring there, and, of course, come and dress him in the morning, -if he requires it." - -Elspeth looked mutinous, and her mouth took on a line which Anne-Hilarion -knew very well. - -"A'm thinkin', Mem," she replied, "it wad be best for me tae hae a -wee bit bed in here." - -Mme. de Chaulnes shook her head. "I am afraid," she said, with equal -pleasantness and firmness, "that that arrangement would not suit us -at all." And there was nothing for it but acquiescence. - -"See, here is a good place to put your goldfish," said Mlle. Angèle -meanwhile to Anne-Hilarion. "And then, when she has washed your face -and hands for you, mon chéri, your nurse will bring you downstairs, -and you shall have something to eat, for I am sure you must be hungry -after your journey." - - - (2) - -Dwellers in Canterbury were well accustomed to the two old French -ladies who lived so retired and so refined a life in the little -brick house with the portico; indeed the dames of that ancient city -took a sympathetic interest in the exiles. Those who were on -visiting terms with them spoke many a laudatory word of the interior -of Rose Cottage--of its exquisite neatness and elegance, of the -superior china and the spotless napery. But the number of ladies in -a position to pronounce these encomiums was limited, for Mme. and -Mlle. de Chaulnes entertained not at all in the regular sense of the -word. Yet, for all their modest manner of life, they were not penurious; -rather was it noised abroad that they gave largely of their substance -to their needy fellow-countrymen of their own convictions--for, of -course, they were Royalists themselves and of noble birth. Hence, -if any émigré were stranded on the Dover road in the neighbourhood -of Canterbury it was usual--if the speaker's command of French were -sufficient--to direct him to these charitable compatriots. Often, -indeed, refugees were to be found staying for a few days at Rose -Cottage. - -Rumour had endowed the French ladies with a moving and tragic past. -Over Mme. de Chaulnes' mantelpiece hung a small portrait in oils of -a gentleman in uniform--to be precise, that of a Garde Française -of the fifties, but nobody knew that--and the story went that this -was her husband, the brother of Mlle. Angèle, who had either been -(1) guillotined, or (2) slain in the defence of the Tuileries on the -10th of August 1792, or (3) killed in the prison massacres in the -September of the same year. No one, not even the boldest canon's wife, -had dared to ask Mme. de Chaulnes which of these theories might claim -authentic circulation; no one, in fact, had even ventured to inquire -if the gentleman in uniform _was_ her husband. For, though so small -and gentle, she 'had an air about her' which was far from displeasing -the ladies of the Close and elsewhere; they were, on the contrary, -rather proud of knowing the possessor of it. - - - (3) - -Not many hours later, Anne-Hilarion, fed and reposed (for, as each old -lady said to the other, he must not be overtired), was seated on a -small chair in front of a cheerful little fire in the hall, chattering -gaily to the two fairy godmothers who knitted on either side of the -hearth. He was never inordinately shy with strangers, and, the first -encounter over, he was probably much happier than was Elspeth in the -company of the old Frenchwoman in the kitchen. He related to them -every detail of his journey, while the old grey cat on the rug, with -tucked-in paws, blinked her eyes sleepily at the unfamiliar treble. -And Mme. de Chaulnes told him about the cat, and how she had once -brought up a family of orphaned kittens, and Mlle. Angèle was much -interested in his goldfish, though as yet there was hardly any history -to relate of that acquisition. - -"Your Papa has not seen it yet, then?" inquired Mme. de Chaulnes, -having listened to the whole narrative of its purchase. - -"No," replied Anne-Hilarion. "It is to be a surprise for him when he -comes back." He pulled himself suddenly higher in the chair, which was -a trifle slippery. "Did you know my Papa when he was little, like me, -Madame? Grandpapa said so." - -Mme. de Chaulnes laid down her knitting. "Cher petit, yes. I saw your -Papa first when he was about your age, playing in the garden of the -château in France where you were afterwards born, Anne. He was playing -with a ball near a stone basin full of water, and--is not this -curious?--there were goldfish like yours swimming about in the water. -I remember it after all these years." And Mme. de Chaulnes' keen old -eyes grew dreamy. - -"Sister," said Mlle. Angèle, "tell the child how René was lost." - -"Ah yes," said Mme. de Chaulnes. "Only I hope Anne will never imitate -such conduct. Your father, as he grew older, Anne, was very fond of -reading. One day his father--your grandfather, Anne, your French -grandfather, that is--had given him a new book (I forget what it was), -and your father was so delighted with it that he wandered off and -took it to read in an old quarry. You know what that is, Anne--a place -where they get stone from. So René--your father--scrambled down into -this quarry, and sat there to read, and he was so much interested in -the book that he forgot about dinner. And at the château they were -very anxious because they did not know where he had got to, and the -afternoon went on and still he did not come, and then at last they -sent out to look for him. And how do you think they found him, Anne?" - -But Anne could not guess. - -"They took a big dog that belonged to the Marquis, your grandfather, -and gave him a coat of your father's to smell, and told him to find -your father. So the big dog trotted off, smelling the ground all the -way, and at last he led them to the stone quarry, and there was -René at the bottom of it. He could not climb up again!" - -"He must have been frightened, Papa," said Anne reflectively. "I could -not have read so long as that. When the words have many letters it is -tiring, especially if the book is English. Do you speak English, -Mesdames?" For all their converse hitherto had naturally been conducted -in French, and Anne had forgotten that Elspeth had been addressed -in her native tongue. - -"A little," said Mme. de Chaulnes, smiling. "But you, child, speak -it as easily as French, no doubt." - -"I speak English to Grandpapa, and French to Papa," replied the -linguist. "Did my Papa have a pony when he was little?" he next -inquired. - -"I do not remember," said the old lady. "Have you one, Anne?" - -"Not yet," responded Anne-Hilarion. "Grandpapa has promised me one -when I shall be seven." - -"Your Grandpapa is very good to you, I think," commented Mlle. Angèle. - -"Yes, indeed," agreed the child. "Papa says that he spoils me." - -"I expect he does," said Mme. de Chaulnes, smiling at him over the -top of her tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles. - -A little silence fell. The two old ladies knitted on; the grey cat -stretched herself. There hung over the mantelpiece a head of the -late Louis XVI., an engraving of no particular merit, having the -similitude of a bust, and Mlle. Angèle, looking up, found their -visitor studying that full, petulant profile. - -"You know who that is, of course, mon petit? The King--the late King, -whose head they cut off." - -Anne-Hilarion nodded. "M. le Chevalier has a picture of the Queen too, -on a snuff-box. He showed it to me one day." - -Mlle. Angèle rose and took something from the mantelpiece. It was a -miniature of a little boy in general appearance not unlike Anne -himself, but fairer, with falling curls and a deep ruffle. "Do you -know who that is, child?" she asked, in a voice gone suddenly sad. - -Anne did know. - -"He is in prison, the little King, and can't get out," he replied -gravely. "'_Domine, salvum fac regem!_' M. l'Abbé taught me to say -that--it is Latin," he added, not without pride. - -"You have learned friends, little one," observed Mme. de Chaulnes -kindly. - -"Yes," replied the child, with interest. "M. l'Abbé knows a great -many things. He teaches French also--but that is because he has not -much money, I think. And M. le Vicomte de Soucy, he is very poor; -Grandpapa thinks that he often goes without his dinner. But he is -very proud too; he will not dine at our house often." - -"He might make some money by selling his snuff-box with the picture -of the Queen," suggested Mme. de Chaulnes, with rather a sad smile. -"But I dare say he would sooner starve than do that." - -"Oh, but it is not _he_ who has the snuff-box," corrected -Anne-Hilarion. "It is M. le Chevalier de la Vireville." - -"But no doubt M. le Chevalier is poor too--like all the rest of us," -said the old lady, sighing. - -Anne-Hilarion considered this supposition about M. le Chevalier. -Having no definite standard of wealth except the seldom seen contents -of his own money-box, he only knew that M. de Soucy and the Abbé and -the rest were poor because he had heard Mr. Elphinstone and his father -say so. He had never seriously weighed M. le Chevalier's financial -condition, yet, remembering now that on several occasions M. de la -Vireville had contributed to the money-box in question, he was inclined -to dispute this judgment. - -"I do not know about M. le Chevalier," he said at length. "You see, -he does not live in London; he is only there sometimes. It is more -interesting for him, because he is a great deal in Brittany, and he -fights, and goes to Jersey. He is going there soon. That is more -amusing than teaching French like M. l'Abbé, or music, which I think -is what M. le Vicomte teaches." - -"Much more amusing," agreed Mme. de Chaulnes. "Why then does not M. le -Vicomte do something of the same sort as M. le Chevalier? If I were a -man, Anne, instead of an old woman, I am sure I should set off to -Brittany to fight for the little King." - -"I think the reason why M. de Soucy does not go to fight is because -he is lame. It is a pity. It is from a wound." - -"Then he might do the same sort of thing as your Papa," suggested -Mlle. de Chaulnes, "and go abroad to see the Princes, and so on." - -"Indeed," said Anne rather wistfully, "I wish M. le Vicomte could have -gone to Verona instead of Papa. But they all wanted Papa to go." - -"They had a meeting to settle it, of course," said Mme. de Chaulnes, -as one stating a fact rather than asking a question. - -"Yes," said Anne, nodding. "In our house." - -"Your Papa told you all about it afterwards, I suppose?" - -"No," replied the Comte de Flavigny sedately; "I was there." - -"You, child!" exclaimed Mme. de Chaulnes incredulously. "Nonsense!" - -"But yes!" persisted Anne, wriggling on his chair. "You see, it was -in the dining-room, and I got out of bed and went down, because I -thought they were going to Noroway-over-the-foam, as it says in the -poem, and M. le Chevalier wrapped me up in the tablecloth and took -me on his knee, and I heard all about it. Elspeth was dreadfully -angry next morning," he concluded. - -"I don't wonder!" was Mme. de Chaulnes' comment. "Fancy a boy of your -age up at that time of night. You know, Anne," she went on seriously, -"you must be careful how you talk about what you heard at that -meeting--if you were really awake and heard anything. You must not -speak of such things except to your father's friends. But I expect -you know that, my child, don't you?" - -Anne-Hilarion had flushed up. "But yes, Madame," he replied earnestly. -"Papa has told me that often, not to be a chatterbox. But I did not -really understand what they were talking about, except that Papa -was to go to see the Regent--I do not know why--and that there was -soon to be an expedition to France." - -One of Mlle. Angèle's knitting-needles here dropped with a clatter -on to the polished floor. - -"Oh, there is no harm in talking about that," said Mme. de Chaulnes -placidly. "That is common property--the news of the coming expedition. -(Yes, sit upon the rug, child, by the cat, if you are tired of the -chair.) You see, all we Royalists are interested in the expedition, -and know about it, even the place where it is going to land. Angèle, -if it is your knitting-needle that you are looking for, it has rolled -just by your foot." - -"I heard where the expedition was going to land," said Anne, with -some excitement, as he slipped down beside the cat. "But I have -forgotten it again." - -He looked inquiringly up at the old lady. Mme. de Chaulnes threw him -a quizzical glance. - -"A very good thing too," she said, knitting rapidly. "I am not going -to revive your memory, child. It is a mercy that children have short -ones, if they are going to make a practice of attending consultations -that should be secret," she remarked across the hearth to her sister. - -"I do not know that they are so short," said Mlle. Angèle, recapturing -her needle. "I will wager you a crown, sister, that before he -leaves us Anne remembers the name of the place where the expedition -is to land." - -"Very good," said her sister-in-law. "But I do not think that he will." - -"Or better still," went on the younger fairy godmother, "let us wager -with Anne himself that he does not remember it, and is not able to -tell us before he leaves us. Then, if he does, he will have the crown -to put into his money-box--for I expect he has a money-box of his own." - -"Oh yes, indeed I have," said the little boy. He suddenly became silent, -gently stroking the grey fur to his hand. Mme. de Chaulnes finished -turning the heel of her stocking. - -"Well, what are you thinking of, child?" she asked at length, resuming -her fourth needle. - -"I was remembering that there was something I wanted to ask M. le -Chevalier when he came to say good-bye to me before going to Jersey; -but now when he comes to our house for that, he will find that I came -away here first, so I cannot ask him." - -Mme. de Chaulnes put down her knitting. "So he was going to say -good-bye to you before leaving for Jersey, was he? He is a great -friend of yours, then, this M. de la Vireville?" - -"I like him very much," responded the Comte de Flavigny with -precision. - -"Well, what did you want to ask him? Perhaps I can tell you the -answer." - -"I wanted very much to know," said Anne slowly, "why he has two -names?" - -Mme. de Chaulnes raised her eyebrows. "Has he then two?" - -"Oh yes," exclaimed the child. "At the meeting I heard them call -him 'Monsieur Augustin,' and I wondered why, because I know it is -not one of his noms de baptême." - -Mlle. Angèle made a strange gesture with her little mittened hands. -Mme. de Chaulnes frowned at her. - -"That is quite simple, mon petit; at least, I think so," she said, -looking down at Anne's upturned visage, rather flushed by the proximity -of the fire. "'Monsieur Augustin' is a nom de guerre, and it is the -name of one of the Chouan leaders--you know who the Chouans are, -who fight for the King in Brittany? So that your M. de la Vireville -and 'Monsieur Augustin' must be one and the same person. He is tall -and dark, and has a scar on his cheek, has he not, M. le Chevalier?" - -"Yes," said Anne. "Yes, there is a mark there. Oh, do you know him?" - -"No," said Mme. de Chaulnes, "but I have heard of him. And your -Chevalier will be 'Monsieur Augustin.' Well, that is the answer to -your question, and you see it is quite simple. Now, do you not think -it is time for you to go to bed, Anne? First, however, I think you -should write a little letter to Grandpapa--quite a short letter, to -say that you have arrived safely. Do you not think that would please -him?" - -And Anne, assenting, was shortly installed at an escritoire, where, -perched upon a chair heightened by a cushion, he slowly and laboriously -penned a brief epistle to Mr. Elphinstone. And at the table in the -middle of the little hall Mme. de Chaulnes was writing too. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - THOMAS THE RHYMER - - - (1) - -Elspeth was very glum as she put the little boy to bed in the delightful -room where there was no place for her. - -"At ony rate," she remarked, when the operation was concluded, "A'll -no leave ye till A please, and gif ane of these madams comes A'll -e'en gar her turn me oot." - -"They are very kind ladies," said Anne-Hilarion, who was excited. -"I think Mme. de Chaulnes is a beautiful old lady like a fée -marraine--yes, like the Queen of Elfland. Elspeth, say the 'Queen -of Elfland'!" he added coaxingly. - -And, much more because she thought it would enable her to stay longer -in her charge's room than to please him, Elspeth embarked on the tale -of 'True Thomas,' which she had proffered in vain in London a few -nights ago. Her favourite passage was rendered with even more emphasis -than usual: - - "'O see ye not yon narrow road, - So thick beset wi' thorns and briers? - That is the Path of Righteousness, - Though after it but few enquires. - - 'And see ye not yon braid braid road, - That lies across the lily leven? - That is the Path of Wickedness, - Though some call it the Road to Heaven. - - 'And see ye not yon bonny road, - That winds about the fernie brae? - That is the road to fair Elfland, - Where thou and I this night maun gae.'" - -"This is Elfland, then," put in Anne-Hilarion contentedly. - - "'But, Thomas, ye sall haud yer tongue - Whatever ye may hear or see; - For speak ye word in Elflyn-land, - Ye'l ne'er win back to your ain countrie.'" - -She paused a second. "Go on!" commanded Anne-Hilarion. - - "'Syne they came to a garden green, - And she pu'd an apple----'" - -"You have missed some out!" exclaimed the listener. "Do not miss -any, Elspeth! Say about the rivers abune the knee and all the blood -that's shed on the earth----" - -"Fie, Maister Anne!" said Mrs. Saunders reprovingly. "Yon verses -are no' fittin' for a bairn, and A did wrang ever tae tell them tae -ye." However, to get them over as quickly as possible, she went back -and repeated them. - - "'O they rade on and farther on, - And they waded rivers abune the knee; - And they saw neither sun nor moon, - But they heard the roaring of the sea.'" - -"I like that!" murmured the Comte de Flavigny, with a shudder. - - "'It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight, - They waded through red blude to the knee; - For a' the blude that's shed on the earth - Rins through the springs o' that countrie.'" - -"But what does that mean?" asked the child, captured by a delicious -horror. "How could----" - -"It's a' silly havers, child--it's poetry, and nae sense in it," -replied Elspeth crossly. "Noo harken aboot the apple. - - 'Syne they came to a garden green----'" - -But at the second attempt to pluck the apple the door opened and -Mlle. Angèle came in. - -"My sister desires that you will go now," she said to Elspeth. -"Mrs. Barnes is waiting to take you to her house. We shall expect -you to-morrow morning at seven o'clock." - -Though she had a pleasant smile on her face there was no resisting -the quiet authority of her tone. Mrs. Saunders rose with much -reluctance, bent over her charge and gave him a kiss--by no means the -ritual of every night--and with a very high head left the room. -Mlle. de Chaulnes came over to the bed. - -"Are you comfortable, little one?" she asked kindly. "You will not be -frightened? My sister sleeps next door, and if you want anything, you -have only to call her." - -"Yes, thank you, Madame," said Anne-Hilarion a little shyly, and she -too kissed him and went away. - - - (2) - -But the mere absence of alarm is not in itself sufficient to induce -sleep. M. le Comte de Flavigny had seen too much that day for ready -slumber, and now he began to see it all over again: the busy road from -Rochester, the stage-coach and its passengers--the fat traveller in -a shawl, the thin one who had, to Elspeth's intense indignation, -offered him a sip of rum--and everything in Rose Cottage, down to the -grey cat. The last object of which he thought was his goldfish, on the -dressing-table, for just as he was making up his mind to get up and -look at it, he fell fast asleep. - -In his sleep he had a curious dream. He was in a little boat on the -sea, he and a lady with a crown on her head. By that he knew that -she was the Queen of Elfland, though she had not, as the ballad said, -a skirt of grass-green silk and a velvet mantle, and he wondered why -she was in a boat, and what she had done with her horse and all its -silver bells. Then suddenly she changed to Mme. de Chaulnes, and, -bending over him where he lay in the boat, shook him slightly and -said, "Anne, Anne, do you remember now the name of the place at which -the expedition was to land?" And he tried hard to remember it, while -the boat rocked under him and the water was full of goldfish, but -all that he could recall was the name of the shop where the goldfish -had been bought yesterday--Hardman. "Think!" said the Queen. "Are -you sure you cannot remember it?" Then the sea began to get very -rough and dark, and Anne saw that on it were floating feather-beds -and shoes with cork heels, as it said in 'Noroway-over-the-foam,' -and so he looked over the side of the boat, and down, very far down -at the bottom, he could see Sir Patrick Spens lying drowned on the -seaweed, with a great many other people . . . and somehow Sir -Patrick Spens was also M. le Chevalier de la Vireville. And as he -looked he became aware that in some way it was his, Anne-Hilarion's, -fault that they were all drowned--or at least that it would be his -fault if he did something or other, but the dreadful thing was that -he could not find out what that something was which he must avoid. -And the Queen--or Mme. de Chaulnes--who was still in the boat, -said, laughing: - - "'Speak ye word in Elflyn-land - Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie,'" - -and then he understood--he _had_ spoken, and that was why M. le -Chevalier and all the rest were down at the bottom of the sea. And -he began to cry bitterly, begging M. le Chevalier not to be drowned; -and because he was so unhappy and so sorry he said boldly to the -lady, "No, I cannot remember the name of the place, and if I could I -would not tell you!" But with that he woke, and found himself, not in -a boat, but in his own bed. - -It was still dark, and the light was burning, and there was no one -in the room. But as he looked anxiously to be sure that this was the -case,--anxiously and a little dimly, for there were real tears in -his eyes,--he heard the door very gently close. - -And that, joined to his dream, really terrified Anne-Hilarion, so -that he took instinctively to the natural refuge of those of tender -years oppressed with terrors in the night, and burying his head -under the clothes, lay there quaking with fear, his heart thudding -like a live thing in his small body. Who had gone out--or who . . . -what . . . had come in? What was in the room with him? . . . - -A long, long time passed; it was difficult to breathe under the -clothes, and he was hot and cold alternately with fear. But nothing -happened; no animal leapt on to the bed, no spectral hand shook -him by the shoulder. He remembered how Papa had told him that he -need never be frightened of anything unless he were doing wrong; -that the angels were there to take care of him, though he could not -see them. So, a little wondering whether it would penetrate through -the bedclothes, he put up a small prayer for protection to his own -guardian angel, and, finding some solace in this effort, ventured -after a while cautiously to remove some blanket and peep out. And -he found, to his inexpressible joy, that while he had been thus -concealed a miracle had happened--doubtless due to his orisons--and -that shafts of the dawn were making their way round the window-curtains. -So night was nearly over, and it would soon be the blessed day. - -The next thing that happened was the sun peering in and waking him. -Anne-Hilarion got up immediately to look at his goldfish, and wondered -if it had been swimming round and round tirelessly all the time in -the dark. In these speculations he forgot the terrors of the night -and was comforted, though when Elspeth came to dress him he looked -rather pale and tired, and did not trouble her, as he sometimes did, -by skipping about during his toilet. It was against Mrs. Saunders' -principles to 'cocker' him by asking him, even on an unusual occasion, -if he had had a good night, and so she made no inquiries. Perhaps -it was as well, for already the memory of the actual dream was -beginning to fade. - -The Comte de Flavigny breakfasted downstairs with the old ladies, -who had conformed in this respect to English custom, then he played -for a while in the garden with the fat grey cat, who would not, -indeed, play in the proper sense of the word, looking without any -interest at a piece of string when it was dangled before her, but -who was very willing to be stroked, and followed him round, purring -and rubbing herself against his legs. But he was uneasy in his mind -because of the goldfish, whose bowl he had caused Elspeth to hang on -the branch of a tree, tormenting her with inquiries as to whether the -cat could jump so high, or crawl out so far, till Elspeth at last -crossly said, "Why didna ye leave the fush bide in yer bedroom, -child?" To which Anne-Hilarion responded, with a sudden little -dignity that he had at times, "Because I do not wish to, and because -I mean always to have it with me, _always_, Elspeth!" But then -there came a sudden April shower, and he and his 'fush' had to be -conveyed indoors again. - -When Anne got into the house, he found a gentleman talking in the -hall to the two old ladies. They all turned round at his entrance. - -"Etienne, this is our little visitor," said Mme. de Chaulnes. -"Anne, this is an old friend of ours, M. du Châtel, who is an -émigré, like your father." - -Anne put his hand into M. du Châtel's, thinking that he could -hardly be an old friend of the fairy godmothers; he looked so -much younger than they. M. du Châtel was neatly dressed in black, -and he had also very black hair; there was about him nothing -remarkable save his particularly light eyes, which, besides looking -strange under so dark a thatch, reminded Anne of a goat he had -once seen. - -It soon appeared that the émigré had come on a visit and was staying -the night. - -"Then A'd like fine tae ken," said Elspeth indignantly, when she -had gathered this piece of information, "hoo it comes that these -madams hae a room for him in their hoose and nane for me!" And she -brushed Anne-Hilarion's hair as though he were responsible for -it, while he, wincing, assured her that he did not know why. - -"Mebbe," communed Mrs. Saunders, "they kenned he was comin', and -keepit the room for him. Aweel, it's nane o' ma business, nae doot, -and A canna get a worrd oot o' that auld witch in the kitchen, but -A'll see yon room, or ma name's no' Elspeth Saunders." - -And see it she did, at three o'clock that afternoon, when the inmates -of Rose Cottage and their visitors were at dinner. She was in no -wise rewarded for her investigation of the small apartment--so small, -indeed, as hardly to be more than a cupboard--except by the fact, -which puzzled her, that the guest who had already occupied it for -some hours had made not the least attempt to unpack his little -valise. It stood untouched on a chair by the bed, and if Elspeth -had pursued her researches a little further she would have made a -discovery of real interest--that the bed prepared by those very -particular old ladies for M. du Châtel's repose had no sheets on it. - - - (3) - -Downstairs, at the same time, the newcomer was being most friendly -and agreeable to Anne-Hilarion over the roast lamb and salad, -and suggesting that his little compatriot might like to see something -of Canterbury if ces dames would permit, and that, with their -approval, he would take him that afternoon to see the great Cathedral, -in whose crypt French people--though, to be sure, Huguenots--had -worshipped for over a hundred years. Anne replied, politely as -ever, but without enthusiasm, that he should be very pleased to -accompany him. He was not drawn to M. du Châtel of the goat's eyes. -Nor, as he wandered with him later in that lofty nave, was he at -all communicative, as he had been to the old ladies on the previous -evening, for, after all, M. du Châtel was no friend of his father's, -and though his dream was now so dim that he could hardly remember it -at all, it had left behind a vague discomfort. He was sorry, somehow, -that the émigré had come to Rose Cottage, and when a rather earlier -bedtime than usual was suggested to him by Mme. de Chaulnes, who -said that he looked tired, he had no objections to offer. - -And, being really sleepy, he had no apprehensions as to the night, -and did not want the hot posset which Mlle. Angèle was kind enough -to bring up to him after he was in bed and Elspeth had left him, -though for politeness' sake he sat up and sipped it, while Mlle. -Angèle waited and smiled at him, encouraging him to finish it to -the last drop. It had a flavour which Anne did not much relish, but -having been taught that it was rude to make remarks on the food which -was put before him, he said nothing on this point. Yet he was glad -when he had finished, and when Mlle. Angèle, kissing him, went away -and left him, with only the night-light and his goldfish for company, -to that very sound sleep which was stretching out inviting arms to -him. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - "A LITTLE BOY LOST" - - - (1) - -In a cheap little room, not much more than a garret, at the top of a -house off Tottenham Court Road, the Chevalier de la Vireville was -shaving himself before a cracked mirror. As he did so he hummed, -experimentally, the 'Marseillaise,' which it amused him at times -to render, fitting to it, however, when he actually sang it, the -burlesque words of Royalist invention, 'le jour de boire est arrivé,' -'c'est pour nous que le boudin grille,' and the rest. The light -filtered through the dirty, uncurtained window on to his strong, -aquiline features, the bold chin with a cleft in it, the mouth with -its lines of recklessness and humour; and threw up too the marks -of stress of some kind--it was difficult to tell of what kind--which -had bitten into it too deeply for it to be altogether a handsome -or an attractive countenance. Even as it was, when Fortuné de la -Vireville's smile was merely devil-may-care and not cynical, it had -its charm. Yet something had marred his expression, though neither -women nor wine held any attraction for him. He followed danger, -a commerce which no doubt has purifying effects on some characters, -but which in others is apt to breed consequences not altogether -commendable; and he followed it intemperately, as though life had -very little value for him. With life indeed he possessed only one -enduring tie--his mother in Jersey--and, so his friends whispered, -the remembrance of another, most untimely snapped. Yet for all -this he certainly seemed to find a relish in an existence of the -most constant and varied peril, and envisaged his hazards with an -unfailing and sometimes inconvenient humour. - -The ways in which he 'lived dangerously' were these: He was, first -and foremost, a Chouan chief, leading, in a ceaseless guerrilla -warfare of sudden attacks and ambushes, among the broom and hedgerows -of Brittany, those stubborn little long-haired men of an elder -race whose devotion to their religion and their King was almost -fanaticism. Secondly, he was intermittently an 'agent de la -correspondance'--that is to say, he was in constant personal -communication with Jersey, the centre whence set forth all the -small Royalist descents on the coast of Brittany and Normandy. Here -Captain Philip d'Auvergne, the Jerseyman, titular Prince de Bouillon -and captain in His Britannic Majesty's Navy, watched over the -interests of the French émigrés and directed the various gun-running -expeditions to France. When, therefore, as at the present time, La -Vireville was not risking his life amongst Republican bullets, he -was venturing it in a little boat, crossing to and fro from Jersey -to the Breton coast, liable to be shot at sight by a patrol as he -landed, liable to be wrecked on his passage, because secrecy demanded -so small a vessel. It was true that the 'Jersey correspondence' had -three luggers and a brig of its own, but these were generally used -for transporting whole parties of returning émigrés, and in any case -they never came right in to shore. - -And always, in whatever capacity La Vireville trod his native soil, -his head was forfeit, since he was an émigré, and in his own person, -as the Chevalier Charles-Marie-Thérèse-Fortuné de la Vireville, -liable to summary execution. It really needed not that a couple -of months ago the Convention had also issued the large reward of -five thousand francs for the body, dead or alive, of 'Augustin, -ci-devant noble, chef de Chouans'; for 'Augustin' and he had but -one body between them. Like most of the Chouan leaders, La Vireville -had a nom de guerre, and many even of his followers knew him by no -other. Little, however, did the reward for his person trouble him, -since he knew his Bretons incapable of betraying him for money, and -was very sensibly persuaded that, his head being forfeit in any case, -it did not concern him whether, when he had parted with it, any other -person were to reap pecuniary benefit by the separation. Only, as -a sacrifice to prudence--about the only one he ever made, and that -more for the sake of the cause he served than for his own--he strove -to keep apart as much as he could these two selves, and, so far, he -had reason to believe the Republican Government ignorant of their -identity. - - * * * * * - -When he had finished his shaving operations, La Vireville, still -humming, looked round the scantily appointed dressing-table for -something upon which to wipe his razor. On the threadbare dimity -lay, in tempting proximity, a folded paper with worn and soiled -edges, but this he refrained from using. It was, in fact, the -proclamation in question for the person of 'Monsieur Augustin,' -and, as it possessed the merit of being very inaccurate in its -description of that person, he had the habit of carrying it upon -him--partly, he declared, as an amulet. The Republic one and -indivisible had not, he averred, the wits to conceive that a man -would voluntarily carry about with him his own death-warrant. - -"Head of a ci-devant!" he observed now, wiping the razor upon a -piece of newspaper, and making a grimace at his image in the glass. -"No, Augustin, my friend, you will get a bullet through your heart -before ever that ornament rolls into the basket and is shown to an -admiring crowd." And indeed this was highly probable. - -He was about to put down the razor when the tarnished mirror suddenly -revealed to him a tiny trickle of blood on his left cheek, just -below the short furrowed scar that ran across it. He had cut himself -in shaving--the most infinitesimal injury, yet, after standing a -moment staring at the glass, he gave a violent exclamation, dabbed -at the place with a hasty handkerchief, and threw the scarcely -flecked linen from him as though it were a thing accursed. For a -Chouan, of all men, the action, with its suggestion of repugnance, -was strange. - -However, in another minute his brow cleared and he proceeded with -his toilet. Then once more humming the 'Marseillaise,' he sat down -upon the bed and looked over the contents of a letter-case which he -drew from his pocket. A missive in a fine large flourishing hand -signed "Bouillon" informed him that the writer was eagerly expecting -his arrival to confer with him as to the landing of a cargo of arms -and ammunition near Cap Fréhel on the Breton coast. And, in fact, -it was M. de la Vireville's intention to set out this morning for -Southampton, thence to Jersey, on this matter. Another letter was -there, from Jersey also, in a feminine hand. The smile which was -not cynical came about the émigré's lips as he re-read it, and, being -a Frenchman, he lifted and kissed his mother's letter. A third was -the several days' old note from the Marquis de Flavigny, telling -him of the time of the conference which he had already attended -in Mr. Elphinstone's house. - -"Tudieu!" exclaimed M. de la Vireville as he came upon this. "And -I promised to say good-bye to the baby. I wonder have I the time?" - -He sprang up to put together his few effects, and in a very short -space was making his way westwards. - - - (2) - -Mr. Elphinstone got up from his memoirs when the Chevalier de la -Vireville was shown in to him in the library. - -"I am afraid that I am interrupting you, sir," said the émigré. -"If so, it shall only be for a moment." - -"You are not interrupting me at all," returned the old gentleman -pleasantly. "I am very glad to see you, M. de la Vireville; pray -sit down. But I thought you had started for Jersey." - -"I am just about to do so, sir," said La Vireville, obeying him. -"I came to take my leave of you and of Anne." - -"The child will indeed be sorry to miss you," observed his grandfather. -"He was afraid that he might. He has gone away, quite unexpectedly, -upon a visit." - -"Tiens!" said La Vireville, surprised; "Anne on a visit! That is -something new. May one ask where he is gone?" - -"He has gone to compatriots--some old friends of his father's at -Canterbury. I am glad that the child should have a change of air, -for he has been looking a trifle pale lately, so when my son-in-law's -letter came I was glad to pack him off--under Elspeth's charge, -of course." - -But the Frenchman did not seem to be sharing Mr. Elphinstone's -pleasure at the change of air. "_Canterbury!_" he reiterated sharply. -"_Canterbury!_ I did not know that René had friends at Canterbury." - -"Nor did I, to tell the truth," confessed Mr. Elphinstone. "I do not -think, in fact, that he was aware of it himself till he came across -them on his way through Canterbury to Dover the other day." - -"On his way to Dover!" repeated the émigré. "But, Mr. Elphinstone, -René did not go to Dover! He crossed from Harwich to Germany, -of course." - -"I think you must be mistaken, sir," replied the old gentleman -mildly. "His letter came from Canterbury, at all events. It bears -the postmark. But what is wrong then?" - -For La Vireville was on his feet, looking very grave. "Have you -the letter here?" - -Considerably astonished, Mr. Elphinstone took it out of his pocket. -"This is what he says: 'I have just met, by chance, two very old -friends of my family, who have been living here, it appears, for -a couple of years or so--Mme. and Mlle. de Chaulnes. They are very -anxious to make Anne's acquaintance, and I have promised them that -they should do so as soon as possible. If, therefore, you would send -him to Canterbury with Elspeth for a few days on receipt of this, -I should be greatly obliged. He would be well looked after.' And -enclosed was an invitation from the French lady herself." - -La Vireville gave a cry. "It wanted only this! Good God, sir, what -have you done? Mme. de Chaulnes--the poor child!" He almost snatched -the letter from the old man's astonished hand and took it to the -window. "Yes, a very good imitation, though--pardon me--you ought -to know your son-in-law's handwriting better . . . Mon Dieu, what -a disaster! When did the boy go?" - -"Last Wednesday," answered Mr. Elphinstone, looking dazed. "But -what in God's name do you mean, M. de la Vireville? He got there -safely. I have even had a letter from him to-day in which he speaks -of the two kind ladies--see, 'The two old ladies who are very gentle -to me'--he means kind, _gentil_; he often uses that expression--'and -their grey cat.' So it is all true, and he is there. . . . I do not -understand you." - -"Of course he got there safely--would to God he had not!" exclaimed -La Vireville in a sort of desperation. "But, all the same, those -two kind old ladies are spies in the pay of the Convention. We have -only recently discovered it, to our cost. And clever! . . . How -did they get their information--know that René was leaving England -just at this time, even know the name of Anne's nurse?" - -"It must be all right," reiterated Mr. Elphinstone piteously. "No -one could have told them but René himself." - -"Mr. Elphinstone, I repeat, René never went to Canterbury! I myself -set him a mile or two on his way to Harwich. That is the one -mistake these women have made, or, it may be, a risk that they -deliberately ran, trusting that you would not know the route your -son-in-law took--as you did not. As for the rest, there has been -treachery somewhere--in the house, almost certainly. . . . I warned -René. . . . However, time is too valuable to spend in finding out -who sold them information. The more pressing matter is to get the -child back before it is too late." - -Mr. Elphinstone put his hand to his head. "Too late! . . . I still -do not understand. What could they do to him?" - -"Anne knows a good many things it were better he did not know, sir. -I fear that I am responsible for some of his knowledge. That is no -doubt why they wanted him." - -"You mean they----" - -"They will try to get information out of him. Oh, they will not do -him any bodily harm; it would not advantage them; but they may -frighten him, le pauvre petit! He will come back to you, sir, -never fear"--for the old man had sunk into a chair and had hidden -his face--"but I am very much afraid he will leave something behind. -They will wheedle secrets out of him, for he knows things--he cannot -help but know them." - -"What is to be done?" asked Mr. Elphinstone hoarsely, his head still -between his hands. - -"I think I had best post off to Canterbury instantly. Give me your -written authority to bring the child back at once." - -"But you--you were going to Jersey . . . and ought you, M. de la -Vireville, of all people, to run your head into a nest of spies, -as you say they are?" - -La Vireville gave a shrug. "That cannot be helped," said he. "Believe -me, it will be much more difficult if you send an Englishman. -Moreover, it is very necessary that I should discover, if I can, -how much they have got out of Anne. Do not set the law in motion -unless I neither return to-morrow nor send you news. And--you must -pardon me--but I shall want money, possibly a good deal of money." - -Mr. Elphinstone pulled himself out of his chair and, going to a -safe, began with trembling hands to unlock it. - -"I cannot believe that you are right," he said brokenly. "And he -had Elspeth--he even took his new goldfish with him." - -"Neither Elspeth nor a goldfish, I fear, will serve as a talisman," -returned the Frenchman rather grimly, pocketing the notes and gold -that the old man pushed into his hands. "These two years that Mme. -and Mlle. de Chaulnes, as they call themselves, have lived on the -Dover road, professedly as sympathisers with the Royalist cause, -they have been the reason of more of our plans miscarrying, more -of our agents being betrayed, than any half-dozen of the Convention's -male spies put together. You see, they are really of noble birth." - -"René says in his letter that they are old friends--but I forget, -you say his letter is a forgery." - -"As to their having known his family in the past I cannot say," -replied La Vireville. "It is possible, since they are renegades. -The mischief is, that we have only just found out their treachery. -This, I suppose, is a last effort before giving up their trade--in -Canterbury at least. Now a line, sir, to authorise me to bring the -child back." - -Mr. Elphinstone wrote it, scarcely able to control his pen. "God -grant you are successful!" he said, as he gave it to the Chouan. - -"I will do my best, sir," returned the latter. "I do not want to -alarm you unduly, and, on my soul, I think they only wanted Anne -for what they could get out of him in the way of information. _We_ -shall be the losers by that, not you; and so I hope to bring him -back safely in a couple of days at most. In any case, I will write -to you from Canterbury to-night. Au revoir!" - -He wrung the old man's hand and departed. - - * * * * * - -If there were any room in any house in London which held at that -hour more anguish of soul than Mr. Elphinstone's study, it would -have been hard to find it. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - THE CHEVALIER DE LA VIREVILLE MEETS "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN" - - -When the Chevalier de la Vireville, wet and draggled from his long -ride, flung himself off his horse at the gate, and knocked on -the door of the little house at Canterbury, that door was not very -speedily opened. Yet the occupants of Rose Cottage were not engaged -in anything visibly nefarious: Mme. de Chaulnes was merely copying -a paper, in her regular pointed writing, at the table in the little -hall, and, after exchanging a glance with her sister-in-law, she -quite unhurriedly sanded over what she had written and, putting it -away in a drawer, took up some embroidery. Mlle. Angèle, equally -unhurried, rose and opened. - -So La Vireville saw, through the frame of the door, an idyllic picture -of a beautiful and serene old age bent over fine needlework. His -mouth tightened a little as he took off his dripping hat to Mlle. -de Chaulnes. - -"Mesdames will permit that I enter?" he asked in his own tongue. - -"If you have business with us, certainly, Monsieur," replied Mlle. -Angèle, standing back, and the very steadiness of her tone, its -absence of surprise, seemed to hint that she knew what he had come -about. He threw a look down the path at his horse, standing, too -spent to move, at the gate, and stepped in, uttering apologies for -his wet and muddy condition. - -"Monsieur appears indeed to have ridden far, and in haste," remarked -Mme. de Chaulnes, responding to his salute with an inclination of -the head, but still continuing her embroidery. "Pray give yourself -the trouble to hang your cloak by the fire. Angèle, perhaps Monsieur -will partake of some refreshment?" - -But Monsieur declined. "I am in haste, Mesdames. I think you can -guess why. I have come, on the part of his grandfather, to take away -the little boy whom you have with you--Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny." - -Mme. de Chaulnes raised her still beautifully-marked eyebrows. "What -a singular hour to arrive, Monsieur! But you are forestalled. The -little boy went back with his nurse this afternoon--no, not by the -stage-coach, in a postchaise. They must be at Rochester by now; you -will have passed them on the road." - -The émigré's face grew dark. "Madame, would not truth be better? I -am not a very credulous person. It will be quite easy for me to -procure a magistrate's warrant against you. I have the written -authority of the boy's grandfather." - -Mme. de Chaulnes looked at him with a very finished composure. "I am -afraid that I do not quite follow you, Monsieur. I have already had -the honour to tell you that the child was sent back this afternoon. -. . . Ah, I see--you do not believe me! Well, it will no doubt be -quite easy to procure a warrant; we are only two women in a strange -country; but I think it would advantage you very little, since no -amount of search warrants--if that is what you are threatening--will -produce what is not there. Pray examine our poor house yourself, -if that will give you satisfaction; you are at perfect liberty to -do so. Angèle, light a candle and conduct Monsieur." - -It was on the tip of La Vireville's tongue to refuse, for he was -convinced that the offer would never have been made if the boy were -still there. In that respect at least the truth had probably been -spoken. But the operation would give him time for thought. "Yes, -if you please, I will do so," he said, and while the younger lady -lighted a candle, stood silent, looking at the elder, as she calmly -threaded a needle. Of how many lives like his had not those fragile -old fingers lately held and twisted the thread! - -Mlle. Angèle preceded him up the stairs. - -"See," she said, throwing open a door, "here is my sister's bedroom; -pray do not hesitate to enter! There is a cupboard on that side; -he might be hidden there, might he not? Here is my own room; let -me light the candles for you. There is no cupboard in this room--one -of its disadvantages. And this is the room the child had; as you -see, it could hardly be emptier." - -The exquisitely-ordered room certainly bore no sign of recent -occupation nor of hurried flight. The spotless bed, new clothed, -looked as if no one had ever slept therein; every chair was in -its place, and the dimity-hung dressing-table, whose glass had -reflected--how short a time ago?--Anne's childish countenance, -seemed primly to reproach the intruder for his suspicions. Yet -a chill despair invaded the Frenchman's heart. All had been indeed -well planned! - -Mlle. Angèle stood regarding him with a curious smile on her round, -comfortable face as he walked mechanically to the bow-window in -which, with a little space round it, stood the dressing-table. And -La Vireville was there almost a score of seconds, looking down at -the polished boards at something half hidden by the folds of dimity, -before he realised at what he was staring--at a goldfish slowly -swimming round and round in a glass bowl. - -He stooped and picked it up, and, without speaking, faced Mlle. -de Chaulnes, holding it out a little towards her. Then, still -silent, he went past her and downstairs, the glass dangling from -his hand, and water and fish swinging violently in their prison. -Mme. de Chaulnes was still bent over her needlework as he set his -discovery down in front of her. - -"A sign of a somewhat hurried departure, Madame, I think," he said -quietly. "I conceive the child would hardly be likely to leave this -willingly behind, nor would there be any reason why he should--if -he were returning to his grandfather's house, as you allege." - -"You should be in the secret service, Monsieur,' was all that Mme. -de Chaulnes vouchsafed, but she looked at the little captive and -compressed her lips. - -"Thank you, Madame," retorted the émigré, seating himself at a -little distance. "I leave that trade henceforward to your sex. It -is only recently that one has become aware of your talents in that -direction--talents rather unusual in one of your birth." - -The old lady was quite unruffled. "If it is your intention, Monsieur, -to remain here to insult us, of course you can do so with impunity. -We cannot eject you. Otherwise I would suggest your returning -to London, if you wish to see the little boy . . . or else continuing -your interrupted journey to Jersey, and relieving the impatience of -the Prince de Bouillon." - -La Vireville, though he received this stroke with a steady bearing, -had nevertheless a somewhat numb sensation, for of course her -knowledge of his destination almost certainly meant that Anne -had been talking. - -"Ah, you know me?" he asked carelessly. - -"You could not expect our little visitor to be tongue-tied, especially -on a subject so interesting to him as M. le Chevalier de la Vireville." - -Probably the worst was coming now. But, at all events, it was -something that she should let him see how much she knew. - -"Yes," went on Mme. de Chaulnes, "he gave us a very agreeable and -lifelike picture of his doings in Cavendish Square, and of his many -French friends, so that it was not hard to recognise you, Monsieur -. . . _Augustin_!" - -The name was merely breathed. La Vireville was only just able to -check an exclamation. Anne had indeed, poor innocent, betrayed him! -But how did he know his nom de guerre? Then he remembered that -it had been used in the child's presence when he sat on his lap -that night in Mr. Elphinstone's dining-room. . . . Well, it was -his own doing, for it was he who had retained him there. Perhaps -it did not very much matter after all; it was quite conceivable -that these old plotters, with the sources of information which -had in the past been only too open to them, had found out his -identity by other means. But, remembering that meeting, a very -disquieting fear suddenly came over him. How much of another matter -had Anne heard and understood? - -Mme. de Chaulnes looked at his face and openly laughed. - -"You are wondering. M. le Chevalier . . . M. Augustin--which do -you prefer?--how much the child remembered of the conversation -you held about the proposed Government expedition? But, you see, -we know all about that--from other sources. Only the place--the -suggested place of landing. . . . Unfortunately, Anne was not -able at first to recall the name." - -"Why do you say 'at first'?" broke in La Vireville. - -"Because it is the truth. By now he may have remembered." - -"Where is he?" demanded the Chouan, who was holding himself in -with difficulty. - -Mme. de Chaulnes shrugged her shoulders. "I have told you. Somewhere -between here and Rochester." - -"Madame, you are lying!" said La Vireville. "Between here and -Paris would be nearer the mark. You have sent him over to France -because you think he knows a thing which, if he did know it, is -not of the slightest importance." - -"Your assurance on that point, Monsieur, is naturally most valuable! -What he told us about yourself, for instance, was of so little -moment, was it not?" - -"Of very little," returned La Vireville hardily. "You probably -knew it already. . . . Come, Madame, let us play with our cards -on the table. I know yours, even if you do not display them, and -you, I fancy, know mine now. Do not think to keep up any longer -this farce of having sent the child home. You have shipped him -over to France. God knows of what use the revelations of a child -of five or six can be to the Committee of Public Safety, even if -he do reveal anything to them, and that I am certain he would -never do unless he were tricked into it, as you tricked him." - -"Ah, Monsieur," said the old lady, smiling, "you speak as a man, -and a strong man. It is not so difficult to make a small boy -speak--or remember!" - -A thrill of fear and abhorrence ran down La Vireville's spine, -and he drew back from the table on which he was leaning. - -"No, no!" said Mme. de Chaulnes, putting up a delicate mittened -hand. "No, nothing of that sort was necessary. Angèle here can -testify to that. We were old friends of his father's, devoted -Royalists--what need for more? But if he were obstinate, I could -not answer . . ." - -The mask was off now. They _had_ sent him to France, then. - -"Madame, where is he?" asked La Vireville sternly. "It is I who -can put force in motion here, remember!" - -"You threaten us with those same repugnant methods, then, Monsieur?" - -"God forbid! I merely want to come to terms. If the child has -already reached France----" - -"Then neither you, Monsieur, whatever power you may command here, -nor his grandfather, nor all the magistrates' warrants in England -will get him out again--no, not the whole British Army!" - -La Vireville made no reply to this unpleasant truth. "What I cannot -understand," he said, "is your motive for sending him there--unless -it be sheer cruelty. You cannot seriously regard him as a source -of information; moreover, you have, apparently, already pumped -him dry." - -Mme. de Chaulnes smiled a little. "He is an intelligent child, -and an attractive. His father no doubt adores him--motherless -only son as he is." - -And on that, in a flash, La Vireville saw the whole thing. They -were going to use Anne as a bait. They hoped his father, that -adversary of parts, would follow him into the jaws of destruction. - -"As you are no doubt aware," he said slowly, "the Marquis de -Flavigny is little likely to hear of his son's kidnapping for -some time to come. Your acquaintance, however procured, with the -family affairs will tell you that he is not in England at present." - -"Measures will be taken to inform him during the course of his -travels on the Continent," replied Mme. de Chaulnes with calm. -"If the information does not reach him, well----" - -She left the sentence unfinished, her needle pursuing its unfaltering -course. La Vireville watched it, his brain busy with all sorts -of desperate schemes. - -"I have almost the feelings of a father for Anne myself," he -remarked at length. - -"That is most creditable to you, Monsieur." - -"Would it not be possible for _me_ to play the part designed for -the Marquis de Flavigny, or is he irreplaceable?" - -Mme. de Chaulnes put down her needle and looked her compatriot in -the face. In those old clear eyes, wells of falsehood, he could -read nothing save an implacable will. - -"You would do . . . better," she said. - -"Faith, I am flattered!" cried La Vireville gaily, though, to tell -the truth, he felt a little cold. "Will you instruct me how to -play the part?" - -"It is simple. Fired with this quasi-paternal anxiety, you go to -France after the child and attempt to recover him." - -The Chevalier de la Vireville laughed. "A fine 'attempt'! Do you -think, Madame, that I am fool enough to venture my head for no -better a chance than that? After all, I am _not_ his father." - -"No," said Mme. de Chaulnes cooly, "naturally you could never -recover him that way. But, of course, there is another method." - -"You mean . . . exchange?" - -"Precisely." - -There was a pregnant silence. The goldfish suddenly ceased swimming, -and gaped at the Frenchman through its prison walls. - -"But you are not his father, one sees," resumed the old lady, and -took up her embroidery again. "So why consider it? He will forget -England and his surroundings--in time. I do not suppose he will -be unkindly used; someone will probably adopt him and bring him -up to a useful trade." - -"Some foster-father like Simon, no doubt," commented the émigré -bitterly. In his mind was the little prisoner of the Temple, so -soon, had La Vireville known it, to be free of his captivity for -ever. The thought of that martyred innocence pierced him as nothing -else could have done, and he went straight to the point. "How could -I possible have any guarantee that, if I gave myself up, the bargain -would be respected, and the boy sent back unharmed?" - -For the second time the old lady looked at him long and steadily. -Then she opened a drawer in the table and took out a paper which -she laid before him. - -"That has been arranged for," said she. "Here is the child's passport -out of France all ready. You have only to convey it to him." - -"Parbleu!" exclaimed the émigré, "this has all been very prettily -planned! I can scarcely flatter myself that it was entirely for -my benefit, since it was by mere chance that I came upon this -errand." - -Again Mme. de Chaulnes smiled that wintry smile. "Do not seek to -probe too deeply, Monsieur. Yet, since you spoke of playing with -the cards on the table, the Convention would, perhaps, rather see -your band of Chouans leaderless, Monsieur Augustin, than possess -themselves of the person of M. de Flavigny, who, after all, has -no such forces at his disposal. 'Tout étant fait pour une fin, tout -est nécessairement pour la meilleure fin.' You know your _Candide_, -no doubt. . . . But to return to business. Does this safe-conduct -convince you?" - -"Only tolerably," answered La Vireville, as he examined it. "It -would convey to me much more conviction if there were ever any -chance of its reaching the child. You know as well as I, Madame, -that I should be apprehended as an émigré the moment I set foot -at Calais or Boulogne. No doubt that would suit the Convention -just as well--better, in fact--but you can scarce expect it to -make much appeal to me. I shall never have a second head; I do not -propose to make those gentlemen a present of it for nothing. I -also must have some kind of a safe-conduct, to protect me till -my business is done." - -"Really, Monsieur Augustin, you are very exacting," observed Mme. -de Chaulnes. "Yet there is sense in what you say." - -"I dare say that you, in your providence, have already such a -safe-conduct made out for me?" hazarded he. - -"Not altogether fully," said his adversary, and again she put her -hand into the drawer. "It is blank, for we did not know who might -be fired by the idea of rescue--though, to tell the truth, from -what the boy said of your relations with him, we began to hope -that we might have the pleasure of seeing you. . . . Shall we -fill it in?" - -La Vireville looked at her steadily as she faced him, the embroidery -still in one frail, blue-veined hand, mockery round her mouth. It -was sheer insanity. He had no right to do it, for he knew his life -to be a hundred times more valuable than a child's happiness. He -could be very ill-spared in Northern Brittany, in Jersey. . . . And -though his real intention was not merely to cross the Channel and -deliver himself up as a hostage, but by hook or by crook to get -Anne out of France and himself into the bargain, the chances were -quite fifty to one against his succeeding, and he knew it. It was -just the knowledge that he was acting against all the canons of -common sense and perhaps even of duty that decided La Vireville--that, -and an intolerable picture of a little boy who had never known an -unkind word being "brought up to some useful trade." - -He nodded. "Yes, if you please." - -"Angèle, ma chérie," said Mme. de Chaulnes, putting down the -embroidery, "you can pen M. le Chevalier's description better than -I. Have the goodness, Monsieur, to tell my sister your height and -your age; the rest she can see for herself." - -Mlle Angèle got pen and ink, while La Vireville, not unamused, gave -her the required information. Then, looking up at him from time to -time as he sat there, she wrote much more, and he knew that such -a description of his personal appearance, drawn from the life, -must almost inevitably, in the end, be his ruin, for in sitting -for his own portrait he was also sitting for that of 'Monsieur -Augustin.' And he wondered whether the picture now taking shape -under her pen were flattering or the reverse. Some of the Government -'signalements' which he had seen posted up in Brittany were remarkable -for their fidelity to detail. . . . At any rate, he was not forced -to reveal to this artist, now accumulating unimpeachable material, -what other scars he carried besides that, only too obvious, on -his cheek. - -"It will be best, Angèle," said Mme. de Chaulnes as the writer -finished, "to put, not Monsieur's name, which for this purpose he -might find inconvenient, but 'the person recommended by' and then -the cypher signature. It will be best also to fill in the route to -be taken, lest a fancy should seize Monsieur Augustin to go by -way of Brittany, for example." - -The émigré was about to protest, when it occurred to him that she -might conceivably indicate the same route as that taken by Anne -and his escort, which it would be a great convenience to know, -since his mind was entirely set on overtaking them before they -got to Paris. It need hardly be said that he had no intention of -putting foot in that city if he could possibly avoid it. - -Mlle. de Chaulnes passed the document to her sister-in-law, who -read it through carefully. - -"Excellent," she said. "I fear, M. Augustin, that you will not -henceforward derive much immunity from the inaccuracy of the -Convention's previous description of your person. You have taken -a copy, Angèle?" - -"Yes," said the younger lady. - -Mme. de Chaulnes folded the passport, and gave it, together with -Anne-Hilarion's safe-conduct back to England, to the prospective -rescuer. "Voilà, Monsieur!" she said. "Take that to the Committee -of Public Safety and you will find that it will do what you wish -for the child. You need have no fear that it will not, for the -Committee is something in our debt. But I take leave to doubt if -your intentions are quite as heroic as they appear." - -"I lay claim to no heroism of any kind," said La Vireville shortly, -and, putting the papers in his breast, he took up his wet cloak. - -Mme. de Chaulnes meanwhile had, for the first time, got to her -feet, and stood leaning upon her stick. "Of course, M. le Chevalier, -you do not think we are so blind as not to know what you mean to -do. But, believe me, you will never be able to do it. For one -thing, you will not be able to overtake them before Paris. They -have twenty-four hours' start of you." - -"Madame," retorted Fortuné de la Vireville, his hand on the latch -of the door, "some have thought that children are peculiarly the -objects of angelic protection. We shall see about that twenty-four -hours' start!" - -As he shut the door he was aware of a little laugh, and the words, -in a voice of mock surprise, "Monsieur est donc dévot?" - - * * * * * - -Dévot indeed La Vireville was not, and no real confidence in -celestial intervention, but wrath and dismay filled his heart as -he rode off in the rain and the darkness. But it was not in him -to show other than a bold front to an enemy, whatever his secret -apprehensions. It was not very likely that he would be able to get -the boy out of the hands of his captors without, himself, paying -the ultimate penalty. Still, there was a chance, and he meant to -stake everything upon it. Only, as he hastened to the _Rose and -Crown_ to change his horse, it occurred to him most unpleasantly -that perhaps he was being utterly duped; that Anne-Hilarion had, -perhaps, never been taken to France after all, and that he was -going to put his head into the lion's mouth for nothing. And he -cursed the maddening uncertainty of the whole affair, where the -only fact that stood out with real clearness was the jeopardy -in which he was about to place his own neck. - -In the midst of the business of hiring another horse, he suddenly -remembered Elspeth, and wondered that he had not thought of her -before. She must know something. But where was she? Had they shipped -her off too? It seemed unlikely--yet equally unlikely was it that -they had either left her free to hurry back to London with her -tale, or had made away with her. They had probably arranged for -a temporary disappearance. If he looked for her he would waste -the time on which so much depended, and even if he found her she -would not, probably, be able to tell him a great deal. And so La -Vireville, whose life of late years had taught him the faculty of -quick decision, resolved not to pursue that trail. - -He wrote at the inn a letter to Mr. Elphinstone, explaining what -he was about to do, made arrangements for it to be taken by special -messenger to London, and, in a quarter of an hour or so, on a fresh -horse, was galloping through the rainy night along the Dover road. - - - - - BOOK TWO - - - THE ROAD TO ENGLAND - - "O they rade on, and farther on, - And they waded rivers abune the knee; - And they saw neither sun nor moon, - But they heard the roaring of the sea." - - _THOMAS THE RHYMER._ - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - SOME RESULTS OF LISTENING TO POETRY - - - (1) - -Mathieu Pourcelles had now definitely become a nuisance to the -habitués of that old-established house of entertainment, the _Hôtel -du Faisan et de la Constitution_ at Abbeville. To the patron indeed -he was more than a nuisance; he was a source of frenzy. But since -Mathieu's elder brother, the notary, was the patron's creditor to -the extent of some two thousand francs, the patron had to suffer him, -and all the clients of the _Faisan_ had to suffer him too--unless -they removed their custom to another hostelry. And this, to be exact, -was what they were gradually doing, for there are limits even to the -patience of a decent citizen who has for years played his nightly -little game of draughts at the same tavern and does not favour -changes. - -It shall briefly be revealed what was the matter with Mathieu -Pourcelles. He was a poet. Nor was he a good poet; nay, not even -an indifferent poet. But his muse was both prolific and patriotic, -giving birth to some abortion at almost every public event, and -though all good citizens of Abbeville were properly interested in -such occurrences as, say, the repeal of the Law of the Maximum, -they preferred a plain newspaper account of it to Mathieu's rhythmical -rendering. Yet if they showed undue restiveness under the poet's -outpourings it was just conceivable that, seeing the subject of his -verse, they might be suspected of 'incivisme.' And thus there -was little help for them. - -On a certain evening, then, in April 1795, Mathieu entered the -_Faisan_ a little earlier than usual. In his hand was a fresh, -untumbled manuscript. Several citizens incontinently rose, paid -their scores, and went out. The patron cast an agonised look at -their retreating backs, and one full of venom at Mathieu's. The -poet, a lanky personage, sat down, gave the smallest possible order -for refreshments, and, after scandalously few preliminaries and a -marked absence of any kind of encouragement, unrolled his manuscript. - -"I have here, fellow-citizens, some verses which I should like to -submit to your valued judgment." Such was Mathieu's formula to-night. -"These verses deal with the present situation of the arms of our -beloved country, being, in fact, an 'Ode on the Peace recently -concluded between the glorious Republic and Prussia.'" - -All present resigned themselves, except one man who ostentatiously -buried himself in a news-sheet. Mathieu, than whom was no happier -mortal at that moment between the English Channel and the Pyrenees, -began joyfully to roll forth his periods and his execrable rhymes. -And, weedy though he was of aspect, his own outpourings soon began -increasingly to inflate his not inconsiderable voice, so that -presently the room rang with his bellowings, and the table before -him jumped as he pounded it. - -Among all his unwilling listeners he had none a tenth part as -interested as a small, tired-looking boy who sat, a spoon in his -hand, at a table some distance away. With him was a neat man of -forty who, in the midst of his own repast, attended to his small -companion's wants. Since the opening of Mathieu's performance the -child had more or less neglected his meal to listen with an attention -distinctly strained, his eyes anxiously fixed on the orator. Nor -did Mathieu fail, after a while, to observe the flattering behaviour -of his youngest auditor, and at last broke off and apostrophised -him, trusting, he said, that his young friend would profit by -these lessons, and remember them in years to come. - -The young friend, on whom all eyes were immediately turned, shrank -back, looking terrified. But Mathieu lost no time in continuing -his reading. He was approaching a favourite passage, a purple -patch directed against "crowned tyrants," "perfidious Albion," -and "those vipers, the émigrés," and so he unleashed fully the -voice which was so much at variance with his physique. A man yawned, -another banged approval--and the small boy, overcome by emotion or -fatigue, hid his face in his hands and burst into tears. His -companion tried to quiet him, but the child drew away from him, -and the man, evidently annoyed, and muttering, "He is overtired; -excuse him, my friends!" picked him up, and carried him out of -the room. - -Mathieu was not unaccustomed to exits during his performances, but -this retreat was rather flattering than otherwise, since it could -only be attributed to his power of moving the heart. He paused a -moment, smirked, and proceeded. - - - (2) - -Half an hour later, however, he had succeeded in clearing the room -in earnest. Yet did he not himself depart, having regard to the -possible advent of other guests, but remained awhile, running his -hand through his dank hair, and casting up his eyes to the ceiling -whenever the patron, scowling, looked in at the door. - -His patience was duly rewarded when, at about five minutes to eight, -the host ushered in a tall man in a cloak, evidently a traveller. -The newcomer ordered a meal, and went to sit at a table in a far -corner. Mathieu took stock of him, and finally arose and approached -him. - -"You are travelling, citizen?" - -La Vireville looked carefully at the speaker. He himself desired -rather to ask than to answer questions, but the poet appeared -harmless. Moreover, having traced Anne-Hilarion and his companion -as far as Abbeville, and having already drawn blank at two inns -in that town, he was glad of the chance of information. So he -said quietly, "Yes, citizen. And you?" - -"Ah no; I inhabit Abbeville. You will not have heard of me, -citizen, but I am not quite unknown, even in Paris. My name is -Pourcelles--Mathieu Pourcelles. I write a little--verse. I wonder -if I might presume? . . . You have the look of a lover of letters" -(the phrase with which Mathieu was wont to approach any victim not -absolutely bucolic). "I may?" And out came the manuscript of the Ode. - -La Vireville endured it, eating his omelette, and thinking fast. -He was beginning to feel a little baffled. Anne and his escort had -certainly come to Abbeville; the point was, had they already left -it? It appeared, from the cautious inquiries which he had made -along the road from Calais, that the travellers were but little -ahead of him--a fact which, in spite of the nearly incredible haste -which he had made, seemed almost too good to be true, and which, -considering their twenty-four hours' start, he found it difficult -to account for. It was risky to ask direct questions, yet he would -shortly be driven to that course. But he had not reckoned for the -vanity of an author. - -"I now come," said the gifted poet, simpering, "to a passage which, -as recently as three-quarters of an hour ago, inspired tears in a -member of my little audience. It is true that he was very young, -but who shall say whether the pure heart of childhood----" - -"A child, eh?" interrupted his hearer, continuing to eat, but -fixing Mathieu with a very keen gaze. "An infant prodigy, I suppose?" - -"No; just a little boy with his father or uncle. But he was overcome, -and had to be taken away. His companion has indeed left his own -meal unfinished, no doubt in order to soothe the terror which my -description of tyranny had awaked in the childish breast." - -"Is this susceptible infant staying in the inn?" inquired La -Vireville carelessly. - -"I believe so," replied the poet, who had already lost interest -in his young hearer, and was itching to declaim the purple passage -in question, of which he again stood on the brink. La Vireville -made a gesture to intimate that he should do so, and diplomatically -neglected his meal to listen. - -"Bravo!" he exclaimed at the end. "Magnificent, citizen! You have -the foes of our beloved country on the hip, indeed. Those lines -about the émigrés, now!" - -Mathieu smirked. Then he glowed. "I declare to you, citizen, that -if I were to meet one of those scorpions--those vipers, as I have -termed them--I would not hesitate a moment to----" - -"To denounce him, of course," said La Vireville, helping himself -to wine. - -"No, citizen, to kill him with these hands!" - -"Ma foi," said La Vireville gravely, "if you ply the sword, citizen, -as ably as the pen, France may well be proud of you." - -Mathieu, much flattered, was beginning an answer, when the door -opened and the little boy's guardian reappeared. The poet turned -round. - -"I trust your charge is recovered!" said he ingratiatingly. "A -most interesting child!" - -"Thank you," replied the other rather coldly, as he returned to -his place; "my nephew was merely overtired." And he ordered coffee, -while La Vireville secretly studied him. He looked, thought the -Chouan, a person who could neither be bullied nor flustered, a man -in whose veins ran some unusually cold liquid. How was he to get -him out of the way? Besides, was it certain that the little boy -with him was Anne-Hilarion? That he _must_ know. - -Absorbed in these speculations he paid scant attention to the -conclusion of the Ode, which its author had the obligingness to -read again for his benefit and for that of the returned guest, -who drank his coffee very slowly, but appeared to be interested -in neither of his companions. And before very long the Citizen -Pourcelles, seeing no fresh worlds to conquer, drifted out, followed, -after a moment's hesitation, by La Vireville, who buttonholed him -at the door of the hostelry, to say that he could not let him go -without thanking him for the pleasure which he had afforded him. - -A very little of this balm, dexterously applied, sufficed to get -out of the poet a description of the little boy upstairs sufficiently -detailed to satisfy La Vireville that he was indeed Anne-Hilarion. - -And then, Mathieu having at last taken his departure, La Vireville -was left at the door of the inn, revolving plans. It was tempting -to go upstairs now, while the man was below, and (if he could find -the right room) slip out of the place with the child. But he would -be tracked at once. No plan was sound which did not provide, somehow, -for the disposal of Anne's captor. La Vireville was not in the least -inclined to boggle at the idea of putting a knife into that gentleman -if an opportunity occurred; the difficulty was less to provide that -opportunity than to get rid of the ensuing corpse. To go in and -quarrel with the man would only lead to tumult and imprisonment. -Yet if he delayed and followed the two to-morrow, waiting for -fortune to smile upon him, they would all three, with every hour, -be nearing Paris and leaving the coast farther behind them, and -adding thereby to the length and risk of the return journey. - -At any rate he would, he decided, stay at the inn for the night, -that is, unless Anne and his 'uncle' were proceeding. - -"I want a quiet room," he said to the patron. "You can give me -one at the back if you choose." And, the apartment in question -being shown to him, he further expressed a hope that there was no -one near who would come late to bed and disturb him. - -"There is no other guest in the _Hôtel du Faisan_," replied the -landlord, "but the citizen downstairs and his little nephew, and -they sleep in Number Nine, which is at the other end of the corridor, -as you see. And probably the citizen will retire to bed early, -because of the child." - -"Tiresome," commented the émigré, "to share a room with a child, -and to have to regulate your hours of repose accordingly." - -"That," said the landlord, with a slightly offended air, "is not -really necessary in this case. Number Nine has an inner room opening -out of it." - - - (3) - -The fruits of the reflections to which, after this colloquy, the -Chevalier de la Vireville abandoned himself in his bedroom were -manifested between one and two in the morning, when he stood outside -the door which the patron had pointed out at the end of the passage. -He had groped his way thither in the darkness, not venturing to -bring a candle. At this door he now knocked with extreme gentleness, -then again a little louder, and, still receiving no answer, he -tried the handle. To his surprise it turned, and the door opened. - -"Odd!" thought the intruder. "Mme. de Chaulnes' emissary is of a -singularly trustful nature." And he slipped in with great caution. - -The room was absolutely dark, but not silent. A heavy snoring -proceeded from the bed, and was, indeed, the only evidence of its -whereabouts. "I had not somehow thought him a snorer," reflected -La Vireville. "At any rate one knows that he sleeps. Now I wonder -whereabouts is that inner room?" Very softly he breathed Anne's -name in the close darkness. Nothing but snores answered him. - -It was obvious that by feeling round the walls he would arrive in -time at the door, shut or open, of the other room, for whose presence -the landlord had vouched. La Vireville began this circumnavigation -(so he discovered) in the neighbourhood of the washstand; proceeded -a little--going very slowly and quietly, and feeling carefully with -his hands--passed a hanging press, the fireplace, and began to be -conscious that he was approaching the bed. He stopped, not wishing -to collide with it, and at that moment found his hands resting on -something thrown over the back of a chair. And that something -was--yes, there could be no doubt--a pair of corsets. - -"Ciel!" exclaimed the petrified émigré below his breath. Wild ideas -scurried instantly through his brain, as that Anne's companion was -really of the corset-wearing sex, or that he had a woman with him, -or---- Then a simpler explanation visited him; he had, in the -darkness without, mistaken the room, and his present business was -to get out of this apartment, whoever were its tenant, as quickly -and as quietly as possible. If the snoring fair one should wake! -. . . It was a very long minute before he found himself outside -the door again. - - * * * * * - -He set forth the second time with a candle, and found that he had, -indeed, mistaken the number. Number Nine was two doors farther on. -He could only hope that the snorer would continue the sound sleep -in which he had left her, since what he contemplated doing in -Number Nine might cause some noise. - -He knocked gently at the door of that apartment. - -There was instantly a movement within, followed by a sound as of -someone getting out of or off the bed. He knocked again, and then -the door was unlocked, and opened a foot or two by the man whom -La Vireville sought. He was half-dressed, and had a pistol in his -hand. There was a lamp burning in the room. - -"May I come in, citizen?" asked La Vireville mildly, facing the -barrel with all the appearance of innocent intent. "I wish to speak -with you on important business." - -The occupant of Number Nine looked at him straight and searchingly -with his strange light eyes. Then, still keeping his visitor covered, -he moved aside for him to enter, and closed the door behind him, -locking it. - -La Vireville's immediate dread, on entering, was of finding -Anne-Hilarion there, or at least awake in the inner room,--whose -door he saw ajar in front of him,--to recognise him, as he surely -would, with a cry, and spoil everything. "Shall I close this door?" -he suggested, and, turning his back on the pistol, he shut the door -which faced him. "We do not want to wake the boy, and it is about -him that I have come to speak to you." - -"You choose a very strange time for the errand, citizen," observed -M. Duchâtel, but he lowered the pistol. - -"Yet you were expecting me, were you not?" queried La Vireville, -glancing at the bed and the book lying open on it. "_She_ told you, -of course, that she might send me? On the whole it seemed best, -though to be sure he--you know whom I mean--will suffer by it." -Anne's gaoler was, he trusted, gravelled by this pronouncement, -which was devoid of meaning even to himself; but it was impossible -to tell. The man with the goat's eyes merely said curtly: - -"I saw you downstairs with that fool of a versifier. Why did you -not speak to me then?" - -"Juste ciel!" exclaimed the émigré, putting down his candle. "What -imprudence! You know her recommendation!" - -"I don't know your business--or your credentials!" snapped the other. - -"I will show you both," quoth La Vireville sweetly; and, opening -his coat, he pulled out the thin leather case in which he had put -the passports. From this he carefully drew forth Anne-Hilarion's, -and spread enough of it before his adversary's vision to show him -the boy's name. - -"Why, what have you there?" exclaimed M. Duchâtel, shaken out of -his self-possession. And he added something under his breath about -a trick and an old vixen, while, eager for a fuller sight or complete -possession of the document, he hastily laid down the pistol on -the mantelpiece. - -It was the moment for which the Chouan had been waiting. He gave -the passport bodily into those incautious hands, and a second -later smote their owner with exceeding force on the point of the -jaw. M. Duchâtel staggered back, his arms going wide, and the -passport flew half across the room as La Vireville followed up -with a smashing blow over the heart. The tall mahogany bedpost, -which the kidnapper's head next violently encountered, finished -La Vireville's work for him with much completeness, but before the -inanimate body could slide to the floor La Vireville had grabbed at -it and pulled it on to the bed. - -"If I have killed him!" he thought, as he bent over his victim, for -it looked rather like it. "No; that kind does not die of a good -honest blow." With luck, however, he might be unconscious for hours, -but it was as well to be on the safe side; so, since it repelled -him to cut the throat of a senseless man, he tied his feet with -the bell-pull, which he hacked down for the purpose, his hands -with the curtain cords. Then he stuffed a towel into his mouth, -tied it in position with another, and flung the quilt entirely -over him. - -He had already possessed himself of M. Duchâtel's papers, reserving -their perusal, however, for a more favourable opportunity, and -now, picking up Anne-Hilarion's passport, he tiptoed to the door -of the inner room, and listened for a moment. Singularly little -noise, on the whole, had attended his assault on Anne's guardian, -and there was complete silence the other side of the door, yet -La Vireville's heart was nearer his mouth than it had yet been, -for a child's shrill scream either of joy or terror--and Anne must -be thoroughly unnerved by this time--might bring the house about -them. However, the possibility had to be faced, so he opened the -door a little and called the boy's name softly. There was no answer, -and as the room was in darkness the rescuer had perforce to take -the lamp from the larger apartment, and to enter, shading it with -one hand. - -The Comte de Flavigny was fast asleep in the wide bed, which looked -large in the little room, and in which he himself appeared very -small, lonely, and pathetic, with one hand under a flushed cheek -and the other clutching fast the edge of the patchwork quilt. -"The poor baby!" thought La Vireville, but had no time to spend -upon sentiment. The main thing, for both their sakes, was to wake -him without startling him. - -"If I were really the nurse whose duties I now seem to be taking -upon myself," thought the Chouan, "I should know better what to do." - -He put down the lamp and stooped over the child, shaking the small -shoulder very gently, and calling him by name, a hand ready to -clap over his mouth if he should scream. At the third or fourth -repetition of his name Anne-Hilarion stirred. - -"It is not time, Elspeth," he murmured rather crossly, and buried -his face in the pillow. "It is not time to get up, I tell you!" - -"But it is," asserted La Vireville; "high time. Anne, my little -one. . . ." He put his arms under him and lifted him up a trifle. - -Anne gave a great sigh and opened his eyes. "Is it thou, Papa? -I dreamed--I had such a horrible dream. . . ." Then he returned -more fully to waking life. "Who is it?" he said shrilly, beginning -to struggle in the strong arms like a captured bird. - -"It is I, my child--your friend the Chevalier," said La Vireville, -kissing him. "Don't make a noise, little cabbage! See, I am going -to take you back to England. But you must be quiet, above all things!" - -Anne-Hilarion looked up into his face, the fear in his eyes changed -to an almost incredulous joy. "Oh, M. le Chevalier!" he exclaimed. -Then he threw his arms round his friend's neck and held him very -tight. "Oh, how glad I am! how good of you to come!" he whispered -fervently. "But the--that other man in there?" - -"He will not trouble us--not, at least, if we are quick. Get into -your clothes, Anne, faster than you have ever done in your life. -_Can_ you get into them?" asked the Chouan a little doubtfully, -setting the half-clothed figure down upon the bed, and looking -round in the lamplight for more garments. - -"Already it is many weeks since I can dress myself," announced -the Comte de Flavigny proudly. "But this is my shirt that I have -on. I have no nightshirt. He said it did not matter, but I have -never before gone to bed in----" - -"Never mind," said La Vireville, pitching a few garments on to the -bed. They seemed to him ridiculously minute. "How does this go on?" - -"That is the wrong way round!" observed Anne, so hilariously that -the émigré glanced at the open door and put his finger to his -lip. Evidently Anne's faith in him was so great that his mere -presence was to him the equivalent of safety. - -"Now wait here a moment in the dark," said La Vireville when, -between them, a rapid toilet had been effected. "It is only for -an instant." He returned with the lamp to the outer room, satisfied -himself that Mme. de Chaulnes's emissary was still soundly unconscious -under the counterpane, and, unlocking the door, stole out into the -passage and listened. There was neither sound nor light anywhere. -He went back to Anne-Hilarion. - -And, five minutes later, by the simple expedient of letting themselves -out of its back door, the Chevalier de la Vireville and his small -charge found themselves free of the _Hôtel du Faisan et de la -Constitution_, and standing, under the April stars, between high -walls in an unsavoury back lane of Abbeville. It was not, indeed, -a propitious hour for the walks abroad of a reputable citizen, -still less for those of a boy of tender years, but there was now -excellent reason why the open air should appeal strongly to them -both. Wherefore La Vireville prayed that fate and the darkness -should so favour him, that by six or seven o'clock he should find -himself at the little port of St. Valéry-sur-Somme, thirteen miles -or so down the river, and that there a still further indulgence of -the gods would enable him to hire a boat to return across the -Channel. For to go back to Boulogne or Calais would be madness, and -the chief recommendation of St. Valéry, besides the fact of its -being a harbour, was that it lay off all the main roads between -those greater ports and Paris. Even then it would be hard enough -to get a boat without exciting suspicion. But the Fates had been -hitherto so kind that he must go on trusting them. - -"I shall have to carry you most of the way, child, so I had best -begin now," he whispered, and picked up his half-sleepy, half-excited -charge. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE _TROIS FRÈRES_ OF CAEN - - -But Fortune, after whom Fortuné de la Vireville had been somewhat -ironically named, had all his life taken away with one hand what -she had given him with the other. So now she granted to him to -get clear of the town of Abbeville, to find unmolested the way -to St. Valéry, to meet thereon none to question or stay him, to -arrive there a little before six, when the life of the small port -was already bustling, to perceive, lounging on the quayside, a -seafaring individual whose countenance seemed to promise accessibility -to a bribe . . . and to overhear, at that very moment, a piece -of news which made all attempt at bribing him useless. For it was -quite clear, from a conversation going on, within easy earshot, -between two master mariners, one of whom had evidently just come -into harbour, that the greater part of the Brest squadron had come -up in the night, and was even now cruising between Dieppe and -Boulogne. - -"Nine sail of the line, and I don't know how many frigates." Was -ever such ill-luck! The fugitives were clean cut off, that way, -from the shores of England, while on the road behind them were -hastening, or would shortly hasten, the justly-incensed officials -of the town of Abbeville. La Vireville knew an instant's real -despair, and his fingers tightened involuntarily on the small hand -in his. They _must_ get back to England. But they could not--at -least not by the way of his choice, the most direct and obvious -way, the Channel. That path was barred before them. Of course -there was another road. If they could only reach that outpost of -England, Jersey! But it was the deuce of a long journey, and since -the sea was now denied them, they must go by land till they reached -the coast of the Cotentin, a far more hazardous route, armed though -La Vireville now was with the fairly extensive powers conveyed to -him by M. Duchâtel's papers. . . . Well, they must make the best -of a bad business, and the first step was to remove themselves -from the harbour, where curious glances were already beginning -to be cast at him and his small companion. He must leave as few -traces as possible for the inquirers from Abbeville when they came. - -La Vireville was, in fact, actually turning away from the shed by -which they were standing, when his eyes fell on a vessel at the -quayside which he had not previously noticed, a schooner-rigged -barque of some three hundred tons burthen, on whose broad stern, -surrounded by flourishes, could be read her name and port of -origin--the _Trois Frères_ of Caen. It was this legend which caused -him suddenly to stay his steps and to give vent to a murmured -exclamation. What if the fleet of the Republic _were_ cruising -along the coast from Dieppe to Boulogne! With his face set, not -for England, but for a more westerly French port, and the tricolour -floating over him, he could pass unscathed through that fleet even -if it were encountered. They would go to Caen--if the barque were -shortly putting to sea and if the captain would take them. And from -Caen, ten or twelve hours' posting would bring them to the shore -of the Cotentin, to Granville, or to Carteret, the nearest port of -all France to Jersey. It was an excellent scheme, could it be put -in practice, and one possessing an advantage of its own, that by -taking to the water at once they would have a very good chance of -breaking the scent. - -La Vireville looked carefully at what he could see of the _Trois -Frères_. A certain subdued bustle among her small crew seemed to -indicate an early departure, which was good. The next problem was -the mind of the captain. If that were he, red-faced, blue-eyed, -standing near the rail with a pipe in his mouth and occasionally -issuing an order, he looked as if he might be open to persuasion. -At least the attempt should be made. - -All this while Anne-Hilarion had stood patiently, his hand in his -rescuer's, asking no questions, and evidently little disposed, -after his unwonted night, to take an interest even in the shipping. -The émigré bent down to him. - -"Anne," he said in a low voice, "I am going to ask the man on that -ship to take us to Caen. We cannot go straight to England, as I had -hoped. Now you must be sure to bear me out in what you hear me say, -even if it is not exactly true. I shall have, I think, to pretend -that you are my nephew, so you must remember to call me uncle--never -anything else. Very likely I shall pretend also that we live at Caen. -You must not say anything about England. You understand, little one?" - -"Yes," replied Anne-Hilarion, lifting a rather grimy and pallid -face. Then he gave a little sigh, as one who makes a reluctant -sacrifice of truth to necessity. And indeed he was a very truthful -child; yet La Vireville more correctly interpreted his emotion. - -"You want your breakfast, mon petit, do you not? Never mind, you -shall soon have it. Only help me to soften the heart of this -sea-captain." - -And, approaching the _Trois Frères_, the émigré hailed the smoker. - -"Are you the master of this ship, citizen?" - -The sailor removed his pipe. "Mate," he replied laconically. "Master -just coming aboard." He indicated with the stem of his pipe another -mariner, also red-faced and blue-eyed, who was making his way -round a pile of timber towards the gang-plank. Him La Vireville -intercepted, hastily filling up in his own mind the gaps in the -story designed for his edification, since here Duchâtel's papers -were not likely to be of much avail. - -"Captain," he began enthusiastically, taking off his hat, "the -Supreme Being has surely sent you to a fellow-creature in need!" - -The master of the _Trois Frères_ grunted. "Le bon Dieu is good -enough for a plain sailor like me," he responded, and the émigré -perceived that he had overshot the mark. "What do you want?" - -"I want to go to Caen," returned La Vireville simply. "I and my -little nephew here. Can you give us a passage?" - -The master of the _Trois Frères_ regarded La Vireville and his -nephew. "No," he replied, with equal simplicity. "Why should I? -I'm a trading vessel, not a packet." - -The petitioner came nearer and dropped his voice. "If you will -grant me the favour of a word or two in private," he said, "I will -tell you why I ask. It is for a most pressing family matter--an -affair, I may say, almost of life and death . . . and an affair -of haste." - -"Come on board then," said the master-mariner briefly, and led -the way over the gang-plank to the cabin. - -It was that neat little cabin with its shining brass fittings, -therefore, which witnessed the apotheosis of the Chevalier de -la Vireville as a liar. Even at the time a part of himself was -watching the other, the speaking half, with an amused wonder, as -he unfolded his tale, recounting how he was hastening, or wished -to hasten, to Caen on this most pressing family matter. He had sent -Anne-Hilarion to the other end of the cabin, and himself sat, with -the captain, at the table in the middle. - -"The fact is," he said in lowered tones, after a short exordium, -"that my brother's wife has run away from him, and we have reason -to believe that she has gone to Caen." - -"With her lover, I suppose," finished the sailor bluntly. - -"No," said La Vireville; "that is the whole point. My brother -believes that he has not yet joined her, though on the way to do -so. Hence, citizen, my need of haste. I want to arrive at Caen -before it is too late, and to that end I am taking my brother's -little son with me to plead his father's cause, and to see if -he cannot persuade his unfortunate mother to return." - -It was only because he felt sure that Anne, however willing he -might be, would inevitably make a slip if required constantly to -address him as Papa, that La Vireville had cast himself for the -part of uncle in this speedily-imagined drama. Otherwise he might -have played the part of the stricken husband rather than that of -the sympathetic brother. Indeed, there would have been an advantage -in the former rôle, for it would have spared him the captain's next -and very natural question: - -"Why the deuce does not your brother go after his wife himself?" - -La Vireville made a gesture, and throwing his brother from a restive -horse some seven days ago, remorselessly broke his leg. - -"Where does he live, did you say?" - -The émigré domiciled him distantly at Lyons, creating him at the -same time a lawyer. - -"I know Lyons well," observed the mariner unexpectedly. "You are -an affectionate brother, citizen, and you have certainly made -extraordinary speed if you have come from Lyons since that leg -was broken a week ago." - -This was unfortunately true, and La Vireville was forced to assign -a date a little more remote to the accident, and to say he had -made a slip of the tongue, proceeding afterwards to lay stress -on the speed which the lover also might be presumed to be using. - -"Well, my friend," remarked the sailor, "speed was never a characteristic -of the _Trois Frères_. Moreover, I have a port or two of call, -Dieppe among them. I cannot for the life of me see why you should -not go to Caen by land, if you want to get there quickly. If you -could post from Lyons to St. Valéry in--how many days did you -say?--you ought to make Caen by nightfall!" - -"Citizen captain," responded the harassed romancer earnestly, -"speed, after all, is not everything in this case! Secrecy is -even more important--let me explain to you how important, at this -juncture." And he developed this theme, investing his brother's -wife's lover with much money and influence, all of which he would -use without scruple to circumvent the would-be rescuer, did he know -his route. And, acutely conscious all the while of the improbability -of his story, La Vireville concluded with a moving reference to -the innocent child, about, perhaps, to lose his mother for ever, -to the sanctity of the domestic hearth in danger of violation, -and to the purity of moral principles inculcated by the glorious -Republic. But the rhetoric which, a couple of years ago, would not -have failed to move a demagogue who sent a daily score of heads to -the guillotine, appeared to be without power over a peaceable and -straightforward mariner. The orator indeed, feeling that he was -wasting his time, and preparing in addition a net which would -probably trip up his own feet, ceased at last disheartened. - -His surprise was, therefore, all the greater when the master of -the _Trois Frères_ said slowly, "Very well, I will give you a -passage to Caen." He fingered his chin in a dubious sort of way, -looking, however, at his guest with a blue directness of gaze -which was anything but undecided, and which the latter could only -hope that he was supporting with sufficient firmness. "I suppose -your papers are all in order?" he added. - -The crucial moment had arrived, for neither Duchâtel's papers nor -his own could very well be made to bear out the Chevalier de la -Vireville's story. But the latter laughed cheerfully. "For what -do you take me, captain?" he replied. "Do you want to see them?" -He began to thrust a hand into his breast. - -"No, no! It's the business of the port officer, not mine. Too many -papers and nonsense of that kind nowadays," said the sailor, who -appeared to have conservative tendencies. "And, by the way, the -port officer has already been aboard. Well, if there is any trouble -later on, you must represent yourselves as stowaways. Down in -the afterhold, you understand, and did not come out till we had -cleared the river, and I was not going to delay by putting back -to land you." - -Nothing would have suited the voyager better than to live the life -of a stowaway the whole time, especially if they were going to put -into Dieppe, so he received this suggestion warmly. The captain -then named his terms, and said he had a spare cabin which would do -for his passenger and the boy; after which he slewed round in his -chair and stared at Anne, who, kneeling on a locker, had his nose -pressed to one of the small stern windows. - -"Tell the child to come here," he said. "What is his name?" - -"An . . . Annibal," replied La Vireville brilliantly, feeling that -"Anne" savoured too much of the old régime, but not equal himself -to calling him consistently by a name too dissimilar. "You will -not, captain, out of humanity, mention his mother to him, nor why -we are going to Caen? Annibal!" - -Anne-Hilarion looked round, startled, at this unusual appellation, -but seeing his friend's outstretched hand, understood and came. -The captain studied his tired, sleepy, dirty little face, his -tangled curls, his good but hastily put on clothes . . . and La -Vireville had the sudden wonder whether those small kerseymere -breeches that reached so nearly to his armpits bore inside the -name of an English maker, or whether they were the work of Elspeth's -fingers. Anyhow, the sailor was not likely to investigate the point. - -"A little sea-air will do the child good," remarked the latter. -"And a meal, I think, as soon as we are out of harbour, as we shall -be before long. Don't you agree with me, my boy?" - -("Why did I not tell Anne on no account to let fall a word of -English?" thought La Vireville to himself. "But I do not suppose -he will.") - -No; for the Comte de Flavigny naturally responded to a query in -French by an answer in the same tongue. And he said simply and -politely: - -"If you please, Monsieur." - -"_Eh?_" ejaculated the seaman, and a gleam of speculation shot -suddenly into his blue eyes. La Vireville felt as if he were sitting -on a red-hot chair. He and the child between them had been a little -unfortunate, with the Supreme Being on the one hand and that forbidden -term of social address on the other--returning to use though it -was among the upper classes. - -The captain, however, merely shook his head. - -"You seem old-fashioned, my boy," he remarked drily, and, rising, -went to the door and called to the mate. - - * * * * * - -Some three-quarters of an hour later the _Trois Frères_ was warping -slowly out of the basin, and La Vireville, immense relief in his -heart, and the hungry Anne-Hilarion on his knee, was giving the -child, as they awaited breakfast, a further lesson in the things -that he was not to say. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - HAPPENINGS IN A POSTCHAISE - - - (1) - -Anne-Hilarion was sorry to say good-bye to the _Trois Frères_ at -Caen, and all the way up the river from the little port at Ouistreham -he sat quietly on deck with a pensive expression. That the vessel's -speed at sea had not been very noticeably greater than that with -which she now approached the spires of the town distressed him -not at all. Everything about her had been delightful, from her -dolphin figurehead to her old-fashioned poop, and he only regretted -that M. le Chevalier had not allowed him to chatter to her crew -as much as he desired. - -La Vireville too owed the old barque gratitude. Whether her master -really believed his story or no, he had kept to his contract, and -asked few supplementary questions. It had been a fine breezy morning -when the émigré stood on her deck as she lumbered along the coast -towards Dieppe, and looked up at the tricolour beating at the mizen, -reflecting that it was the first time he had ever sailed beneath -this parvenu flag of his country. Two or three miles out at sea -a couple of frigates were visible, the rearguard of the Brest -fleet. Against those vessels that flag was their talisman. But -he had not looked at it with love for all that. - - * * * * * - -The alluring prospect of a long ride in a postchaise had been -purposely held out to the Comte de Flavigny as he regretfully left -the _Trois Frères_, clutching the striped and polished foreign -shell which the captain had given him at parting. It was true that -there were some rather unpleasant formalities to be gone through -first, in a place which he was told was M. le Maire's office, -where a man with a red, white, and blue scarf tied in a great bow--a -man whom he instinctively disliked--asked M. le Chevalier a -great many questions, and looked at him, Anne-Hilarion, very -suspiciously. At last, however, he wrote something on the papers -which M. le Chevalier had produced, and then they went to a little -hôtel and had a meal, and presently Anne was being assisted into -a two-horsed postchaise not quite like those he had seen in England. - -"All's well that ends well!" said M. le Chevalier, his mouth relaxing, -as with great crackings of the postilion's whip they rolled through -the streets of Caen. "They were suspicious of thy good uncle, Anne -. . . Annibal, I should say. Imagine, they were disinclined to -believe what he said--he who has always been noted for his veracity. -But the papers of thy other uncle--the one we left behind at -Abbeville, in . . . in bed--convinced them at last." - -"You had, perhaps, to invent some more histories about us," suggested -his fellow-traveller. - -"My nephew, I had. However, they need not concern you. Our kinship -still continues." - -"Of that," remarked the Comte de Flavigny earnestly, "I am glad." -He slipped his hand under his friend's arm. "That other, I did not -like him. Could you be my uncle in England also, do you think?" - -"Yes, little cabbage," said the Chouan, pulling a curl. "I shall -be delighted, once in England again, to assume any relationship you -please. At present I feel something like an inexperienced grandmother." - -Anne-Hilarion gave a squeak of laughter and hugged his arm. "You are -so amusing," he said, looking up at La Vireville with appreciative -eyes. "How long before we get to England, M. le Chevalier?" - -"That I am afraid I cannot tell you. Only a few days, I trust. But -this is how we hope to get there. We shall arrive to-night at a -place called Vire, and tomorrow we shall go on to Granville, which, -as perhaps you know, Anne, is the nearest port, but one, of all -France to Jersey. I think, however, that we shall not enter Granville -itself, but that somewhere on the coast we will hire a fisherman's -boat to take us to Jersey. And Jersey, you know, is English, and -from there it is easy to go to England. Also, after we have left -Vire, we shall be on the edge of the country of the Chouans of -Normandy, and so we may find friends. And thus I have hopes that -there will be no difficulty in procuring a boat, provided that -nothing disagreeable happens to us in the town of Vire; for in -towns, my dear Anne, they have not that entire faith in the candour -of your uncle that we could wish." - -"Another boat!" exclaimed Anne. "I shall like that, if the sea is -not rough. And then another after that! For Jersey is an island, -is it not?" - -"You are singularly well informed, nephew. Jersey _is_ an island, -and one, moreover, which is a good deal nearer to France than to -England. Very probably, you will go home in an English man-of-war. -I think you are enjoying your tour in France, are you not, nephew -Annibal?" - -"Yes, since _you_ came, M. le Chevalier," replied the child. "But -I do want to see Papa soon, and Grandpapa, and Elspeth, and----" -He checked himself with a sigh. "I suppose I shall never see it -again. M. le Chevalier, do you think the grey cat will have eaten it?" - -"Eaten what, my child?" asked the émigré, looking down into the -dark eyes, clouded with a sudden apprehension. "Ah, you mean your -goldfish?" - -Anne nodded, the tiniest little droop at the corners of his mouth. - -"I think," said the Chevalier de la Vireville, taking his hand, -"that we shall find, when we get to Cavendish Square, that Elspeth -has contrived to bring away the goldfish from the house of the -old ladies, and that it will be swimming round and round on Grandpapa's -table in the library." - -A gleam of hope passed over the Comte de Flavigny's grave face, -and died away as he said dolefully, "I do not see how Elspeth -could find it, and perhaps the old ladies would not let her in. -And . . . and . . . where _is_ Elspeth?" - -"I am sure that she is quite safe," answered La Vireville in a -consoling tone. "She will be in London, you may be certain, before -we are. . . . My child, what _is_ the matter?" - -For Anne-Hilarion, overtaken by a sudden whirlwind of sobs, had -buried his head in the corner of the chaise. - - - (2) - -It was the inevitable breakdown come at last. Had La Vireville -reflected a moment, he need not have been so startled; rather -would he have felt surprise that it had not happened earlier. For -a child of Anne-Hilarion's tender years to have been through so -much without the occurrence of something of the sort would have -been phenomenal, had his companion paused to think of it. But the -little boy was so sedate in his ways that he gave the impression -of being older than he was, and La Vireville was not experienced as -a nurse. However, some explanation of this seizure did dawn upon -him after a moment. - -"My poor little rabbit!" he exclaimed, putting his arm round him. -"There, don't cry so--it is all right! You will soon see Elspeth -again; and meanwhile, here is your uncle to look after you." - -But the little rabbit did not, apparently, want even his adoptive -uncle. He burrowed yet farther into the cushions of the carriage, -his whole body convulsed with weeping. Fragmentary ejaculations -of "Papa! Papa!" mingled with appeals for his grandfather and -for Elspeth emerged from his sobs, which now started to partake -of the character of screams. His grief was getting beyond his -control, and La Vireville began to be alarmed. Not only did he -think that such abandonment of distress must be bad for the child, -to whose nature it seemed so foreign, but it also occurred to him -that a passer-by, or even possibly the postilion, hearing such -testimony of affliction, and becoming curious as to what was going -forward in the chaise, might institute an investigation which could -hardly fail of being disastrous. Anne in this state would certainly -give the impression that he was being kidnapped--by his rescuer. -The émigré pulled up the window nearest to him, which was open, -and redoubled his efforts to quiet the boy. - -"I want to go home!" screamed Anne. "I want Papa! I want Papa! I -want my goldfish!" He beat with his fists against the dingy cushions, -and even repulsed his dear Chevalier's attempts at consolation. -Fortuné hardly knew him for the same child. - -And meanwhile they were slowing down at the entrance to Villers-Bocage, -a small place which would not have called for this attention but for -the fact that the whole infant population appeared to be at play upon -the road, thereby causing their pace to slacken. - -"Anne, you _must_ be quiet!" said his 'uncle,' giving him a little -shake, and speaking with a severity which he had never thought -to employ towards him. - -He might as well have tried to restrain a thunderstorm; he had -better have been dealing with a refractory Chouan. Anne was now -physically incapable of obeying him, nor were the narrow confines -of the chaise sufficient to enclose the torrents of his woe. - -La Vireville's heart sank as the vehicle came to a standstill, -and in another moment the head of the postilion, a Norman youth -with a flaming crop of hair, appeared like a setting sun at the -window. La Vireville instantly motioned to him to proceed. The -youth continued to make signs outside the glass, while other heads, -of a rustic type, began to gather behind him. At last, rapidly -losing his temper, La Vireville let down the glass. - -"What the devil have you pulled up for?" he demanded. "Go on, -confound you! We don't want to stop here!" - -"I thought something was wrong," responded the youth, though how -he could have heard anything through the beat of his horses' hoofs -was hard to say. But by now Anne's lamentations, flowing through -the opened window, were convincing the inhabitants of the little -town that the postilion's surmise was just. - -"There is nothing whatever wrong," asserted La Vireville shortly, -and, on the surface, mendaciously. "Drive on at once!" And he -began to pull up the window. - -Ere he could fulfil his intention a large, knotted hand was laid -upon it, and its frame became the setting for another study in -genre--a large, solemn, be-whiskered old face surmounted by a -hat of ancient fashion decorated with a tricolour cockade. The -sight of this emblem, and still more of the parti-coloured sash -crossing its wearer's breast, caused in the Chouan an outburst of -silent blasphemy. From absurd the situation had become dangerous. -The worst had come upon them--the intervention of officialdom--and -that in a place where they need never have encountered it but for -Anne-Hilarion's unfortunate access of woe. - -"Well, citizen, and why have you stopped here?" demanded this -apparition. - -"Parbleu, citizen, that is just what I want to know!" ejaculated -the émigré, a trifle taken aback. "The postilion took it into his -head to pull up without orders, because he said he heard my little -nephew crying--as you perceive." - -"In truth, I do perceive it," returned the ancient drily, with -his hand to his ear to catch La Vireville's reply through the -all-pervading sound of sobbing. "And what is he crying for?" - -Since La Vireville could hardly reply, "Because he is suddenly -overcome with longing for his émigré father and his English grandfather -in London, whither I am taking him," he said, much more tamely, -"Because, citizen, he is tired, and perhaps a little hungry." - -The old man bent his gaze upon Anne, who, looking up at that moment, -suspended a howl to return the compliment. "Poor child!" he said -unexpectedly. "You are in haste, citizen?" - -"Oh, so-so," replied La Vireville. It did not seem altogether -desirable to admit that he was, very much in haste. - -"You have come from far?" - -"Only from Caen this morning. Do you wish to see my papers, citizen -procureur-syndic?" For the Chouan guessed that he spoke with that -official--in less Republican phrase, the mayor. - -"Presently," said the other. "For the moment I was going to suggest -that as my daughter is, I know, preparing some excellent soup -for déjeuner, and since the little boy is crying because he is -hungry . . ." - -"You are too kind, citizen," said La Vireville, at once touched, -astonished, and full of a wish that he had not ascribed Anne's -tears to a quite problematical appetite. "But I fear that, though -not unduly pressed, we can hardly spare the time to get out. And -indeed we have some food with us." - -"But not good hot soup, I feel sure," said this benevolent old -mayor. "See, I will send for a bowl of it while you show me your -papers. One of my grandchildren here shall go for it. Here, Toinette, -run off to your mother and tell her----" The rest was lost as he -turned away from the window. - -"I don't want any soup," immediately said (like a later famous -character) Anne-Hilarion. He spoke peevishly, and, what was much -worse, in English. The apparition of the unknown official had -distinctly sobered him, but he was still intermittently heaving -with sobs. - -"My child," interposed La Vireville in the same tongue, since -he dared not say it in French, "I have told you before that you -_must_ not talk English!" And he went on quickly in his own language, -"Take the bowl of soup when it comes, to please this kind old -man, and then we shall be able to go on again." - -"But I don't want it!" repeated Anne--reverting, however, to French. -Then he added, just as the procureur-syndic was turning back to -the window again, "Why must I not talk English, M. le Chevalier?" - -"Oh, untamable tongue of childhood!" thought the luckless Chouan. -Anne had called him by his title too! The situation hung on the -mayor's deafness. La Vireville frowned at Anne, said meaningly -in a low tone, "Thy _uncle_ wishes thee to drink the soup, Annibal!" -and immediately after, in a loud one to the old man, "Will the -citizen procureur-syndic see my papers now? He will find them -in good order." For on that score at least, since his interview -at Caen, he was happy. - -As the citizen expressed his desire and readiness to do so without -any demur, it seemed clear that he had not caught the child's -remarks, so that Fortuné was not called upon to put into practice the -wild expedients which had scurried through his fertile brain--as, to -assert that his proper name was Chevalier (which would not be borne -out by those papers in the name of Duchâtel) or (on the chance that -the sound of English was unfamiliar to the procureur-syndic) that -Anne-Hilarion had been pedantically brought up to speak Latin on -occasions. He began to pull out his papers and was preparing to leave -the chaise, when the mayor suggested that he should enter instead, -and since the traveller could find no good reason against this, he -gathered the now tearless Anne-Hilarion out of the way--for there -were only two seats--and set him on his knee, while the old man got -out his spectacles and wetted his thumb for the proper perusal of -the documents. - -Then the soup came, borne by an elderly, responsible person of -about ten. Neither she, however, nor the train of smaller fry who -accompanied her were exempt from curiosity, and clambered up on -both steps of the chaise to witness its consumption. Anne received -the refreshment with resignation. It was all very kind and homely -and unexpected, this gift from the enemy, but if anybody ever -realised the discomfort caused by coals of fire on the head, it -was M. de la Vireville. Nor was he unaware of the ludicrousness -of his position, conscious that possible pursuers on the road -from Caen might overtake them because their postchaise, instead -of hastening towards the coast, was stationary in the _place_ of -Villers-Bocage, while a little boy unwillingly drank soup in the -company of the official who ought to be arresting them. - -The old mayor, who was taken with Anne because, as he explained, -his numerous grandchildren were mostly girls, would plainly have -liked to talk to him--a proceeding which, in the child's present -unnerved state, would surely have resulted in some disastrous -revelation or other. But Anne, for once, was not inclined to -converse, and also there was the soup to be disposed of. Never, -to La Vireville's knowledge, had soup been so hot in this world; -it seemed to him that it must have been specially heated by demons -in a lower, so long did it take to consume. - -At last--at long last--the ordeal was over, the nearly empty bowl -handed back to Toinette, her train ejected from the steps, the -postilion on his horse, the charitable old procureur-syndic -back, smiling, on the stones of the _place_. The horses jerked -forward . . . - -"Well, nephew Annibal," began La Vireville, "of all the uncomfortable -quarters of an hour----" But nephew Annibal, worn out by emotion -and full of good soup, had fallen instantly asleep like a puppy, -his head against the Chouan's breast. - - - (3) - -Fortuné shifted the child so that he should lie more comfortably. -Tear-stains were on Anne-Hilarion's cheeks, and round his mouth -traces of the refreshment which his harassed uncle had forced -upon his appetite. "Pauvre mioche!" thought 'Monsieur Augustin,' -looking down at the head now resting on his arm. And he thought -also, "I never knew he had it in him to be so troublesome!" - -For himself, he fell into reflection over recent events--the first -opportunity, so it seemed to him, that he had had to review them -in quiet, for on board the _Trois Frères_, a peaceable enough -refuge in itself, he felt always on the point of having to talk -to the captain or to fend off awkward inquiries. Yet it was in -the captain's cabin, after breakfast that first morning, that -Anne had given him a more or less detailed account of happenings -at Rose Cottage; how M. Duchâtel had taken him to the Cathedral -and had been very friendly and talkative, and of the particularly -sound sleep which had come upon him, Anne-Hilarion, that evening. -It had needed questioning to bring out the story of Mlle. Angèle's -nasty-tasting posset, for he was too innocent to connect that -draught with his slumbers. No details, however, could be furnished -of the departure from Dover, anxious as Fortuné was to obtain -them, for the simple reason that the small traveller had not -wakened till midway between England and France, in what he had -reported to be "a little ship, not so big as this." From what -he could gather La Vireville thought it must have been a lugger, -Heaven knew how procured. - -On arrival at Calais, M. Duchâtel appeared to have conveyed Anne, -frightened, as he admitted, but still somewhat stupefied, to a -private house--unidentifiable from the child's description--to -have put him to bed and left him behind a locked door, lest, as -he put it, his father's enemies should break in and steal him away. -For he had told Anne that he was taking him to France by his father's -wish, expressed through the old ladies, his father's friends, and -the child had believed him. So Anne thought he was going to Verona, -and at first was not ill-pleased. - -It had been, he thought, afternoon when he had been imprisoned in -this way at Calais, and yet they had not left that town till next -day; of that Anne was positive. He could give no reason for the -delay. La Vireville was driven to suppose that Duchâtel had some -secret service business of his own in Calais--possibly unknown -to Mme. de Chaulnes, who had spoken so exultantly about the -twenty-four hours' start. Moreover, he probably little expected -to be pursued so soon. But the delay in Calais had been providential -from Fortuné's point of view. He could not help wondering now, or -a second or two, whether, supposing the pursued to be at present -hunting the pursuer, the soup episode might not prove as providential -from Duchâtel's. - -That was all the conversation which he and Anne had had on the -point at the time, owing to the advent of a sailor into the cabin; -but later, that evening in fact, as Anne was looking over the -side at the water, tinged with sunset, which heaved slowly past, -he suddenly said: - -"The ship I came from England in moved about more than this, M. -le Chevalier." - -"Mon oncle," corrected La Vireville, looking round to see if anyone -was in earshot. "Did it, Annibal? Were you frightened?" - -"I was down in a cabin," said Anne. "I could not see the sea then. -But I knew I was in a ship. And I thought"--he paused, and then -went on--"I thought you were drowned, mon oncle, and that it was -my fault." - -"Thought I was drowned, child? How could that be--and why should -it be your fault?" - -"Like my dream," said the little boy, staring hard over the bulwark -at the sea. "You were drowned because . . . because I . . . I told -_them_ things about you." His face was scarlet. - -"Well, my child," said the émigré, putting his arm round him, "it -does not matter so much if you did." And, seeing signs of still -greater emotional discomfort, he embellished this questionable -statement. "It does not matter the scratch of a pin. I like to be -talked about, Anne--it's a failing of mine! . . . But everybody -doesn't, you know, little one. Did you tell them much about anybody -else?" - -Anne had put his knuckles into his eyes, and in a small and faltering -voice had confessed that he had talked about M. de Soucy and a -little about M. l'Abbé, because 'they,' the old ladies, were Papa's -friends, and he did not know . . . - -La Vireville took him on to his knee, and after waiting to see -that the captain was not really coming right up to them, whispered -to him not to cry. "You are not to blame, child," he went on. -"Those old ladies cheated you, as they have cheated older and -wiser folk. But there is one thing--a place, not a person . . . I -wonder if you told them the name of the place where the expedition -is going to land? Can you remember if you did?" - -His tone was very gentle as he put the question through Anne's -rather tangled curls into his ear, but there was a lively anxiety -in his eyes. - -"I could not remember," sighed the little boy almost apologetically. -"I tried. They said they would give me a crown piece for my money-box -if I could. I cannot remember it now." - -"Don't try!" said La Vireville hastily, thanking his Maker, though -not doubting that the name would eventually be known through some -other agency. - -"And I said," proceeded Anne, "that if I could remember it I would -not tell them--no, that part came in my dream, where the Queen -of Elfland was in the boat," he corrected conscientiously. "I said, -really, that I often forgot names and remembered them, sometimes, -afterwards." - -"And did they ask you afterwards? Did M. Duchâtel ask you?" - -It appeared that the old ladies had asked him afterwards, and that -M. Duchâtel's solicitude on the point, though vain, had been extreme -all the way from Calais to Abbeville. But M. Duchâtel had never, -it seemed, been actually unkind (it would not have suited his book, -thought La Vireville) and it was not till the episode of the Citizen -Pourcelles' declamation that the Verona idea had lost its hold on -Anne's mind. But then, child though he was, he had gathered from -the turgid but unequivocal statements of the Ode that he was not -in the company of those who could in any way be described as 'Papa's -friends.' - -Yet, except for that final shower of tears at Abbeville, it did -not appear that the kidnapper had ever had any trouble with the -little boy. The rescuer, now, could not say so much. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - "FIFTY FATHOMS DEEP" - - - (1) - -"We shall never make Jersey with this wind," said the young fisherman. - -"We _must_!" replied La Vireville firmly. "We could run for Gorey -if St. Helier is impossible." - -The Norman shrugged his shoulders under his faded guernsey. "Much -more likely to be blown into St. Malo! She makes a great deal -of leeway." - -The subject of their conversation lay before them at that moment -on the beach, an open sixteen-foot fisherman's boat, broad in the -beam, ballasted with stones, and lug-rigged. The unlucky north-east -wind, strong and steady, whipped La Vireville's cloak about him, -and caused him to put a hasty hand to his hat. It was about nine of -the spring evening and very dusk. The lights of the upper town of -Granville showed about three miles to the left, along the crest -of the high rock that jutted out into the sea, and a scrap of an -undesired moon served to emphasise the rate at which the clouds -were driving over the sky. - -"At any rate we must put to sea," said the émigré, determined to -waste no more words. "Get the boat ready, and I will fetch the -child, and then help you down with her. Wherever the wind may drive -us to, we cannot remain here." - -He spoke no less than the truth. There had been a very unpleasant -little scene on leaving Vire that morning, from which the Chouan -had managed to extricate Anne and himself only by the liberal -distribution of bribes. He had been driven to employ the same -unsatisfactory method with regard also to their postilion, dismissing -him in unusual and suspicious fashion outside Granville. Although -the youth (plied in addition by his fare with much strong drink) -had promised not to take the empty postchaise into the town, but -to return with sealed lips on the road whence he had come, and -though his start on that road had actually been witnessed, it -was more than probable that he was, at the very moment, back in -Granville, if not laying information against his late passengers, -at least babbling about them over his cups. Hasty departure was -therefore imperative, but the situation of St. Valéry-sur-Somme -seemed to be reproduced, with a difference. This time fate (or, -in this particular, La Vireville's knowledge) had brought the -travellers to a maison de confiance--one of the chain of secret -Royalist refuges which stretched along the roads from the coast--had -given them a well-disposed fisherman, its master, and a convenient -boat, but had denied the wind necessary to the thirty miles that -lay between them and Jersey. - -François, the fisherman in question, shrugged his shoulders again. -"Very well, if you insist. You know the risks you are running. -If we weather Chausey, we may be blown on to the Minquiers." - -"My friend," retorted La Vireville, "they are nothing to the risks -we run by remaining. I prefer the hospitality of the plateau des -Minquiers to that of Granville prison. Shall I give you a hand -with the boat?" - - * * * * * - -In the little cottage on the shore the fisherman's young wife -was sitting with Anne-Hilarion, very drowsy, on her knee. - -"Monsieur," she said, as her husband and the émigré came in, "it -is wicked to take this baby to sea on such a night!" - -"For that, Madame," replied La Vireville, "you must blame the -women who sent him over to France." - -The young woman kissed the sleepy little boy and rose with him -in her arms. - -"I will carry him down to the boat," she said. "You will have -your hands full. There is the water-keg, François, and a basket -of provisions. If you get within sight of Jersey this time to-morrow -you will be lucky. You have the compass--and the nets?" - -"Nets!" exclaimed La Vireville. "Ah, I understand." It was as -well to have some ostensible reason for being at sea. - -They went down the beach, all laden in their way, for even Anne, -half asleep though he was, clutched in one hand the foreign shell -which the master of the _Trois Frères_ had given him. In spite of -the strong wind there were no breakers of sufficient force to make -launching difficult. The fisherman's wife deposited her burden and -helped to run the boat down. Then she went back, picked up the -child, and gave him into the arms of La Vireville, where he stood -knee-deep in the swirling water, with François holding on to the -boat on the other side. - -"Madame, I thank you for lending me your husband," said the Chouan, -as he took the boy from her. - -"It is only because of _this_," she answered, indicating the child. - -"I know that, but I do not thank you any the less." He put Anne-Hilarion -over the side and scrambled on board himself. François followed his -example, and began to push off. - -"Take the tiller, Monsieur," he said, "and I will hoist the sail. -Au revoir, la femme!" - -The wind carried away his wife's farewell. Rocking violently at -first on the swell, the boat gradually steadied and gathered way -as the lug-sail shot up, and at last, close-hauled, she was making -her way out of the bay, and La Vireville and his charge were really -leaving their native shores. - -"Enfin!" exclaimed the former, and as François was now at liberty -to steer, he relinquished the tiller and took Anne-Hilarion in -his arms. - -Once out of the lee of the land the full force of the wind was -apparent. The _Marie-François_--in such manner did the fishing-boat -combine the names of her owner and his wife--lay over to it; in -the gloom the water rushed white past the gunwale (there was no -coaming), and La Vireville had some ado to keep himself and the -child in place on the weather side. - -"You see!" shouted François, and he eased her a point or two. - -He was laying the usual course for Jersey, to the northward of -Granville, by the Passage de la Déroute. But the wind was strongly -against them, and on their lee, to the left, as they both knew, lay -the miles and miles of shoals and broken, half-submerged rocks and -islets of the Iles Chausey and the Minquiers, so treacherous a -network of reefs that for thirty miles out from the French coast in -their direction there was no water more than ten fathoms deep, and -few channels that were safe. It was true that this was not the -direction which the voyagers wished to take, but it was, unfortunately, -the direction of the steadily-increasing wind. - -From time to time La Vireville struck a light, looked at the compass -and reported, and François would take measures accordingly. On -the other tack, however, the _Marie-François_ did not sail so well. -After some couple of hours spent in these unprofitable manœuvres, -during which they had only progressed a very few miles, La Vireville -permitted himself to remark on this fact, and to say resignedly that -he supposed they must make up their minds between being driven on to -the rocks of Chausey or revisiting the Norman mainland. For himself -he preferred Chausey. - -"I told you that she made much leeway," replied the owner of the -_Marie-François_ rather sulkily. "If she were a bigger boat we -might change our course and ride out under the Iles Chausey till -morning, when the wind will probably abate, but she is too small -for that. Or, if the tide were making, we could find our way inside -to the natural harbour that there is by the Grande Ile (always -supposing there were no vessels of the Blues doing the same). But -the ebb has already begun, and if we got in there we could not -get out again, for the channels would be dry." - -La Vireville, with Anne huddled up in his arms, reflected. He had -sailed too often in just such a small craft between Brittany and -Jersey not to know its limitations. - -"Then I am afraid we must give up the idea of making Jersey and -run for the coast of Brittany," he said at last. "I know it very -well between Cap Fréhel and St. Brieuc. In fact"--he hesitated -a moment--"I have a command thereabouts. With this wind we could -make that part of the coast easily--provided that we are not sighted -in the morning by the Blues, either at sea or ashore." - -"Very well," agreed the Norman. "Our best plan will be to go between -Chausey and the Minquiers. It is dangerous." - -"It is better than returning," insisted Fortuné. "I suppose you -know the channels well? And we should get some shelter from the -lee of the islands of Chausey." - -So they went about, and presently the little boat was engaged, in -the darkness and the high wind, among that archipelago of dreary -and dangerous reefs, of which some rose like needles out of the -sea, and some, more deadly still, were only visible at low water. -Of such were the most perilous of all, Les Ardentes, which lay in -wait at the entry of the passage. And the moon would put aside the -flying clouds for a moment, to show them the surf boiling white -round some evil splinter of rock standing up in the channel like -a warning finger, or the water sucking greedily over an unseen -slab of granite. Only François' consummate steering, his steady -nerves, and, perhaps, the luck which sometimes attends those who -challenge risks, got them safely through. La Vireville kept Anne's -eyes covered the whole time. - -Even when they were through conditions were not agreeable. When -François had set the course fairly for the coast of Brittany they -felt the full violence of the wind again, this time, it was true, -no longer in their teeth. The sorely-buffeted _Marie-François_, -obliged unceasingly to tack to avoid being driven on to the -St. Malo coast, shipped every few minutes a little water, flung -half-contemptuously into her by a snarling wave. About two in the -morning it became bitingly cold. La Vireville had long ago taken off -his cloak to wrap round Anne, and finally he made a kind of bundle -of him and put him right in the bows, where, in spite of the -lobster-pots and the smell of fish and tarred rope, he thought the -child would get more shelter than in the stern. Frightened and -sea-sick, the little boy did, however, fall now and again into -slumber of a sort, when La Vireville could turn an undivided -attention to the management of the sails or to baling. - -Thus the night wore on, and at last, as the dawn brightened on -the grey, heaving waters, the coast of Brittany was visible on -their left. The wind, now considerably abated, had gone round several -points towards the north, and had St. Malo been their objective -instead of the spot they particularly wished to avoid, they could -have run before it for that harbour. As it was, they must make -farther along the coast for the little bay which La Vireville had -in view. It was true that, owing to the change in the wind, they -would have difficulty in reaching this point before sunrise, and -a man with a price on his head, like La Vireville, does not of -preference select full daylight to land on a guarded coast, in -precisely that region of it where he may with most probability -be expected to land; but there was no help for it. There was always -the bare possibility of falling in with one of the Jersey luggers -before they got there, and thus making their landing unnecessary. -Moreover, a sort of informal armistice was supposed to be in existence -at the moment, on account of negotiations for a settlement then -going forward between Republicans and Royalists in the west, though -La Vireville pinned very little trust to the truce in question. - -The unwished-for sun was already rising when Anne-Hilarion, rather -wan, was fetched from his place of retirement and persuaded to try -to eat something. He displayed small interest and no disappointment -on learning that he was being taken to Brittany instead of to Jersey. -When this information was being imparted to him the fishing-boat -was already edging in towards the coast--a coast of cliffs and bays -equally asleep in the early sunshine, whence, so her crew hoped, -her small size and her inconspicuous brown sail would save her -from observation. After the night of cold and peril the change of -atmosphere was not unwelcome. In another half-hour, with luck, they -would reach the little bay La Vireville had in mind. - -The émigré was just coaxing Anne to finish a slice of bread at -which he was languidly nibbling when François bent forward from -the tiller and said a couple of words: - -"The Blues!" - -La Vireville followed his pointing finger. On the low cliff a little -ahead of them, which they would shortly pass to port, was a small -wooden building, and, pacing up and down in front of it, a man in -uniform with a musket over his shoulder. - -The Chouan and the fisherman looked at one another. They could -not hope, at so short a distance, to escape notice, unless the -sentry were blind; the question was whether, in view of the truce, -he would or would not consider their craft suspicious. On their -present course every moment brought them nearer to the headland, -and consequently within better range, while if they tacked and -stood out to sea they ran the chance both of attracting more -attention and of giving evidence of an uneasy conscience. - -"We had better continue as we are, eh?" remarked La Vireville. - -Francois nodded. - -"I am going to put you back in the bows, Anne," said the émigré. -"It is warmer there." And, catching him up, he went forward with -him over the uneven stone ballast and deposited him as low as -possible among the lobster-pots and nets. The coast was hidden -from his own view by the lug-sail, and he could not see what was -passing there. The _Marie-François_ held on at a good speed. - -"He has seen us," observed François after a moment. A sort of smile -flickered over his face, and he pulled the mainsheet a little -tighter round the thwart. - -La Vireville came back and stood by the mast. They were now abreast -of the guardhouse. "He has roused the others," said François grimly. -"He was not blind, that parishioner, worse luck!" - -And with the words came the sound of a shout from the cliff, then of -a shot. A bullet splashed into their wake a yard or so behind them. - -Fortuné de la Vireville shrugged his shoulders. They were very -obviously not out of range. But neither he nor the Norman had any -impulse to bring to, which was evidently the course intimated -by the bullet. - -"So much for the truce!" he said aloud, and as the words left his -mouth came a second and more menacing crackle from the cliff. At -the same moment La Vireville was conscious of a violent blow on the -side of the head--so violent, indeed, that it threw him off his -balance. He had a lightning impression, compound of resentment and -surprise, that the yard had been hit and had fallen on him. And -then, suddenly, in the midst of the sunshine, it was night. . . . - - - (2) - -La Vireville opened his eyes. It was day again, bright sunlight. -The _Marie-François_ was bounding forward before a spanking breeze. -For a second or two La Vireville could not remember why he was -there--hardly, indeed, who he was. Then he looked up instinctively -at the yard. It was there, unharmed, at the top of the brown, -swelling sail. He himself was half lying, half sitting on the -seat that ran round the gunwale, and everything was as before -the helmsman at the tiller---- - -The helmsman! - -"My God!" said La Vireville aloud. The fisherman was indeed sitting -in the sternsheets, his arm over the tiller; but he was sitting -in a heap, and his face was upturned to the sky. Under the tiller -was a red pool shifting with the motion of the boat. The Chouan -stared at him horror-struck. "My God!" he said again. "He's been -hit. . . . Anne, Anne, where are you?" - -Only then did he become aware of something clutching tightly one -of his legs, and, looking down, saw the child clinging there, his -face hidden. The émigré moved to take him in his arms, and was -instantly conscious that he was very dizzy and that there was -blood on the breast of his own coat. "Ciel! did they get me too?" -he wondered, and putting up a hand to his head withdrew it with a -reddened palm. How long ago did it all happen? There was the coast, -but no guardhouse. It must be out of sight now behind the headland. -The wind had taken them on, the dead hand had steered them--if -indeed François were dead? He must see to him first. - -"Anne--my little pigeon, my comrade, it is all right," he said, -stooping to him. At the sound of his voice the child lifted his head, -took one look at him, and screamed. La Vireville then realised that -there must be blood down his face, and, pulling out his handkerchief, -did his best to remove it. Afterwards he twisted the handkerchief -hurriedly round his head, in which, so far as he knew, there might be -a bullet, though he inclined to think that it was a ball ricochetting -off the mast which had given him a glancing blow. Otherwise he would -hardly be alive to speculate about it. Not that there was any time -just then for speculation. . . . Anne-Hilarion suffered himself to be -lifted on to his friend's knee, and, shuddering convulsively, hid his -face once more in his breast. La Vireville comforted him as well as -he could, trying hastily to dissipate the terror which seemed to have -frozen him, for he could not devote much time to consolation now, -when Francois might be bleeding to death. So he soon lifted the -little boy off his knee, and put him down facing the bows, telling -him not to look round; and Anne, sobbing now as if his heart would -break, leant his head on the gunwale, and so remained. - -But François was quite dead. He had fallen back and died instantly, -so the Chouan judged, shot, probably, through the heart. It was for -this, thought La Vireville, that he had dragged him from his -wife. . . . He pulled the body with difficulty away from the tiller, -laid it on the ballast, spread over it a small spare mizen, and -sat down at the helm to think. But he found himself looking rather -hopelessly at the mess of blood below the tiller; something must be -done to it, for the sake of the little boy who had been through so -much. He found a rag under the seat, and with this converted the pool -into a smear, and then perceived that, still bleeding himself from -the head, he was leaving wherever he moved a further series of bright -splashes. "I must stop that," he thought, and took stronger measures -with a piece of sailcloth hacked off the mizen. - -But all the while he was aware of strange momentary gaps in -consciousness, though his brain was clear enough. At any cost, he -must not lose his senses again--or if he must, let it at least be on -land. Only an extraordinary coincidence had saved the _Marie-François_ -from being blown on to the rocks or out to sea. Anne was still -sobbing; the time to comfort him was not yet come. The pressing need -was to make a decision while he yet could. Fortunately he knew his -whereabouts exactly. . . . After a few moments' thought he made the -decision, altered the boat's course a trifle, and, sitting there -steering with the dead fisherman at his feet, began gently to talk -to Anne at the other end of the boat. - -And so, presently, the sun shining, the waves slapping her sides, -and the lug-sail wide with the following wind, the _Marie-François_ -began to make for the cliffs, just where a spit of rock ran out at -their feet and they sloped to a little cove. Here there was only -a lazy swell that stirred the long seaweed, for it was half-tide. - -"We are going ashore here, child," said La Vireville, letting -down the sail. "You will not see this boat again." For he meant -to sink her if it could be done; she was too clear an indication -of their whereabouts, and here, so near his own command, he would -have small difficulty in getting another boat for Jersey, and -men to sail her, too, more capable of the task than he felt at -present. - -White, dishevelled, and tear-stained, the little boy got off the -seat. "Are we to get out now?" he asked uncertainly, as the sail -came down with a run. - -"Yes, little one, and be careful that you do not slip," said the -émigré, putting him over the side on to the rock, and scrambling -after him. Once there he spread his cloak on the seaweed. "Now sit -quiet for a moment," he went on, in a business-like tone, "and take -care of these things for me." He put the water-keg, the compass, and -what remained of the provisions beside him, and armed himself -with an oar. - -"I am not going to leave you, Anne," he said. "I am only going -to the end of this rock; but I want you to look at the compass -carefully while I am away, so that when I come back in a minute -or two you will be able to tell me which is the north. Will you?" - -"Yes, M. le Chevalier," responded Anne, and averted his eyes not -unwillingly from La Vireville's bandaged head to the still-swinging -compass-card. - -With the oar La Vireville manœuvred the boat farther out along the -spit of rock, where she would catch a better wind for his purpose. -Then he clambered on board again, and, lifting the sail, looked -regretfully at the young, sunburnt face beneath. Thinking of the -dead fisherman's wife, he turned out his pockets; there was nothing -there but a claspknife and a twist of tobacco, but round his neck -was a medal, and on his finger a silver ring, and these he took. -Then with a rope he lashed the body to the thwarts and made fast -the tiller. The last thing was done with an auger from the locker. -Hastily he then hoisted the sail, scrambled back on to the rock, -and pushed the boat off with the oar. - -Slowly at first, then faster as the breeze caught her, the -_Marie-François_ moved away. Her executioner had bored only small -holes, so that she should be well out in the bay before her doom -came upon her; but she was settling little by little as she went. -She began at last to lie over to the wind, and that hastened the -end; the water without and the water within met over the gunwale; -she heeled suddenly over, struggled to right herself, heeled over -again . . . and was gone. The brown sail lay a second or two on -the water, then it followed the rest, and the _Marie-François_ -and her master went down to the bottom of the bay. - -An oar, a loose spar, some indeterminate objects, and a couple of -lobster-pots bobbed on the surface of the waves as La Vireville, -dizzy with pain and regret, made his way back over the seaweed to -the forlorn, frightened child for whom these two lives had just -been thrown away. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - INTRODUCING GRAIN D'ORGE - - - (1) - -Anne-Hilarion was still sitting obediently on the cloak, staring -at the now stationary compass. La Vireville stooped and kissed -him before he had time to ask any questions. "Anne, you have been -a very brave little boy! Now you will go on being brave, will you -not? The fisherman and his boat have gone home; you will not see -them any more. But we do not need them, because for the rest of -the day we are going to stay here, in a cave that I know of. You -can help me to carry these things to it. Mind you do not slip on -the seaweed!" - -Employment, of whatever kind, was exactly the tonic needed by the -child at the moment. He picked up the nearly empty basket of food -and followed the émigré, who carried the water-keg and the compass. -The sea whispered up the side of the rock, lifting the seaweed. -"Be very careful," adjured La Vireville over his shoulder. "Here -we are. I expect you have never been in a cave before?" - -Only just above high-water mark, of a slit-like entrance so narrow -that La Vireville, stooping, could only just squeeze through, and -with even this entrance partly screened by a projecting rock, the -cave opened out within to respectable proportions. The Chevalier -de la Vireville had not, in fact, been guided, in his choice of -a landing-place, entirely by the fact of his mishap, which made -an immediate haven a necessity, nor by the knowledge that the -soldiers on the cliff might very possibly come along in pursuit. -The thought of this very spot had visited his mind once or twice -earlier on the voyage. - -Anne hesitated a moment, rather daunted by the darkness, so La -Vireville set down his burdens and took him by the hand. - -"It will soon get lighter," he said cheerfully. "Come and sit -down by me." He disposed his own long legs with some haste upon -the sandy floor, for his head was swimming so much that he feared -to fall. - -Anne came willingly enough and nestled up to him. "We are quite -safe now, are we not, M. le Chevalier?" - -"Quite," said Fortuné, with his arm round him. "And I think the -best thing we could do would be to go to sleep, don't you, nephew?" - -"I am in effect very sleepy," said Anne, leaning his head against -him with a sigh. A moment's silence, and he went on, in a changed -voice, as if against his will, "I was frightened . . . there was -blood . . . you too, and the fisherman----" - -"Of course you were frightened for a moment," interrupted the -émigré, holding him tighter. "But listen, my little pigeon, and -I will explain it all. The soldiers on the cliff fired at us, as -you know, and a bullet hit François the fisherman, and because -it hurt him very much, he fainted--you understand? At the same -time your uncle got a blow on the head from another bullet, which -hit the mast first and then knocked him down. But, you see, he is -quite recovered now. In the same way, when François had lain down -a little in the bottom of the boat he felt better again, and after -you and I had got out of her he was able to sail her back home; -for, you know, with this wind and in the daylight we should never -have got to Jersey to-day. We shall go at night, when the soldiers -can't see us. So you see, mon petit, that there is nothing to be -alarmed at now, and as for hearing shots and seeing . . . a little -blood . . . you must remember that you too will fight for the -King some day!" - -"Yes," said the little boy. "Unless I write a big book like Grandpapa." - -"Well, whatever you do, you must never let yourself be frightened." - -"I suppose that you and Papa are never frightened?" deduced Anne. - -"Never!" responded La Vireville firmly. ("Heaven forgive me for -a liar!" he added inwardly.) - -"Then I will try not to be," announced Anne, with another sigh, -and, to the Chouan's relief, he settled down against him, and -almost instantly fell asleep. - -As for La Vireville, he remained for some time in the same position, -his back against the rocky wall of the cave, looking down at the -brown head with its heavy silken curls that rested confidingly -against his redingote, and reflecting on the chance that had given -him so unusual a companion in these regions. This cave had known -in the past year very different occupants, for it had served, and -would shortly serve again, as a depot for arms and ammunition, -smuggled in under cover of night from Jersey, and smuggled out -again, in the same conditions, by the Chouans of the parishes which -he commanded in the neighbourhood. He touched one of the soft -ringlets that held so many gleams of gold in their brown, then, -very cautiously, so as not to disturb the sleeper, he slipped -down at full length on the floor of the cave, taking Anne with -him in an encircling arm, and, pillowing his own aching head on -the other, tried to follow his example. - - - (2) - -During the afternoon Anne-Hilarion woke up, in a mood for converse, -and with his sleep his late adventures seemed, temporarily at -least, blotted from his mind. Having eaten, he made inquiries -after La Vireville's head, but instead of reviving the question -of how he got the hurt, branched off into an account of Baptiste's -calamitous fall off a ladder at some undated epoch, and the large -swelling on his forehead which was the result. From this topic -he entered that of a gathered finger once sustained by Elspeth, -which had, she said, pained her right up to her shoulder, and to -which a succession of poultices had been applied. La Vireville -rather absently remarking that it would be impossible to make -poultices at present, nothing but seaweed being available for -the purpose, Anne, for some reason, found this observation so -exquisitely humorous that he laughed over it for a long time. - -"If we were wrecked on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe, of -whom Grandpapa has read to me," he concluded, "we might have to -make poultices of seaweed. Perhaps we might even have to eat it. -Do you know about Robinson Crusoe, M. le Chevalier?" - -"No," answered Fortuné drowsily. "Tell me about him." - -Anne told him, to the appropriate sound of the waves without. - -"One hears the sea in here," he remarked at the end. "But not so much -as last night. Last night it was as it says in 'Noroway-over-the-foam': - - "'The lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, - And gurly grew the sea . . .'" - -And he added, crooning the words to himself: - - "'Half owre, half owre to Aberdour - 'Tis fifty fathoms deep; - And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens - Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.'" - -"Whatever are you talking about, child?" asked La Vireville uneasily, -coming out of his doze. - -But Anne went on, apparently fascinated by the words, and not much -thinking of their meaning, which had on a past occasion so much -distressed him: - - "'O lang, lang may the ladies sit, - Wi their fans into their hand, - Before they see Sir Patrick Spens - Come sailing to the strand! - - 'And lang, lang may the maidens sit - Wi' their gowd kames in their hair, - A-waiting for their ain dear loves! - For them they'll see nae mair.'" - -La Vireville winced, and his hand went to the medal and the ring -in his pocket. - -"Your selection of poetry is not very cheerful, my small friend," -he remarked. - -Anne-Hilarion looked at him with large eyes of surprise. "Do you -not like it, M. le Chevalier? I think it has so pleasant a sound. -But I expect your head aches a good deal, does it not? Then I -will not say any more of it. That is the end, I think." He had -been sitting on a pile of dried seaweed at a little distance, -whence he could see out of the cave entrance; now he got up, and -came and slipped his hand into his friend's. "If you wish to sleep, -M. le Chevalier----" - -"You will play sentry, eh?" finished La Vireville, smiling up at -him. "Very well, only you must promise on no account to go outside -the cave. We shall leave it as soon as it is dark. That is," he -added to himself, "if this accursed head of mine is steady enough -for me to walk by then." For he was beginning to fear that it might -not be, and it was therefore with relief that he accepted Anne's -suggestion, and closed his eyes again. - -Left to his own devices, the Comte de Flavigny sat for quite a -long time solemnly and sympathetically regarding his prostrate -companion--rather as that companion had, earlier, studied him. -M. le Chevalier looked so long, lying there, longer even, Anne -thought, than when he was on his feet. Then the watcher got up and -proceeded to make a careful tour round his domain. A meticulous -search yielded nothing of more interest than an empty water-keg, -similar to their own, abandoned in a corner. Having exhausted the -hopeful emotions of this quest, Anne looked longingly at the entrance -of the cave, whence he could see a slit of sea and sky, and hear -the waves and the gulls. He desired greatly to go out, but his -promise rendered that impossible. So he returned to his heap of -seaweed, and wondered if François the fisherman had got nearly home -by now; for he did not in the least doubt the explanation of recent -events that had been given him, though he did not much care to dwell -upon them. Then he thought of his grandfather, and speculated as -to what he was doing; he thought also of Elspeth, and Baptiste, -and the exotic Lal Khan. He would soon be seeing them again now. - -M. le Chevalier stirred in his sleep--if indeed he were really -asleep, of which Anne was not sure--threw out an arm, and said -something that sounded angry. - -Suddenly Anne bethought him that he had not said his prayers -since . . . he could not exactly remember when. So he knelt down -on the seaweed and applied himself to his devotions, adding a -special petition on behalf of the Chevalier de la Vireville. After -that he himself fell asleep again. - - - (3) - -It was quite dark in the cave when La Vireville dragged himself -to his feet and told Anne that it was time for them to be leaving -it. The subsequent Odyssey was, to Anne at least, full of interest, -and undoubtedly possessed more reality to him than to his half-dazed -companion. After they had made their way through the narrow opening -of the cave they had to scramble over many rocks full of pools in -which, so Anne opined, there might be crabs, only it was too dark to -see them--even though it was not so dark outside the cave as in it. -His views on their alleged presence, and the likelihood of their -seizing hold of the travellers' feet and retaining them willy-nilly -till the tide came up again, were discouraged by La Vireville (or at -least their utterance was), and he was told that he must not speak -above a whisper. So in silence they clambered, in silence they -arrived upon a beach which was first sand, where the waves were -coming in gently, and then pebbles, which not only made a noise but -also hurt the feet. Here La Vireville picked up Anne under one arm -and so carried him. Then, when they were at the top of the bank of -pebbles, they had to climb a low cliff where there was a path, -somewhat difficult to see. After that they were on the level, on -grass, and soon after in a strange, tunnel-like lane, very deep and -dark indeed, and so narrow that they could only just go abreast. -Soon there were great trees growing on the banks of this lane, and -it became so dark that Anne could only see a few feet in front, but -M. le Chevalier went on without hesitating, though not very fast. -Sometimes Anne walked by his side, his hand in his; sometimes he -was carried. Then they were out of the lane, in among more and more -trees. Anne began to be tired, and M. le Chevalier seemed tired too, -for he stopped and sat down occasionally, and once or twice he said -things to himself which Anne did not understand. - -There was some animal or bird among these trees which kept making -a strange noise, and this M. le Chevalier would now and then imitate -exactly. Anne asked what it was, and was told that it was an owl. -After a little it seemed to Anne that there were people too in the -forest, strange shadowy forms in curious garments. He commented on -this, and M. le Chevalier told him not to be frightened, that they -were all friends, and would do him no harm, and that it was, in -fact, they who made the sound like an owl which he had answered. -And, almost as he said it, two men seemed to come up out of the -ground, two men with great wide-brimmed hats and long loose hair. -They each carried a gun. It was too dark to see their faces. M. -de la Vireville spoke to one in a strange tongue, and then he said -to Anne, "Let him carry you, little one, and don't be frightened." -So the man took him up in his arms, and Anne, being tired, was -glad of this, though he had to struggle against a certain amount -of the alarm which he had promised to try never to feel again. - -M. le Chevalier, who was of course too big to be carried, however -tired he might feel, took the arm of the other man, and they went -on again. And then, just as Anne was thinking that he would ask -to be put down--for, after all, the man who carried him smelt -almost too disagreeably--they came to a little hut roofed with -branches, and one of the men knocked, and made the noise of the -owl, and the door opened and they all went in. - -In the hut was another man in strange dress, and here, by a couple -of rushlights, Anne, when he was deposited on his feet, had his -first full view of a Chouan. - -By his side there stood an oldish man, not very tall, with enormously -powerful shoulders and rather a short neck. On the lank, grizzled -hair that fell to these shoulders was a large wide-brimmed hat; -he wore the strangest breeches that Anne had ever seen, made of -some dirty white material, pleated and full like a woman's skirt; -from these to his sabots his legs were clad in deerskin gaiters. -But his coat engaged the little boy's attention almost more, for -it was blue, very short, and appeared to have another underneath -it, and the front was elaborately embroidered in whorls of yellow -and red. Pinned on to it was a tiny soiled square of linen, roughly -worked with the emblem of the Sacred Heart, and a rosary was looped -through one of the button-holes. The man's little twinkling eyes, -set deep in his head, looked, Anne decided, rather wicked, and he -had never seen a face which seemed so much as if it never could -be washed clean, so grey and leathery was the wrinkled skin. The -Chouan carried a musket slung across his back, and a knife and -two pistols in a leather belt. - -M. le Chevalier, sitting on the edge of the table, with both hands -to his head, now addressed this being as "Grain d'Orge," and said -a few words to him in a strange language. Anne had by this time -arrived at the conclusion that this was the man who had carried -him, so when the lips of the being parted in what the little boy -supposed to be a smile (displaying a few yellow teeth, and causing -innumerable more wrinkles to appear), and it held out a large grey -hand, uttering something unintelligible, Anne gathered that he was -being given a friendly greeting of some kind, and with very little -hesitation laid his own hand in Grain d'Orge's capacious paw. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - FAR IN THE FOREST - - - (1) - - "'O Richard, ô mon roi, - L'univers t'abandonne; - Sur la terre il n'y a que moi - Qui s'intéresse à ta personne,'" - -sang a clear tenor voice in the forest next morning--the once famous -air out of that opera of _Richard Cœur-de-Lion_ which had served -the Royalists of three or four years ago as a rallying-cry. The -singer, a fair-haired young Breton with a face of refinement and -intelligence, was busy polishing his English musket. He was, or -had been, a law student at Rennes, and now was one of 'Monsieur -Augustin's' lieutenants. A little way off Anne-Hilarion was crouched -in a patch of primroses, which he was adding one by one to the tight, -hot bunch in his hand. Grain d'Orge and another Chouan of about the -same standard of personal cleanliness, sitting on a fallen trunk, -their muskets resting against them, regarded his labours with a -wide, admiring grin. And under a beech-tree, a fresh bandage round -his head, La Vireville himself lay propped on his elbows, reading -and re-reading a letter. A map lay open on the ground beside him. -Over this peaceful and almost pastoral scene shone the young green -of April's trees and the soft blue of her sky, a setting with which -the child plucking flowers was more consonant than the armed peasants. -But the latter, by the attention which they paid to his movements, -did not seem to find it so. - -La Vireville suddenly rolled over and sat up. "Le Goffic, come -here a moment, will you?" - -The young Breton ceased his song, put down his weapon, and obeyed. -His leader motioned to him to sit down beside him. - -"You know, of course, Charles, that 'M. Alexis,' the leader of -the Carhoët division, was killed the other day while I was away?" - -"Yes, Monsieur Augustin." - -"He seems to have been killed by treachery," said La Vireville, -referring to the letter in his hand, "at a farm near Lanrivain. -Let me see, where is that exactly?" He searched on the map lying -beside him. - -"Grain d'Orge knows that neighbourhood well," suggested his lieutenant. - -"Yes, of course he does," assented the émigré, relinquishing the -search. "I will ask him in a moment, since I shall have further -need of his topographical knowledge. For there is another matter -in this letter of M. du Boishardy's. He wishes me to take over the -command of the Carhoët division, now vacant through 'M. Alexis' -death." - -Now M. du Boishardy commanded the whole department of the Côtes-du-Nord -for the King, and La Vireville was consequently more or less under -his orders. The young Breton's face fell. - -"And leave us?" he exclaimed. - -"No, no! M. du Boishardy wishes me to combine the two if possible. -I should have to appoint a subordinate in any case. The pressing -need, however, seems to be that I should go over there in person -as soon as possible, for it appears that they are all at sixes -and sevens since their leader's death. I must proceed to Carhoët -directly I return from Jersey--for to Jersey I must go, to see the -Prince de Bouillon, even if I had not the infant there to convoy -into British hands. The best plan, I take it, would be to sail -direct from Jersey to that part of the coast, if it is possible -to land there. Grain d'Orge!" - -In front of that warrior, fingering his musket with one hand, was -now standing Anne-Hilarion, who had abandoned his primrose-plucking, -though still retaining his spoil. The old Chouan's French was very -limited, for which reason conversation with him, for those ignorant -of Breton, was difficult; but he and the Comte de Flavigny did -appear to be holding discourse of some kind. La Vireville's summons -brought not only him but Anne and his flowers also. - -"Thank you, my child," said La Vireville, accepting the hot nosegay. -"Now you can go back and pick some for Grain d'Orge." - -The Chouan grinned. "You wanted me, Monsieur Augustin?" - -"Yes. Sit down there. You know the Carhoët division well, don't you?" - -"Like the palm of my hand, Monsieur Augustin." He began to arrange -some of Anne's primroses on the ground. "See, here is Porhoët, -the little fishing village, in the Bay of St. Guénaël, and there -is Carhoët, seven miles inland, and there is the wood of Roscanvel, -and there is Lanrivain, and close by there, I think, is the farm -where 'M. Alexis' was killed the other day, as we heard. There -is a path leading to it through a copse, and it was doubtless by -that that the Blues came when they surprised him. . . . Yes, I -know it well, though I cannot read the map. My sister lives at -Carhoët, and I have a nephew at Roscanvel." - -"Good," said La Vireville, studying the chart of blossoms. "Well, -mon gars, I want to go to Carhoët directly I return from Jersey. -You could meet me at the fishing village, Porhoët, I suppose, and -conduct me to Carhoët and some other places that I want to visit -there? Can one land with any measure of safety at Porhoët?" - -Grain d'Orge nodded his great head. "Surely, Monsieur Augustin. 'M. -Alexis' had an agent of some kind living at Porhoët for the Jersey -correspondence, so that once I get into touch with him it should -not be difficult. One should take precautions, though, in spite -of the truce; is it not so, Monsieur Augustin?" - -"The headache which I have at this moment, mon vieux, supplies a -sufficient answer to that question." - -"You will not go to the peace conferences at La Prévalaye, then, -Monsieur Augustin?" asked his younger lieutenant. - -La Vireville shrugged his shoulders. "Do you think, my dear Le -Goffic, that I am a particularly good exemplar of peace--a man -who has been fired on during this truce which Grain d'Orge so -rightly distrusts? No, I do not believe in the possibility of a -lasting peace at present, and I am sure that even if it is concluded -it will be broken in a month or two. Neither side really wants it; -they are merely deluded if they think they do. M. du Boishardy--he -writes to me from La Prévalaye itself--is young and enthusiastic, -and believes too readily in the good in other people. But he -recognises that he is not likely to see me there--otherwise he -would hardly have suggested my going over to Carhoët." - -"Monsieur Augustin is right," said Grain d'Orge sagely, shaking -his grizzled locks. "Nobody wants a peace, and it will not last." - -"Well, you shall guide me to Carhoët from Porhoët in a day or two. -I must make a try for Jersey to-night if the wind serves. Burn the -flare at ten o'clock, for I think we shall find that the Jersey -lugger will be off the point. I know that the Prince is impatient -to see me, and it is possible that he may have forgotten I was -coming from Southampton, not from here." - -"I will see to the matter," said Le Goffic. - -"There is something else of importance that I want to discuss with -you two," went on La Vireville, lowering his voice; and his two -dissimilar lieutenants, seated on the beech-mast like himself, -brought themselves nearer. "If--note that I only say _if_--there -were to be an émigré landing, supported by the British Government -this summer, somewhere in the Morbihan, do you think that our gars -could be relied on to follow me to Southern Brittany to co-operate -with it?" - - - (2) - -Anne-Hilarion had picked primroses, as suggested, for Grain d'Orge, -but he had not given them to him, for, sensible little boy that he -was, he knew the signs of a grown-up being really too absorbed to -attend to him, since Grandpapa himself sometimes exhibited them. The -most unmistakable of these were written now upon the three men who -sat, talking so earnestly, under the beech-tree. He had approached -them tentatively once or twice, but even M. le Chevalier took no -notice of him--did not, in fact, appear to be aware that he was -there--so in the end he presented his second harvest to the other -Chouan, who received it with testimonies of extreme gratitude, -and arranged some of the flowers round his greasy wide-brimmed -hat. This man could not speak a word of French, so all he and Anne -could do was to sit side by side on the log and smile spasmodically -at each other. Anne regretted that his foreign shell with the -stripes was in M. le Chevalier's pocket, for a scheme had just -visited him of filling it with water and putting primroses into -it. He gave a sudden little yawn. What a long, long time M. le -Chevalier was talking. . . . - -His head was all but nodding when he felt a hand on his shoulder, -and there was M. le Chevalier bending over him. - -"Are you bored to death, my child, or asleep?" he asked kindly. -"I have been a terrible while talking, have I not? It is Grain -d'Orge's fault; he is so obstinate. Now, would you like to come -for a little walk in the wood before we have our next meal? There -is just time, and I have something to show you." - -Anne-Hilarion jumped up from the log with much alacrity. - -"What is it that we are going to see, M. le Chevalier?" he asked, -as he set off, his hand in his friend's. "Do ogres live in this -forest--or giants? Or perhaps there is buried treasure? You know, -I have never seen so many trees all together at one time as this. -I could not count them, _possibly_!" - -"No, I should think not," agreed La Vireville. "You cannot even -see them all. This is the way, where the little path strikes off. -I am going to show you, Anne, the château of Kerdronan, where I -lived when I was a boy like you." - -"Oh, M. le Chevalier, I shall like that!" - -"Wait till you see it!" said Fortuné. - -And they went along the path, little more than a track, that -wound between the trees. Over and about them were the fledgling -beech-leaves, of the loveliest green of hope and innocence, so -young and untried that they resembled gleams of bright water rather -than anything more palpable; and underfoot, crackling like paper, -were their fellows of last year. - -"Then you used to come and play in this wood when you were a boy, -M. le Chevalier?" began Anne-Hilarion again. - -"I knew every inch of it once," replied the émigré. - -Anne-Hilarion gave a sigh of envy. "But you ran away to sea, did -you not?" he asked, and there was a strong suggestion of reproach -in his tone. - -La Vireville smiled. "Never!" he said. "What put such an idea into -your head? I was in the navy once, it is true--I served under -Suffren--but I assure you that I got there by the most legitimate -channels. Mind that root, child!" - -"Papa said that you had been a sailor," explained Anne, "and I -thought----" - -"I see," said his friend, amused. - -"Are there as many trees as this in Jersey?" was Anne-Hilarion's -next question. - -"No, nephew, there are not. By the way, I don't believe I have -ever told you where I am going to take you when we get to St. -Helier--to Jersey, that is?" - -"Perhaps to the house of a pirate?" suggested Anne-Hilarion hopefully. - -This time La Vireville laughed outright. "My child, what an imagination -you have! No; to the house of my mother. She lives there." - -"Why?" inquired his charge. - -La Vireville did not answer for a moment. "For various reasons," -he replied, at length. "One of them you will see in a few minutes." - -"I should think," observed Anne, looking about him as they went -on, "that it was in a big wood like this, where nobody could see -them, that the two brothers of Liddesdale met and fought." - -"Who were they?" asked the Frenchman. "I never heard of them." - -"They are in a story of Elspeth's that she told me once. They -fought about a lady, and the lady was false to both of them. Is -that why people generally fight duels, M. le Chevalier?" - -La Vireville switched at an anemone with a hazel twig that he -had pulled off. - -"Good God!" he exclaimed to himself. "It is not the only reason, -child," he returned. "But duels are not subjects for little boys -to talk about." - -Ordinarily Anne-Hilarion would have been deterred at once by a -tone and a phraseology so foreign to the speaker, as he knew him, -but he was undeniably wrought upon by his surroundings, and pursued -the forbidden topic. - -"I expect you have fought a duel, have you not, M. le Chevalier?" -he said tentatively, looking up at his tall companion. But La -Vireville was silent. - -"Perhaps several?" suggested the inquirer; and though he still -got no answer, went on, "Were any of them here, in this wood?" - -"No," said the Chouan, walking very fast. "--Now leave the subject -alone, there's a good child! You will see in a moment what we have -come to see. Here the wood ends, but it goes on again afterwards." - -They had come, in fact, to the edge of the forest--or, rather, -to an extensive clearing crossed by a deep-rutted woodland road. -The émigré led the way along this for twenty yards or so, and -the stopped. - -There in front of them, at the end of a grass-grown avenue of -larches, now swaying in all their first delicate green joy, stood -the corpse of a large seventeenth century manor-house. Not decay, -but violence, had slain it; it was gutted from end to end, so that -with its blackened, jagged walls, its grinning rafters, and the -few tall chimneys that yet stood, it looked, between those arcades -of feathery mirth, like a skeleton in fairyland. - -"Oh, poor house!" exclaimed Anne-Hilarion compassionately. "What -has happened to it? Whose is it?" - -"Mine," replied La Vireville. His mouth was rather grim. - -"Is that Ker-where you lived?" - -La Vireville nodded. "The Blues burnt it down two years ago. It -does not look very pretty now, does it? Yet it was beautiful once." - -"Oh, M. le Chevalier, you must have been very sorry!" - -"Sorry? Of course I was sorry, Anne. I was born there, and my -father and grandfather before me. . . . Well, there are no more -of us, so perhaps it does not much matter. We must go back now." - -The little boy stood with a very grave face under the larches, and -looked at the irremediable havoc towards which they led. Then he -thrust his hand silently into his friend's, and they both turned -back into the wood. - - - (3) - -"So, after all, Anne, your good-bye to France is a very peaceful -one," observed La Vireville some hours later. - -He spoke the truth. The deck of the _Aristocrate_, one of the -armed luggers employed in the Jersey correspondence, was under -their feet, and the _Aristocrate_ herself, her sail ready to go -up to the favouring wind, lay gently rolling on a tranquil sea. -The little boat, manned by La Vireville's own gars, which had -brought them out without adventure to the lugger, was just pulling -away. La Vireville, standing by the side, looked after her. - -"Yes, this is really your farewell to France. God knows when you -will see it again." - -"I think, perhaps," replied the Comte de Flavigny in his uncompromising -treble, "that I would rather live in England. Though I like the -Chouans. . . . But you will, no doubt, be going back to France, -M. le Chevalier?" - -"I? Yes, in a couple of days, most probably," answered the émigré -rather absently, gazing at the moon-silvered coast, dear and -implacable, where one day, as he well knew, he should land for -the last time. - -"And what the devil is this, M. de la Vireville?" demanded a voice -behind him, and La Vireville turned to see Lieutenant Gosset, the -Jerseyman who commanded the _Aristocrate_. "Have you kidnapped -it, or is it, perchance, your own?" went on the sailor. - -"Neither," answered La Vireville. "Let me make known to you the -Comte Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny. We have been making a little -tour of Northern France together." And Anne made a bow, while -Gosset laughed, half puzzled, and the lugger's mainsail went up. - -"May I stay on deck with you a little quarter of an hour?" begged -Anne, snuggling down by La Vireville's side in the moonlight. "And -tell me, please, M. le Chevalier, about Madame your mother, to -whom we are going. Is she--is she old?" - -"That depends on what you consider old, my pigeon. She does not -seem so to me. But perhaps I am old myself; I expect you think so, -don't you? Her hair is grey, it is true--but so would mine be, -Anne, if I had to look after you much longer." - -Anne smiled, recognising this for a jest, not to be taken seriously. -He studied his friend, whose bandaged head was bare in the windy -moonlight. - -"I like your hair," he observed thoughtfully. "But already--is -it rude of me to say so?--there are some grey hairs there . . . -only a few." He laid a small finger on La Vireville's temple. -"I saw them when you were asleep in the cave." - -"I have so many cares," sighed the Chouan. "You have seen, Anne, -what a quantity of people I have to look after in Brittany. Then -there is my mother--and, lately, a certain small boy. . . . And, -by the way, it is time that small boy went to bed. We shall not -reach St. Helier till morning." - -He went off to see what accommodation had been prepared for the -child. When he returned, he found Anne giving an account of his -adventures to the interested Gosset, who was standing looking down -at him with his hands on his hips. - -"And now," finished Anne, "M. le Chevalier is going to take me to -Mme. de la Vireville in Jersey, and then I shall go home to my -Grandpapa in London." - -"You seem to have had a stirring time, by gad!" commented the -sailor. "But I did not know that you had a wife, La Vireville! -Since when are you married, may I ask, and who is the fortunate -lady?" - -The Frenchman frowned. "You are misinformed," he said shortly. "I -have never had a wife. It is my mother to whom I am taking him." - -"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Gosset, struck by the sudden change -in his face, and La Vireville turned and walked away. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - CÆSAREA THE GREEN - - - (1) - -The port of St. Helier, reached at last after such vicissitudes -of seafaring, was ringing with Jersey-French and English, and -here and there with the genuine tongue of Gaul, for the place -was full of Royalist refugees. As the tall Frenchman with the -bandaged head, holding by the hand the little boy in the dishevelled -English clothes, made his way between fishermen, loiterers, and -an occasional man-of-war's man from the English frigate in the -roads, he nodded to an acquaintance or two, not staying, however, -to satisfy the curiosity of any. - -It happened that their road from the harbour led through some -stalls of market produce. Anne was chattering gaily as they passed -between heaps of apples and onions, when the course of his legs -was suddenly checked, and, through surprise, that of his tongue -also, by the fact that his conductor had stopped. He looked up, -and followed the direction of his friend's eyes to where, by a -stall a little farther on, two women had paused. The one was an -upstanding Jersey peasant girl with a basket on her arm, the other -a little elderly lady in black. At the moment one of her diminutive -hands was resting on a robust cabbage, where it looked like a -belated butterfly. - -"No, this is larger than I require," she was saying, in the prettiest -broken English. - -La Vireville, followed by Anne, went up behind her and stooped -over her. - -"Reconsider your decision, petite maman, I pray you," he said -softly. "A man is hungry after the sea, and there are two of us----" - -The reticule in the lady's other hand went to earth as she turned -and grasped his arm. "Fortuné! Mon fils! Dieu soit loué! But I -expected you days ago! I have been in torment that you came not. -Where have you been--and ah, my God, what have you done to your -head?" - -The little white hands went fluttering over him as if they must -assure themselves that he was really there. He was so much taller -than she that to meet her upturned face with its delicate cheeks -and young eyes he had to stoop a long way. The kiss was given and -returned among the stalls with that candour of the Latin races, -the testimony of whose emotions is not confined to withindoors, -and it is probable that for Mme. de la Vireville at that moment, -if not for her son, the market-place did not exist. And being -half French itself, it looked on with sympathy. - -But the man at least remembered the existence of someone else, and -while those fingers were still stroking his arm and the soft voice -was yet asking him questions, he caught hold of his mother's hand. - -"You want to know where I have been, ma mère? I have been in France -with a travelling companion, whose acquaintance you must now make. -Here he is." - -Mme. de la Vireville, still under the sway of emotion, turned, -looking for something of the size of her son. So at first she saw -no one. Then she gave an exclamation. - -"Anne, let me present you to my mother. Ma mère, this is the Comte -Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny. We will tell you our adventures presently; -but just now I fancy that M. le Comte is hungry." - -"The little angel!" murmured Mme. de la Vireville, and this time -it was she who had to stoop. "He shall come home with us at once, -le cher petit." - -And Anne finished his journey, therefore, holding a hand of each. - - - (2) - -Mme. de la Vireville lived in the plainest way in a small house -in St. Helier. Indeed no other manner of life was open to her, -for she and her son were very poor, though they had not always -been so. But resource was innate to her French blood. Besides, -Jersey was dear to her--dearer at least than England would have -been--for it was near France, and those expeditions in which -Fortuné so frequently hazarded his life had Jersey for their -starting-point. So, at irregular intervals, she was able to see -him; sometimes he even slept a night or two beneath her roof. -Every time they parted she knew that the odds were considerably -on the side of their never meeting again. But she had in her -little body the soul of a hero, and in consequence her son kept -back few secrets from her; indeed, he often came to her for advice, -as he would have done to a comrade. In spite of great sorrows she -had about her something eternally young, something in the mind -corresponding to the almost infantine freshness of her oval face -under its crown of grey hair. - - * * * * * - -The simple meal was gay. The small visitor, bathed, brushed, even -mended as to his more noticeable rents, had one side of the table -to himself, and plied a very creditable knife and fork. How much -he loved and admired Fortuné, and how fond Fortuné was of him, -soon became apparent to Mme. de la Vireville; and when she slipped -out into the kitchen to put the last touches to the salad, Jeanne -Carré, the Jersey girl, observed respectfully: - -"One might almost say, Madame, that it was M. le Chevalier's son -sitting there at table with you!" - -A vivid look of pain shot across Mme. de la Vireville's face, and -was gone in an instant. "Yes, might one not, my child?" she answered -quietly. But later, when she was back in the little parlour with her -guests, and sat for a moment studying the two, her gaze was clouded -with a profound sadness. And, as it happened, her son looked up and -caught the expression. His eyes smiled at her, but his mouth was -grave. - -At the end of the repast Anne-Hilarion was installed in an arm-chair -with a book, while mother and son conferred together on the -window-seat. - -"You will oblige me, Fortuné," began Mme. de la Vireville, "by -going as soon as possible to a surgeon. You are telling me the -truth when you say that it is nothing serious?" she added, eyeing -the bandage round his head with suspicion. - -"Have you ever known me lie to you, little mother?" he retorted. -"The bullet must have struck the mast and glanced off on to my -head, which is equally hard. I promise you that I will have the -scratch attended to. But first I must make inquiries about the -English frigate. Should she be sailing this afternoon or evening, -as I suspect, Anne must go in her." - -"You will not go with him yourself, Fortuné?" - -"No, I must find an officer to whom to confide him. It should not -be difficult. And after that I must see the Prince without delay; -I am already four or five days late, and as usual there is some -business about landing muskets." - -The light that had sprung into his mother's eyes died out of -them. "Surely, if you are not going to England, you could stay -here this one night?" - -La Vireville bent forward and kissed her. "We will see, my heart. -Meanwhile, I leave M. le Comte in your charge." - - - (3) - -A couple of hours later he returned with a young man in uniform, -and Mr. Francis Tollemache, of His Britannic Majesty's Navy, had -his first glimpse of a French interior. - -"My mother speaks a little English," said La Vireville encouragingly -in that tongue, "and Anne is fluent except when he talks Scotch. -The _Pomone_ is sailing for Weymouth this afternoon," he explained -to Mme. de la Vireville. "Her captain will give Anne a passage, -and Mr. Tollemache, who has a few days' leave on arrival, will be -kind enough to take him to London with him." - -And while his mother started to captivate the young lieutenant, -La Vireville took his travelling companion on his knee and told -him what had been arranged. Anne-Hilarion quietly hid his face in -the émigré's breast, and the latter half thought that he was -crying--a rare occurrence. - -"You will not mind, will you, Anne, that I do not come with you?" -he asked coaxingly. "They will be very kind to you on board the -man-of-war, and you will like to see a frigate. In a few days you -will be back with Grandpapa; I don't suppose Papa will have got home -yet. Think how anxious they must be about you in Cavendish Square!" - -But Anne would say nothing save, in a little voice, "I wish you -were coming, M. le Chevalier; I wish you were coming!" - -And La Vireville, holding him tight, was surprised to find how -much he wished he were. - -"You promised to be my uncle in England also," said the little -boy presently in rather a melancholy voice. - -"Well, so I will, my child, when next I come over. But I have my -folk in Brittany to look after now. You remember Grain d'Orge and -the rest, don't you?" - -Meanwhile Mr. Tollemache, at the other side of the room, had brought -about the very catastrophe he wished to avoid, having from sheer -apprehension talked in his own tongue (he knew no other) so fast -and so loud to Mme. de la Vireville that he had caused the complete -shipwreck of what had never been a very sea-worthy vessel--her -English. She had therefore relapsed into French and he into silence. -Perceiving this, La Vireville put down Anne and went over to them. - -"Suppose, ma mère," he suggested, "that we leave the fellow-travellers -to make each other's acquaintance without us?" And the next moment -the Comte de Flavigny and Mr. Tollemache were left alone. - -Anne-Hilarion looked a trifle shy, but eyed his new acquaintance -with interest; Mr. Tollemache, on the other hand, appeared to be -suffering a certain degree of anguish, and to have no idea what -to say. It was Anne, therefore, who broke the ice by remarking: -"You are going to take me in your ship, Monsieur?" - -"Yes," said the sailor. "Old--I mean the captain has given permission." - -"You are not the captain then?" - -"God bless me, no!" - -"That was the ship--that large one we saw at entering?" - -The young man nodded. "The _Pomone_, forty-four guns. I'll show -you all over her when we get on board." And, seeing the direction -of the little boy's eyes, he half shamefacedly hitched forward -his sword. "Would you like to look at this?" - -Anne came nearer, and in order better to approximate their heights -Mr. Tollemache decided to sit down. Anne then stood by his knee -and examined the sword-hilt with gravity. After which he said, -in his most earnest manner, "I should very much like to see your -ship, Monsieur. You see, I have been in a great many lately, and -they were all different. Yes, if you would please draw your sword. -You have perhaps killed pirates with it?" . . . - -When La Vireville came back in a quarter of an hour or so he -felt--was it possible?--a tiny prick of jealousy at seeing Anne on -the young lieutenant's knee. It was true that the child slipped -off at once and came to him, but his conversation for the moment -was entirely pervaded by the scraps of information he had just -acquired about the British Navy. - -"By Jove, it's time to go!" exclaimed Mr. Tollemache, catching -sight of the clock. "Are the boy's things ready?" - -"He has only got what he stands up in," said La Vireville, smiling. -"No, here's my mother with a bundle she has put together, but -Heaven knows what is in it." - -"Well, there will be no lack of boat-cloaks to keep him warm," -returned the sailor. "I promise you I will look after him; he seems -a jolly little beggar." And he added feelingly: "It's a mercy he -can talk English!" - -So, farewells to Mme. de la Vireville over, they walked down to -the quay, the new protector and the old, with Anne between them. -A boat's crew from the frigate was already waiting at the slip. -La Vireville went down on one knee and put an arm about his little -comrade. - -"Will you kiss me, Anne?" - -For answer, Anne clung to him so tightly that a curl became entangled -on a button and took a deal of disengaging. . . . - -Then once again Anne was in a boat--but not with him. La Vireville -turned on his heel with Mr. Tollemache's "Give way, men!" in his -ears, then changed his mind, and stood watching the progress of -the gig as the oars urged it forward over the dancing water. The -small figure in the stern looked back at him all the time. - - - (4) - -Philip d'Auvergne, titular Prince de Bouillon and captain in -the British Navy, received the Chevalier de la Vireville rather -petulantly in the little house which he inhabited under the shadow -of the half-ruined castle of Montorgueil, over at Gorey. He was a -good-looking, florid man of one-and-forty, somewhat overfond of -surrounding with circumstance the title which had so strangely -descended upon him, and converted an unknown naval officer of -Jersey into a French prince of the house of Turenne--deprived, it -is true, of his principality by the Revolution--while leaving him -all the while a British subject. At heart he was generous and loyal. - -"What the devil is this I hear about a wild-goose chase to France -after a little boy, M. de la Vireville?" he began angrily. "Is this -the meaning of your being so long overdue? I wanted you yesterday -to land a party of émigrés near Cancale, and I had to employ -Chateaubriand instead." - -"Permit me to observe to your Highness," returned the culprit -coolly, "that I am not, at this moment, disposed to lend my services -to that side of the correspondence. My men in my own command have -a prior claim on my attention just now." - -"I am glad you realise that, Monsieur," retorted the Prince rather -tartly. "Yet the muskets and ammunition have been waiting for -them nearly a week." - -La Vireville gave his shoulders a slight shrug. "The delay was -unavoidable, mon Prince," he said, wondering whether it were the -hot room which was making his head ache so. "I am ready to superintend -the landing of that cargo whenever you please." - -The Prince seem mollified. "Good," he remarked. "Sit down, M. de -la Vireville, and before we go into details over that affair I -will tell you an important piece of news. . . . You have nothing -serious the matter with your head, I trust?" - -"Nothing," the émigré assured him, as, half expecting that he -was going to be told about the Carhoët command, he took a seat -opposite Captain d'Auvergne at the big table, strewn with maps -and papers. - -"His Majesty's Government," went on the Prince, bringing out the -words as if their utterance gave him pleasure, "have decided to -support a Royalist expedition this summer to the coast of France, -to land perhaps in Southern Brittany, perhaps in Vendée. You could -co-operate with your Chouans, I suppose?" - -"A little while ago, mon Prince," replied La Vireville, "I should -have said No. But, having already heard of the likelihood of such -a step, I took the opportunity of sounding my men on the point -yesterday--by which your Highness sees that my delay has not been -without fruit. And I am now convinced that I could, with some -difficulty, get them to follow me to Finistère or Morbihan, but -south of the Loire, no. They would never leave Brittany." - -Leaning back in his carved chair, with the crown on the top, the -Prince de Bouillon digested this information. La Vireville thought -that his face had a little fallen on learning that the proposed -expedition was no secret to his visitor. Although he liked him in -spite of them, the Chouan was well aware of Captain d'Auvergne's -weaknesses, and he let his gaze stray up to the framed pedigree -on the wall behind the Prince's head that showed where, in the -mists of the thirteenth century, that branch had burgeoned on the -ancient stem of La Tour d'Auvergne which was to blossom, during -the eighteenth, in the present scion. From that it wandered out -of the window, whence he could see the blue expanse of Gorey Bay. -He wondered whether the _Pomone_ had weighed yet. . . . Confound -this beating in his head! - -His Serene Highness suddenly bent forward and laid a hand on his -arm. "La Vireville, I am afraid you are unwell! It _is_ your head, -then; what have you done to it?" - -"I beg your pardon," exclaimed the émigré, removing the hand with -which he had unconsciously covered his eyes. "The fact is that I -have a damnable headache--a relic of the wild-goose chase, nothing -more. It will be gone to-morrow, Monseigneur." - -"Then to-morrow, my dear fellow, will serve us to discuss matters. -I was sure," said the good-natured Prince, "that there was something -under that bandage, and that you have not had it attended to since -you landed. No, I thought not. Will you take a glass of wine? . . . -Well, go home to Madame de la Vireville, make her my compliments, -and tell her that I am sending my surgeon to see you at once." - -But as La Vireville left Gorey he wondered whether it were not -rather a touch of heartache than of headache that he had. - - - (5) - -The smile which Mme. de la Vireville gave the Prince's surgeon when, -after examination of her son's hurt, he ordered him at least three -days' complete rest, must have gone to his head, for, being a -young man and a jocular, he remarked to his patient as he left, "You -have a trifle on the breast of your coat, Monsieur--an involuntary -token at parting, I take it--which you may like to know of. . . . I -hope I have not been indiscreet!" - -La Vireville, who, in obedience to orders, was then lying at full -length on the little sofa, stared at the speaker rather haughtily -and made no answer. But when the door had shut he said, "Look at -my coat for me, little mother, and let us see what that farceur -meant." - -Mme. de la Vireville, who had the sight of a girl, bent over him, -and after a second pointed to where, round a button, were tangled -two long bright brown hairs. - -Her son frowned, then he smiled. "Take them off, my little heart, -and keep them for me. I may as well have some souvenir of my 'nephew,' -since it is likely to be long enough before I see him again." - -Later he was still lying there, and she sat on a stool beside him, -her head resting against his pillow, her hand in his. Suddenly he -said, though he had been silent a long time: - -"I think if . . . I think _hers_ would have been like Anne." - -She understood him perfectly, because she, and she alone, knew -the bitter grave where his heart was buried. - -"Yes . . . but he would have been less fair." She put her hand on -his dark hair, and, drawing his bandaged head to her shoulder, -kissed it passionately. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - CAVENDISH SQUARE ONCE MORE - - - (1) - -For the second time that day Baptiste was distractedly polishing -his silver. About every six minutes a tear rolled off his sharp -nose on to salver or tankard and had to be wiped off, and the -dull patch rubbed up again. Lal Khan, putting Mr. Elphinstone's -bedroom to rights with long, dusky fingers, stared mournfully at -a miniature propped on the dressing-table, and shook his head. And -still further upstairs Mrs. Elspeth Saunders was mending stockings; -her nose was red, so too her eyes. In the kitchen the cook and -the rest of the domestics were discussing the situation, as they -had almost unceasingly discussed it for the last few days since -Elspeth's return. Her own account of what had happened they had -long ago threshed bare: had thrilled to hear how, when she reached -Rose Cottage at seven o'clock that fateful morning, as arranged, -she had been met by one of the old ladies with the horrifying news -that their guest had evidently spirited Anne-Hilarion away in the -night; how, almost beside herself at this intelligence, she had -suffered them to hustle her into a postchaise on a totally false -scent, which caused her to traverse many miles of the county of -Kent until, half-crazed and wholly destitute of money, she returned -at last in sheer desperation to London, there to hear that La -Vireville had already started to France in pursuit of the child. -The opinion of the region was divided, some of its inmates inclining -to blame Mrs. Saunders, some to commiserate. And it was either -the consciousness of unjust condemnation or of her own innate -superiority which kept Elspeth so much alone in the big house -over which hung that piercing sense of something gone that would -never, perhaps, come back again. . . . - -"'Twas but a few days syne A was tellin' a piece to the bairn in -his bed!" Elspeth rapped her thimble suddenly against her teeth, -flung down her mending, and marched downstairs. At the library -door she knocked, and, receiving no answer, looked in. The room -was empty and the fire burnt low. Muttering to herself anent the -negligence of "yon black heathen," she made it up. There was a -book open on the table, but no signs that Mr. Elphinstone had been -occupied, as of custom, with his memoirs. Elspeth left the library -and went to the pantry. - -"Where is the maister, d'ye ken?" she asked of the polisher. - -"I tink he go again to the ministère, I do not know," responded -Baptiste, sighing. - -"Tae the meenister!" retorted Elspeth. "What wad be the sense in -that noo? Gif prayin' could bring the wean back, A reckon he'd -been here these mony days!" (Had not she herself, descendant of -the Covenanters, taken the incredible step of removing Our Lady -of Pontmain from the back of the drawer where, immediately upon -the Marquis's departure, she had been stowed away, and putting -her in the very centre of the mantelpiece in the lost child's -room--a deed for which she nightly besought forgiveness?) - -"That is ver' true," agreed the Frenchman, "but it is not that -which I mean, Madame Saundair. I mean he go to the--how do you -call it?--there where are the State Secretaries." - -"Why for canna ye say what ye mean, then?" snapped the lady. "That -mebbe will dae gude. At least they arena French there. A've had -eno' o' yer Frenchies tae last ma life!" - -Baptiste withered. - -"Those . . . those weemen at Canterbury!" proceeded Elspeth. "And -then--what d'ye call him, the Chevaleer . . . what gar'd Glenauchtie -send _him_ after the bairn instead o' an Englishman? Him that -jockeyed the wean oot o' his bed at nicht! Belike 'tis he's spirited -him awa the noo!" - -Baptiste made no effort to defend his compatriot. He had long ago -realised that to live in peace with Mrs. Saunders required a policy -of thoroughgoing self-effacement, and had decided that on the whole -it was worth it. Otherwise he might have retorted that she, pure of -any Gallic strain though she was, had not proved singularly successful -in her guardianship. Instead, he feebly used his wash-leather on a -ladle. - -"There's ane gude thing," resumed Elspeth, "that the Marquis doesna -ken yet awhile." - -"But when he return!" exclaimed the old man, lifting eyes and -hands to heaven. - -He was still in this attitude when there came a rousing rat-tat -at the hall-door. - -"Mebbe that's the Marquis the noo!" ejaculated Mrs. Saunders. And, -though it was not her place to do so, she flung off her apron and -rushed to answer it. - - - (2) - -Lieutenant Francis Tollemache, therefore, standing on the steps, -received one of the most painful shocks of his life when a gaunt -Scottish female, darting forth, caught his small companion from -the ground and almost stifled him with kisses, and then showed a -decided disposition to cast herself on his breast also. He prepared -to defend himself, backing hurriedly to the limits of the portico, -and saying disjointedly, "My good woman, my good woman . . ." And -then in a moment there was some old man actually trying to kiss -his hand, and from the back of the hall there was even advancing -a salaaming native in a turban, while more and more female servants -came flocking towards the doorstep. It was intolerable! In a minute -or two there would be a crowd outside, and already Mr. Tollemache -was conscious of the enraptured gaze of the hackney coachman who -had brought them there. - -"Good God!" he exclaimed, very red. "For Heaven's sake let's get -inside!" But even within the hall the whirl of greetings and emotion -continued, and Anne-Hilarion kept disappearing from view in successive -avalanches of embraces, till at last his voice was upraised, asking, -"Grandpapa! Where is Grandpapa? Has Papa come back?" - -"Yes, where is the master of the house?" demanded Mr. Tollemache, -with some indignation, and was most unseasonably answered in French -by the old man. Meanwhile, one of the younger domestics in the -background was threatened with a fit of hysterics, and had to be -removed. During this episode Anne skipped about the hall, and ran -into the library and the dining-room in turn. "Oh, I wish Grandpapa -were in! When will he be back?" he queried, and mixed with his -inquiries the unfortunate young officer heard the remark, "There, -you see, it's no foreigner as has brought him back,"--to which the -cook, who had an affinity on the lower deck of H.M.S. _Thunderer_, -responded with pride, "No, it's a Navy gentleman!" - -"Anne," said Mr. Tollemache firmly, holding out his hand, "I must -be going. Good-bye!" - -The Comte de Flavigny came at once and caught him by the cuff of -his uniform. "No, no, M. le lieutenant! No, I do not want you to -go! Come into the bibliothèque and wait for Grandpapa!" he said, -with a little tug, and the domestic crowd, waking all at once to -a sense of their forgotten duties, concurred in this request, which, -to tell the truth, accorded very well with Mr. Tollemache's most -secret wish. It was not that he at all desired to receive the -thanks of Mr. Elphinstone, but--though he would have died on the -scaffold rather than admit it--he hankered for just a few minutes -more of Anne's society before the final good-bye. - -"If you would come into Mr. Elphinstone's study, sir?" suggested -Elspeth respectfully, as he hesitated. Since she now evinced no -desire to embrace him, he was about to accede to her request when -there was a knock at the front door, which opened to admit the -grinning and curious face of the hackney coachman, demanding to -know if he was to wait any longer. - -So it was not Anne only who was overjoyed when Mr. Elphinstone -walked suddenly in. - - * * * * * - -Late that evening--much later than he ought to have been -up--Anne-Hilarion still sat contentedly though sleepily enfolded in -his grandfather's arms. He had ceased to ask questions, for they -had all been satisfactorily answered . . . all except that "Did -you miss me, Grandpapa?" to which Grandpapa had seemed incapable -of replying. So his last remark was a statement. - -"I had to leave my goldfish behind with those ladies." For he had -satisfied himself that Elspeth had not brought it back with her -after all. - -"Don't speak of those women!" said the gentle old man fiercely. -"As for your goldfish, child, you shall have a whole aquarium -if you wish." - -"Then I could put my big shell inside," murmured Anne drowsily. -"M. le Chevalier said it came from . . . came from. . . ." He ceased -suddenly; he was asleep. - -Conscience-stricken at last, Mr. Elphinstone rang the bell for -Elspeth, and was left by the fire to reflect on the inexhaustible -mercy of Heaven, and on the debt that he owed to a man away in -Jersey, whom he scarcely knew, whom he could not even thank--a -debt that in any case, so far as he could see, must ever go unpaid, -for it was unpayable. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - THE AGENT DE LA CORRESPONDANCE - - - (1) - -It was not until the _Seaflower's_ boat was actually pulling off -from the shore, and his feet were sunk in the wet sand of Porhoët -Bay, that Fortuné de la Vireville realised how much more serious -than he had imagined might prove the results of the ridiculous -accident which had befallen him a few hours previously at St. -Helier. Embarking, according to arrangement with the Prince de -Bouillon, on the lugger _Seaflower_ with a view to being landed, -not at Kerdronan as usual, but at Porhoët, where Grain d'Orge was -to meet him, he had had the misfortune to receive upon his left -foot the full weight of a refractory water-cask of considerable -size, which, escaping from the hands of a clumsy sailor, had rolled -vehemently down a gang-plank upon him before he could get out of -its way. It is true that when he had finished swearing he had found -the episode rather ludicrous, and had laughed at himself for his -ill-luck, and that on board the lugger, slipping along with an easy -evening breeze from Jersey, the damaged foot, though it had -sufficiently pained, had not greatly incommoded him. But here, at -midnight, alone on the hostile coast of France, he knew for the -first time that he was indeed disabled, and that he could not fully -rely on that vigorous body of his which for thirty odd years had -seldom failed to respond to the often exorbitant demands that he -made upon it. It was not at all a pleasant thought, and, standing -there at the water's edge, La Vireville uttered a final and more -fervent malediction upon the water-cask. - -The boat which had landed him, with its muffled oars, was already -out of hearing, though it was still visible, a lessening dark -lump upon the quiet sea. Even the lugger, farther out, could almost -be discerned by one who knew where to look for her, though the moon -which, a week ago, had lighted the way to Jersey for Anne-Hilarion, -was obscured this evening. La Vireville glanced about the beach. -As far as could be ascertained in the dusk, it was quite deserted; -there was no sound but the lap of the incoming tide, and no sign -whatever of Grain d'Orge, who should of course have been there to -meet him. And, since the émigré had no acquaintance with these few -miles of coast, without a guide he was helpless; an attempt to -penetrate inland would probably end in his running into an enemy -patrol--in spite of the truce, the last thing he wished to do--and -even in Porhoët village he had no idea which house he was to make -for. Moreover, he was lame--a great deal more lame than he had had -any idea of, or he would hardly have landed. . . . And, cursing -Grain d'Orge, he began to limp away from the water's edge. In any -case, it would be more prudent to approach the low cliffs, where -it was darker, than to stand where he was; and under the cliffs, -if nothing better offered, he must wait for his dilatory guide. - -M. de la Vireville went painfully over the tract of large, rolling -pebbles between him and the cliffs, the sweat breaking out on his -forehead; but, not having 'chouanné' for nothing, he set his teeth -and persevered, throwing his weight as much as possible on his -sound foot and on the stick with which the captain of the _Seaflower_ -had furnished him. "Devilish odd I must look from the cliff," he -reflected, "if there's a patrol up there." But, apparently, there was -no patrol, and having pursued his way unmolested up the purgatorial -bank he sat down, with a sigh of relief, his back against the cliff, -and waited, either for discovery or guidance. - -"There is at least one thing to be thankful for," he reflected, -"and that is, that I have not the child with me now." But all the -same it seemed strange not to have him, and to know no anxiety -but for his own personal safety--a burden he was so accustomed -to carrying that he scarcely felt its weight. - - * * * * * - -La Vireville had been there, propped against the cliff, for perhaps -half an hour, before he heard the owl's cry. He answered it faintly -and cautiously, perceiving, to his astonishment, that it came from -seaward, and in a little beheld the dim figure of a man detach -itself from an overturned boat on the shingle. As it came towards -him it looked, by some trick of the faint light, as unreal as the -little bay itself, though it wore the usual peasant's costume, -appropriate enough to the scene, and had over its shoulder a large -net. When this individual was within distance, La Vireville told -him softly what he thought of him, for the apparition was Grain -d'Orge. - -"I was under the boat watching the cliff," said the Chouan, undisturbed -by his leader's abuse. "If I had taken Monsieur Augustin up the -cliffs when he landed we might both have been shot--in spite of -the truce. They shot three men yesterday. But now we can go on -to the village." - -"I wanted to get farther than that to-night," said La Vireville, -"though the devil knows how I am to manage it now. Is it impossible -to push on to Carhoët at present?" - -"There are hussars quartered at Carhoët to-night," answered his -guide. "They leave to-morrow, probably." - -La Vireville began to struggle to his feet. "I see. That is sufficient -reason against attempting it. There is another reason, too, why I -should not get so far. You may have to carry me as it is, mon vieux. -I am as lame as a duck. If we should chance to meet a patrol, you -must run for it, and leave me to take my chance. Do you hear?" - -The Breton turned a stolid face on him. "Yes, I hear. But I am not -good at running. Is Monsieur Augustin ready?" - -"As ready as he is ever like to be. Where are you taking me?" - -"To a fisherman's cottage just outside Porhoët. There is no one -there but a woman--Madame Rozel." - -"The fisherman's wife?" - -"His widow, some say," responded Grain d'Orge. And he then added -the somewhat surprising information: "It is she who has acted as -the agent of the late Monsieur Alexis here." - -"Really!" said La Vireville--not that he was particularly surprised -at the choice of a woman for such a post. He put his hand on his -follower's shoulder, and, with Grain d'Orge's arm round him, moved -off towards the cliff path. - - - (2) - -Not a gleam of light came from the solitarily-standing little -cottage when at last they reached it, but after Grain d'Orge had -knocked softly its door opened as though by magic. A whisper, and -the Chouan turned to his disabled leader and helped him into the -blackness within, past a figure of which only the glimmering coif -could be guessed. The door was shut, and then, standing rather dazed -in the dark, La Vireville heard the scrape of flint and steel. In -another moment the occupant of the cottage had lit the lamp that -stood ready on the table, and had turned towards the two men. - -The light, seeming by its suddenness more potent than it really -was, showed to the émigré a woman of about thirty, of a face and -figure extraordinarily unlike what he expected, just then, to see. - -"Welcome, Monsieur," she said in a low voice, and the purity of -the accent, coming from under the wide peasant's cap, made La -Vireville jump. He stammered out something, staring at her, and -then he found that she was asking him if he would not eat. - -He sat down, puzzled, to the bread and meat and wine ready on the -table, and the Breton, after a moment's hesitation, did the same. -As a matter of fact, La Vireville was passably hungry, and not -a little exhausted by his painful walk. But he could scarcely -eat for watching the slim hands that cut the bread and poured his -wine. They were brown enough, but the shape and the well-tended -nails betrayed them. At last he began to feel annoyed with Grain -d'Orge for keeping him in the dark as to the identity of his hostess, -since to believe for a moment that she was a fisherman's wife was -impossible. If not a lady of great quality she was no woman of the -people. And, seizing an opportunity when she was gone from the -room, he addressed his guide. - -"What the devil do you mean by foisting me upon a gentlewoman in -this fashion? Who is she?" - -Grain d'Orge went on stolidly eating. - -"As I told Monsieur Augustin, she is the agent for the Jersey -correspondence of the late M. Alexis. She passes here as Mme. -Rozel, a fisherman's----" - -"Fisherman's fiddlestick!" interrupted his leader impatiently. -"Do you think I am as blind as the people of Porhoët?" - -"But I do not know her other name, if she have another," said -the Breton. "I do not even know that of the late M. Alexis, but -doubtless Monsieur Augustin knows it." - -La Vireville did know it, or thought he did. Under that cognomen, -he believed, had been concealed the identity of a gentleman from -the St. Pol de Léon country, a M. de Kérouan or something of the -sort. This, however, did not help him much, and when Mme. Rozel -came back he found himself observing her for the next few minutes -with an increasing interest. Her face was rather pale, with an -intense clear pallor that was accentuated rather than reduced by -the lamplight, and she had wide, beautiful brows. The mouth was sad -and resolute; her whole expression was sad, but it was resolute -too, and when suddenly she lifted her eyes and looked her guest -full in the face he received, for the second time since his entrance, -an unmistakable shock. They were, unquestionably, the most expressive -eyes he had ever seen in a woman. The Chevalier de la Vireville -divined in his hostess depths which it had been interesting to -explore had not both leisure and inclination been lacking to him. - -Mme. Rozel, however, veiled those eyes again and said very little, -and after a time Grain d'Orge rose, wiped his mouth with the back -of his hand, crossed himself, muttered a prayer, and announced that -he was going out to watch the roads and would not be back till -morning. But La Vireville still sat on at the table, the lamplight -beating full on his own lean, strongly-marked features, with their -look of humour and daring, on the cleft in his determined chin, -and on his dark hair, clubbed and ribboned indeed, but somewhat -disordered from the sea-wind. Yet it was curiosity, not hunger, -which kept him there, his half-emptied glass between his fingers, -engaging his hostess in talk almost perceptibly against her will. -Her replies were very brief, and at first he himself made wary -conversational moves; for though he really placed almost absolute -reliance on Grain d'Orge's knowledge and discretion in a matter of -this kind, yet there existed always in this business, a need for -caution, and there was just the hundredth part of a chance that she -was not, after all, what that astute old Chouan asserted her to -be--the agent de la correspondance. But Mme. Rozel's prudence, if -anything, exceeded his own; indeed, after a little fencing on both -sides it began to seem to La Vireville that she was--necessary -circumspection apart--a trifle hostile to him. Possibly she, on her -side, felt that he might not be what Grain d'Orge, when he made -arrangements for her to receive him, had given him out to be. And -yet, from the trend of their guarded converse, it seemed rather -that she tacitly resented his coming to take the dead leader's -place--for so much she allowed him to gather that she knew of -his purpose. But why should she resent it? - -He suddenly fired a direct question at her. - -"Have you any reason to believe, Madame, that the death of the -late M. Alexis was due to anything other than the fortunes of war? -I have heard a rumour of treachery. It is true, at any rate, is -it not, that he was surprised?" - -He saw the swift colour rush over her face, and flee in an instant, -leaving her ivory pallor still more pale. Instead of answering -him she got up, and took the remains of the loaf to put away in -the press against the wall--a pretext, the questioner was sure, -to withdraw her face from his further observation. - -"Yes, he was surprised," she said in a low voice, her back to him. -"He was sitting at table in the farm. It was all over very suddenly. -He was . . . he was shot through the head. He did not suffer. . . . -O my God," she burst out suddenly, "if only I _knew_ whether it -was treachery or no--and if so, whose!" - -Yes, there were indeed hidden fires there! The vehemence, the -breaking passion in her voice, had somehow jerked La Vireville, lame -as he was, to his feet. The question flashed through him. What then -had been Mme. Rozel's relations with the slain 'Alexis' that she felt -his loss thus acutely? Purely those of political partisanship? Or -had she, perchance, been his mistress? The thing was not unknown -among the Royalist leaders in the West of France, though it was -rare. There was Charles du Boishardy himself as an example--to be, -in fact, in a few weeks a fatal example--of laxity in that respect, -and, to cite a greater name, Charette's reputation was by no means -conformable to that of the unblemished first leaders of the grande -guerre, the Vendée, whose work he carried on. - -With that cry, wrung so evidently from a torn heart, M. Alexis' -agent had swung round from the press, and was looking full at -the man who faced her across the table by which he was supporting -himself. - -"Que diable!" thought the émigré, "I verily believe she thinks _I_ -had something to do with that ball in the head!" - -Whether his surmise was painted on his countenance, or for whatever -reason, Mme. Rozel next instant recovered herself, and removed -those accusing eyes--if they were accusing. - -"Pardon me, Monsieur," she said hurriedly, "and pray be seated -again. I was so . . . so intimately associated with the plans and -hopes of Monsieur Alexis that I have felt his death, I confess, -very deeply." - -"That is easy to understand, Madame," replied her guest, dropping -back, at her bidding, in his chair. "You will perhaps permit me -to offer my most sincere condolences on what is, besides, a very -great loss to our cause. I hope, however, that since I am here by -M. du Boishardy's express wish, and not by any desire of my own, -that I may count on your co-operation?" - -She too had sat down again, after that brief outburst, and seemed -to have got rid, perhaps by its means, of some of her latent -hostility. "As long as I can, Monsieur, certainly," she said, -sighing, her cheek on her hand. "But my work here is done, and I -leave in a day or two for the Channel Islands." - -And at that piece of information La Vireville no longer felt any -doubts as to the nature of the bond which had united her to the -departed leader. He had another thought, too, about the fundamental -drawback of employing a woman in a position such as hers--a point -on which he kept on other counts an open mind, even recognising -certain advantages in it. "A man," he said to himself now, "would -not resign a post like this just because his superior officer was -killed. A change of leadership is just the time when she could -have proved herself of most use." - -"I regret to hear that, Madame," he said aloud, drily. - -"It was my--Monsieur Alexis' express wish if anything happened -to him," said she, as if aware of the unspoken criticism, as if -careless, too, what implications of intimacy were contained in -that avowal. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - STRANGE CONDUCT OF THE AGENT - - - (1) - -Half an hour later M. de la Vireville's half-perfunctory, -half-condemnatory regret at Mme. Rozel's approaching departure was a -much more genuine and a deeper feeling. At his request she had been -giving him particulars about the arrangements of the correspondence -at Porhoët, so that he or his delegate could take steps for it -to be carried on with as little interruption as might be. And he -very quickly saw that she was the right person for the post--a -remarkable woman, full of intelligence and resource. M. de Kérouan -had been lucky in his 'agent.' And yet, in talking to her much more -frankly than he had yet done, or she to him, he could not help -speculating as to where that passionate soul which he guessed to -be yoked with so much understanding and will might one day lead -her. He was to know before long. - -She ended by warning him that she thought it would be well in the -future to choose some other place on the coast for the Jersey -correspondence. The new mayor was exhibiting a certain amount of -suspicion and zeal. She hoped that Monsieur Augustin's landing -had not been observed; she had warned Grain d'Orge to be very -careful. Fortuné, who was a little surprised to learn that so -small a place had a mayor at all, thereupon described with some -humour the form which Grain d'Orge's inspired caution had taken. - -And after this their talk, late as it was, began to range farther -afield into the past, and somehow La Vireville found himself -touching on his own previous experiences of exile, for he had been -in the army of the Princes in 1792. - -"I hated Coblentz when I was there," he said frankly, finishing his -wine at last. "It is true I was pretty near starving at the time." - -And suddenly he felt Mme. Rozel's recovering confidence in him -retract, as a sea-anemone shrinks up at the touch of a finger. - -"Ah, you have been at Coblentz, Monsieur," she said slowly, looking -at him with a curious expression. "When exactly was that, if I -may ask?" - -He told her, within a week or two of the precise date, as well as -he could remember. "You have been there too, Madame?" he hazarded. - -"No; I have never been to Coblentz," she answered. Her eyes, that -held a more ready speech than her lips, had clouded over, and he -could almost see her thoughts playing round that Mecca of the -French emigration. Again he wondered why. - -He talked on a little more, but the mention of Coblentz seemed to -have broken the spell, and he suddenly remembered that it was -very late--or, rather, very early. - -"I will ask your permission to retire, Madame," said he, a trifle -formally. "I must be abroad before the village is awake--especially -after what you have told me." He got to his feet, and stood leaning -on the back of his chair, waiting for his dismissal. She too got -up, and, after lighting a rushlight, threw a glance at the ladder-like -stairs in the corner behind her. "I must apologise for your quarters, -Monsieur Augustin. They are little better than a loft, I fear. Do -you think that, crippled as you are, you can manage that steep -ascent? And how will you get to Carhoët to-morrow?" - -"I leave that to Grain d'Orge, Madame," replied the émigré. "He is -a person of resource in his own line. Besides, I hope that my foot -will be better." - -The mention of his destination had reminded him of something, and -he thrust a hand into his breast. "You were good enough, Madame, -to give me some names at Carhoët, and so, to avoid disturbing you -in the morning, may I ask you to write them down for me now? I -have some paper here." - -He drew out from an inner pocket a small bundle of loose letters, -a couple of which incontinently slipped to the floor. Before he -could prevent her she had stooped to pick them up, and had laid -them at his elbow on the table. Thanking her, he meanwhile tore -off a blank sheet from his correspondence. - -"Now, if you would be so good, Madame," he said, handing her the -piece of paper and instinctively looking round for pen and ink. - -But Mme. Rozel, at his side, was staring as if transfixed at one -of the letters she had rescued, now lying face upwards between -them on the table. - -"Is that your real name, Monsieur Augustin?" she asked, in an odd -voice, pointing to the letter. - -Now in Brittany La Vireville's nom de guerre was so much more -significant than his own--which, as has been said, he made some -endeavours to keep distinct from it--that it was second nature to -him to be called by it, and he had never even thought of informing -her of the latter. In Brittany communications also were addressed -to "M. Augustin." But the topmost of the two letters which his -hostess had picked up chanced to be a note from the Prince de -Bouillon sent to him during his recent stay at St. Helier, and, -presumably for that reason, directed to him in his real name. Hence -a large "M. de la Vireville" looked up at them both from the table, -for His Serene Highness wrote no crabbed hand. - -"Why, yes, Madame," answered the owner carelessly. "Did you not know -it? I had no intention of keeping you in the dark on the point." - -"Nor had I any intention of . . . prying," she said, and, catching -up the two letters, she held them out to him almost feverishly. -"I will give you the names you want at once." She well-nigh snatched -from him the piece of paper he was holding. "Where is the pen?" - -Thoroughly puzzled, La Vireville watched her as, with set mouth -and face as white as the paper itself, she wrote out the list he -required. Why should his name so discompose her? M. de Kérouan, -whom he had never met, had evidently not mentioned it to her while -he was alive--possibly did not even know it himself. It was not as -if their commands had been contiguous. But why should his 'agent' -find the discovery so extremely disconcerting? Was it possible -that she, like Mme. de Chaulnes . . .? No, that he could not -credit for a moment. It was on the tip of his tongue to pursue -the subject--and he knew he was rather a fool not to do so--but -somehow he was too sorry for her to probe her distress to-night. -She had but recently lost her lover, and she was so pale! When -she gave him the list he merely thanked her, and bent over her hand -for a moment with a grace oddly at variance with its surroundings. -The hand in question was very cold. - -Once again, as he took up the rushlight, she began an apology, -scarcely audible, for the poorness of his quarters, and the difficulty -of getting to them. - -"A night in the hayloft used to be the summit of my ambition, Madame, -when I was a child," replied he gaily. "I only hope that you will -sleep as well as I shall." And with that he limped away to the stairs. - -The ascent, indeed, was not too easy to him. At the top a last -prompting of curiosity urged him to glance back over his shoulder -down into the room. But his hostess was no longer visible, and -he opened the door at the top of the ladder-stairs to find himself -in a small, bare apartment, containing little save a truckle-bed -under the window, with a rush-bottomed chair beside it, a press -built into the wall by the door, and a crucifix. - -Having ascertained that the crazy door possessed no means of fastening -other than a latch, and a bolt on the outside, La Vireville set -down the light on a chair and threw off his outer garments with -celerity. He had the habit of seizing sleep when he could get it, -and in Brittany a bed was something of a luxury. And though in -Porhoët village he was probably less safe than he would have been -sleeping, as usual, with his men in the lee of a hedge under -the open sky, and knew it, and though his curiosity, if not his -suspicions, had lately suffered a rousing prick, and though--more -disturbing than either--his foot ached persistently, ere a quarter -of an hour had elapsed he was in the enjoyment of a very refreshing -slumber. - - - (2) - -Perhaps if the guest could have known how his hostess spent the -night he might have slept less well; perhaps, even, if, when he -had looked back from the head of the stairs, he had seen how she -stood rigid against the wall, in the lake of shadow by the press, -her hands clenched at her sides, like one who has encountered some -terrible vision, he might have descended to prosecute the inquiry -he had abandoned. Perhaps he might have felt compassion at the -tormented, desperate face she wore as the hours crept on towards -morning, and every one brought conviction nearer to her, yet no -guidance. "It is he! it must be he!" she said aloud, not once but -many times. "He was at Coblentz then--he acknowledged it. Oh, was -it god or devil showed me his name? . . . André, André, my darling, -tell me what I am to do!" Rent with sobs, she would cease her -agonised pacing to and fro, and throw herself down by the table, -her head on her outstretched arms. . . . But of these phenomena -La Vireville was not a witness. - -And soon the dawn was stealing in, comfortless. Mme. Rozel extinguished -the lamp, and sat, her hands locked tight together. As the daylight -grew, so did the light in her eyes--a steady beacon. Her mouth -hardened itself into an inflexible line, and at last, rising as -one whose mind is irrevocably set, she began to go cautiously up -the stairs to La Vireville's room. - -So light was her tread that the steps did not creak. The door -yielded to her touch. She went in, noiseless as a ghost, her face -like a ghost's save for the flame in her eyes. - -Under the tiny window, a little turned on his side, and with one -arm crooked beneath his head, her guest lay in a profound sleep. -She stood a minute by the door, then crept nearer and looked down -at him long and steadily. Yes, it must be he! Here were the same -features, as they had been painted to her; the same hair and brows, -the same cleft in the chin. The mounting tide of hatred began to -lift her off her feet. . . . And even while she studied his sleeping -face she saw, hanging from the back of the chair by the bedside, -a hunting-knife--his own. - -She was not conscious of putting out her hand for it, still less -of drawing it from its sheath, yet the moment after the bright -blade was somehow in her grip. How absolutely he lay at her -mercy!--and so still that his breathing scarcely lifted his half-open -shirt. Staring down at the strong, bare throat she suddenly turned -giddy. . . . - -How far--or how little distance--would that wave of feeling have -carried her? Next instant two eyes, quite calm and very alert, -were looking up into hers, and the hand that had been under the -sleeper's head held her wrist in a clutch like fate. - -"Madame, private theatricals are out of fashion," said La Vireville in -a lazy voice. A twist of his powerful fingers, and the hunting-knife -dropped from her grasp to the coverlet, where his other hand secured -it. "My own knife too! May I ask why you were rehearsing this -dramatic scene?" - -All the while he lay and looked up at her, too contemptuous, it -seemed, to be at the trouble of raising himself, so long as he had -her wrist prisoner in that hopeless grasp of his. White, silent, -choking, her other hand at her throat, she did not even make an -attempt to wrench herself away. At last, when her captor had run -on a little more, he loosed his hold. "You can go, my fair assassin! -In whose pay are you, by the way?" - -She paid no heed to the taunt, but, having reached the door, she -turned, and spoke in a voice rendered unsteady neither by fear nor -shame, but by some more positive emotion. - -"Listen, M. de la Vireville, and I will tell you my name. I am -Raymonde de Guéfontaine--Raymonde du Coudrais, the sister of André -du Coudrais, the man whom you hounded out of Coblentz on a lying -charge of cheating at cards, whose reputation you blasted with -your tongue, whose health you ruined with your sword! And now, -before he is cold in his grave--murdered, for all I know, by your -connivance--you come to claim his place! Oh, it is too much! After -all, cold steel, could I have used it, is too good for you! I know -a better way--a more fitting----" - -"_Du Coudrais!_" broke in the thunderstruck La Vireville, on his -elbow. "'Alexis' was du Coudrais! But he . . . it was----" - -"Ah, you remember!" cried she, unheeding. "You remember that night -at the Three Crowns, and the morning after! Till now you had -forgotten, perhaps? Otherwise, surely, you would scarcely have -dared to come--even you! I had heard a whisper of your name, but -I did not believe----" - -"Stop!" cried La Vireville, breaking in, in his turn. "I assure -you----" - -Her hand was already on the door. "Too late, M. le Marquis! What -is done is done. But you shall never step into André's shoes. And -at least you know now why I am going to give you up!" - -"The devil you are!" said La Vireville, with a very grim face. -The pistol in his hand covered her with a perfectly steady aim. -"There is this between you and your hospitable project, Mme. de -Guéfontaine!" He cocked it. - -She stood flattened against the door, wide-eyed, scarcely breathing, -but not attempting to move. - -"Now swear," commanded the émigré, "swear on the crucifix there that -you will do no such thing! Otherwise I shall fire!" For he knew that -she would be through the door before he could spring on her. - -"I will not swear!" cried she, her face a white flame. "Shoot me -if you will--you can do no worse to me than you have already done -through André--but if you do not shoot me, as sure as there is a -God above us, I shall summon the National Guard of this place to -take you!" - -Though the colour of a sheet, she did not flinch before the barrel, -not ten feet away. La Vireville set his teeth, and himself changed -colour. But he could not do it. The pistol sank. - -"Madame," he said, in his usual careless tone, "if you are treacherous -you are devilish well-plucked. I wish I were as strong-minded. -Go and fetch the National Guard then, and be damned to it!" - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - EQUALLY SURPRISING CONDUCT OF "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN" - - - (1) - -Five seconds, no more, did Fortuné de la Vireville allow himself -wherein to reflect that he found himself, as the door was shut and -the bolt slid into place, in one of the most unpleasant situations of -his life; ten to formulate a plan--a very precarious and weak-kneed -plan--of escape therefrom, and about a minute and a half to scramble -into the rest of his clothes. He could have done this quicker but -for his foot, which hampered him at every turn. Then, kneeling on -the bed, he pushed the little casement wide, tore off the sheets, -knotted them together, twisted them round into the semblance of a -rope, made one end fast to the head of the bed, and threw the slack -out of the window. But he did not climb down it. Nor did he attempt -to break open the door, which he could probably have done with ease. -To escape in either of those ways before the house was surrounded -would necessitate running, and, unfortunately he could not run. But -he trusted that the sheet hanging out of the window would convince -the National Guard that he _had_ run. . . . He thrust his pistols -into his belt, picked up his hunting-knife--a smile flitted across -his face as he touched it--and limped across the room to his chosen -refuge. - -If it was a refuge! For his life depended at that moment on what -Mme. de Guéfontaine, the 'fisherman's widow,' had a habit of storing -in the large press built into the side of the little room. If it -were linen, or anything that required the presence of shelves, -then--"Good-night, my friend!" said La Vireville to himself. - -"But no!--one enters!" he finished, when the door stood wide. There -was nothing at all in the cupboard but a row of pegs, from one of -which depended, oddly enough, a tricolour sash. So he went in. - -The place had a strange, stuffy smell. Light, but not much air, -came under the flimsy double doors, and between them. "And if I -am to stay here long," thought La Vireville, "a chair would be very -acceptable;" for it was tiring to stand, as he was doing, practically -on one leg. If he sat upon the floor he could not make much of a -fight of it, supposing the necessity arose. He was beginning -seriously to contemplate emerging to fetch the chair when he heard -numerous and hurried steps on the steep stairway outside. "This -cannot, surely, be the National Guard already," thought their quarry. -"The vindictive lady has not had the time to summon them!" For he -remembered noticing last night that Mme. Rozel's cottage stood at -a little distance from Porhoët itself. - -Nevertheless the visitors' method of procedure pointed to a raid. -Some form of battering ram, presumably the butt of a musket, was -hastily applied to the door of the room. A very little hammering, -and the portal fell inwards with a crash. As it was fastened on -the outside only, the refugee was tickled at this evidence of local -zeal. "If these individuals look into this cupboard I fear they -will be very ungentle with me," he reflected, a pistol in either -hand. "Let me see to it, in that case, that their numbers are -somewhat reduced." - -But he had no need of his weapons; his ruse had been enough for -these simple and enthusiastic souls. La Vireville heard a wild -rush to the window and the (as he had hoped) convincing sheet; -thereafter cries, stampings, curses, and voices proclaiming that -the Chouan had escaped by the window, and that the woman Rozel, -in league with him, had warned him. - -"Hardly the way that I should have put it!" thought the fugitive. - -And from that indictment of complicity to avenging action was but -a step. "Arrest her! arrest her!" shouted several voices. And with -a fresh rush down the stairs, with noise and loud talking from below, -and what La Vireville half took to be a stifled scream, this was -evidently accomplished. Five minutes had seen the development of -the whole drama. - - - (2) - -With the loud banging of the cottage door a great and signal silence -fell upon the dwelling of the 'fisherman's widow,' even upon the -cupboard upstairs and its occupant. For La Vireville was filled -in the first place with an access of prudence which urged him to -make no sound until he was tolerably sure that the house was really -empty; in the second with a certain ironical satisfaction. Into -a memory not over well stored with such literature had come the -words of the Psalmist concerning such as dug a pit and fell into -the midst of it themselves, and he stayed to savour them. Poor Mme. -de Guéfontaine! she had paid dearly for her vengeful instincts. -Moreover, in spite of the poetical justice which had overtaken -her, she might have that revenge even yet. La Vireville was helpless, -even in the empty house. Grain d'Orge would certainly not come till -dusk, always supposing that he were free to come at all. Before -his advent, too, the village authorities might return to search -the house; it seemed strange, indeed, that they had not already -done so. - -But, however precarious one's position, it is impossible to live -without food. La Vireville hobbled downstairs and found a loaf of -bread and some sour milk, with which he clambered back to his little -room. Eating the bread thoughtfully, as he sat on his devastated -bed, he considered the case of Mme. de Guéfontaine. So 'Alexis' had -been the unfortunate du Coudrais, the victim of an odious charge -made against him (whether in good faith or for some ulterior object -Fortuné had never felt quite sure) by a near kinsman of La Vireville's -own, the Marquis of that name! La Vireville himself had only arrived -at Coblentz a few days after the duel which ensued upon the Marquis's -denunciation of du Coudrais at the Three Crowns, to which Mme. de -Guéfontaine had made hot reference; but émigré circles were still -ringing with the scandal, and the Marquis de la Vireville, his own -arm in a sling, was better able to explain to his cousin how he -had run du Coudrais through the lungs than to satisfy him--or -anybody else--of the ill-starred gentleman's dishonour. But du -Coudrais, when he recovered from his wound, had to leave Coblentz -nevertheless . . . and, having left it, was abundantly cleared, -too late, of the charge against him by the dramatic unmasking of -another man as a professional sharper. And for this affair, in -which ironically enough, La Vireville had by no means supported -his cousin, of whose past record he knew too much, he had been -himself within an ace of paying the penalty--might, indeed, yet -pay it. - -It was quite clear to him why Mme. de Guéfontaine had taken him -for her late brother's aggressor. He had confessed to his name, -he had mentioned having been at Coblentz at the time, and he bore -a close family resemblance to his kinsman--close enough, at least, -to deceive anyone who relied merely on a verbal description; for -it was tolerably certain that Mme. de Guéfontaine had never seen -the Marquis de la Vireville. Evidently she had been devotedly -attached to her brother; had shared in his schemes, worked and -plotted for him here at Porhoët, in a position of no small danger, -and then, fresh from the shock of that brother's violent death, -was called upon--so she thought--to shelter and to help to install -in his place the man who had been his worst enemy! She was a woman -of strong feelings; she had found the situation, as she had declared -to him, intolerable, and in a moment of wild impulse she had -resolved to put a term to it and to avenge her brother in one and -the same act. And, reviewing the episode dispassionately, La -Vireville found he could not blame her overmuch . . . especially -as she had failed. True, there was always something of a nauseous -flavour about delation, but the matter of the cold steel had a -primitive and heroic touch--Jael and Sisera. "And if," he said to -himself, "if I had given her a minute longer she need not have -been put to the shift of betraying me to the authorities!" . . . -Yet, after all, he doubted whether she would have had the nerve -to use the knife. And, whatever her intentions with regard to the -National Guard, it was by no means certain that she had carried -them out. He did not see how she could have done so in the time. -And because he found himself oddly reluctant to associate her with -the idea of just that form of treachery, he settled that she had -_not_ had time. . . . But she was, no doubt of it, a remarkable woman! - -And so, commending her spirit, as though he had not nearly been -its victim, La Vireville arrived, as the long, featureless day -was beginning to close in, at a certain decision. - -When the dusk had quite fallen the owl's cry, as he had expected, -came prudently to his ears. He answered it, and in a little while -the countenance of Grain d'Orge was visible at the window, whence -the misleading sheet still trailed into the garden. - -"Come in," said his leader, without moving from the chair whereon -he sat, with his legs extended on another. "A pretty sort of refuge -you selected for me!" - -The Chouan scrambled over the sill on to the bed, and broke into -violent and ashamed protestations, mingled with horrible curses on -the unknown informer. It was plain that he did not suspect where -the guilt really lay. - -"Never mind," remarked La Vireville carelessly. "I have fallen -upon circumstances which you could not possibly have foreseen, -and I harbour no grudge against you, mon gars. But have you any -plan for getting me away?" - -"There will be two horses to-night at the cross-roads, a quarter -of a mile away, if you think you can get so far, Monsieur Augustin, -and if we have the luck not to be seen." - -"I can get there," said La Vireville. "Repose has benefited my -foot. But we have a little matter that demands our attention in -Porhoët first. You know that Mme. Rozel has been arrested?" - -"Yes, the poor woman!" - -"The poor woman, as you say. Well, before we leave this place I -am minded to repay her hospitality. We must remember, too, that -she was the defunct M. Alexis' agent here, and has deserved well -of the King's cause. It will therefore be our business, before -proceeding to Carhoët, to set her at liberty." - -"Monsieur is joking!" said the Chouan, his jaw dropped. - -And it took La Vireville, with all his authority, quite twenty -minutes to extract from his horrified follower what he knew of -the conditions of Mme. Rozel's captivity, and to reduce him, on -the point of an attempt at rescue, to an incredibly sulky submission. - -"I am about to become a Republican to that end," announced the -émigré when this result had at last been attained. "Do you fancy -me in the rôle, Grain d'Orge?" And, limping to the cupboard, he -snatched the tricolour sash off the peg, wound it twice round his -waist and tied a flamboyant bow at the left side. - -Mingled horror and disgust strove in the Breton's face. - -"For God's sake, Monsieur Augustin!" he protested. - -"Citizen Augustin, if you please," corrected La Vireville with -dignity. "I have, unfortunately, no cockade. Never mind; it is -dark. But we want some little scrap of writing on official paper--just -to make an effect. . . . I have it!" and he took from the breast -of his coat the Government proclamation for his own head. - -"With a trifle of manipulation . . ." said he. "Grain d'Orge, descend -into our parlour and bring me the pen and ink that is there." - -Unspeakably sullen, the Chouan obeyed, and when La Vireville had, -by doubling up the paper, secured a blank space under the "In the -name of the Republic one and indivisible," he executed thereon -a few specious forgeries and waved the paper about to dry it. - -"Observe, my good Grain d'Orge," he said, "to what virtuous use -can things evil be put. This paper, instead of being a brave man's -death-warrant, shall bring liberty to a woman . . . who very little -deserves it," he added to himself. "More, my faithful follower," -he pursued impressively, "if you understood better what I was -doing, you would be lost in admiration at the nobility of my -character. I own that I am myself so lost." - -"I understand this, M. le Chevalier," retorted the Breton with -passion, "that you are mad, stark mad, to go playing your head -like this! The woman Rozel has bewitched you." - -"I believe you are right," answered his leader. "And she did it -with a knife--my own! It is a potent spell, if an unusual. But you -surely would not have a gentleman leave a woman to her fate, be she -enchantress or no? . . . Well, we must have our horses before we -can pay our visit to the Citizen Botidoux--that, I think you said, -was the mayor's name. You can go first down the sheet and steady -it for me." - -It is not altogether surprising that Grain d'Orge, when his master slid -to earth beside him, was muttering mingled prayers and imprecations. -La Vireville smiled to himself as he leant his weight on that -faithful arm, and the two moved off into the darkness. - - - (3) - -About a quarter after midnight, M. Jacques-Pierre Botidoux, grocer -and mayor, sleeping peacefully beside his wife, was aware of a -very persistent knocking upon the door of his little shop below -him. Arising, not without lamentation, and thrusting a night-capped -head out of the window, he was astounded to see in the street two -shadowy figures on horseback. - -"What do you want?" he shouted ill-temperedly. - -The taller figure lifted a dim face. "Silence!" it said in a low, -rapid, and singularly impressive voice. "Silence, Citizen, and -come down to the door!" - -And at M. Botidoux, when, dazed, cross, and sleepy, he finally -unfastened his shop door, was launched an imperative demand for -the key of the village lock-up. As he gaped at the mandate the -tall rider bent from the saddle; a vast tricolour sash showed -indistinctly round his middle as he moved his arm under his cloak. -"Citizen, I am from the quarters at Carhoët, but I carry orders -from the Convention itself. You are to deliver to me without delay -the person of the woman Rozel, arrested by you this morning. You -did well and wisely in so arresting her, but higher powers than -you have need of her, and at once. A conspiracy of great extent -. . . the State . . . information . . . you understand?" - -"But . . . but . . ." began M. Botidoux, who did not understand -at all. - -The emissary of the Convention changed his tone. "Eh?" he said -sharply. "Will not this satisfy you?" He flapped some kind of -paper in the startled face. "Must I bring in my escort to convince -you?" - -"No, no!" stammered Botidoux. "No, Citizen Commissary, I will get -the key, I will come at once!" - -"That is well," responded the cloaked figure. "But, look you, not -a word! It is of the utmost importance that no one in the village -knows of this transfer of a prisoner of State. Others are not to -be trusted as the Convention trusts you, Citizen! That is why I -left my escort at the cross-roads, and came with only this good -fellow to guide me." - -"But the woman----" - -"Do you think two able men cannot manage one woman, Mr. Mayor?" - -Very soon the short, stout, and rattled Botidoux was trotting by -the side of the silent horsemen, was leading them towards the little -house standing back from the street which served as a lock-up for -drunkards. Porhoët was not of sufficient importance for a jail. -Towards this Botidoux vanished, important, if puzzled, and in a -little while reappeared, bringing by the wrist the figure of a -woman. Some other man was vaguely discernible in the background. - -"Put her up in front of the guide," ordered the Commissary, who -seemed to have no wish to dismount. - -Mme. Rozel must have recognised his voice, for she gave a faint -scream, which Botidoux had the wit to smother ere he lifted her -into Grain d'Orge's unwilling arms. But once there the captive -began a fresh protest. - -"Where are you taking me--who is it?" she cried, struggling. But, -since expostulations were only to be expected in her situation, -M. Botidoux was not at all perturbed. - -"Be silent, woman!" he urged; and as the riders, turning their -steeds, began to move down the street, he added, "I think your -escort has come to look for you, M. le Commissaire." - -"What!" exclaimed La Vireville, startled out of his sangfroid. "By -God, it's true!" For he had heard the jingle of bits at the end of -the street. It could be nothing else but the cavalry detachment -from Carhoët out to hunt for him. - -He uttered a very pretty and comprehensive curse, and turned his -horse's head in the opposite direction. "Come on, we must ride -for it! Come on, I say!" Grain d'Orge's mount--a grey--sprang -forward, and Mme. Rozel screamed again. A shout answered her from -a point nearer than the oncoming hussars--from another little group -of horses, imperfectly seen, on the left, whose riders were mounting -in haste. - -"Madame, you have lost us all!" said La Vireville furiously. "Ride -like the devil, Grain d'Orge; straight on--straight on, I tell -you! I'm going back; they will come after me!" He tugged at his -bewildered steed, brought it slithering to its haunches, swung -round yet again, and set off in the direction of the hussars at -the end of the street. - -As he had hoped, the mounting men on their left, confused, hesitated -a moment, then decided to follow him and not the doubly-burdened -grey. In front was the stationary, or almost stationary, cavalry, -as yet only one vague bunch on the road. But, much as La Vireville -would have liked to try it, he could scarcely venture to ride past -or through them. He checked his horse, hoping that what he took to -be a hedge on his left hand was really a hedge, and put the animal -at it, somewhat expecting to land in a garden or an orchard. But, -apparently, he was in a field, and a large one at that. On the -grass he urged his excited horse into a frantic gallop, his blood -racing not unpleasantly. Shouts told him that other horsemen had -also cleared the hedge and were after him. "I wonder what I shall -ride into in this cursed darkness?" he thought. And he thought -also, "I did not expect she would be a woman to scream. . . ." -Something black rose before him--the usual Breton field hedge, a -six-foot bank with forest trees atop, impossible to negotiate on -horseback. Should he then abandon his mount? He had but a second in -which to make up his mind, for his pursuers, better horsed, were -inevitably gaining on him. No, he would go on, and, trusting to -find the échalier--the low, ladder-like gate of those parts--he -cantered for a moment alongside the bank. - -Here, judging by the cessation of the dark mound and its crown of -trees, was what he sought. He put his horse at the gap. As he -rose, a spattering fire rang out; a bullet sang past his cheek, -there was a most unpleasant sensation of a jerking fall, and he -found himself among a great deal of wet grass, with his injured -foot excruciatingly pinned beneath the weight of his struggling -horse. La Vireville instinctively stuffed the back of his hand into -his mouth to prevent himself from screaming out, saw all the stars -of the dark heaven swoop down on him, and incontinently fainted. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - LA PORTE DU MANOIR - - - (1) - -A cold and grey light was in the sky when La Vireville came back -to consciousness, and, for the moment greatly puzzled, raised his -head and looked about him. There was no fallen horse, no sign of -hussars, nothing left of the night's doings but a sick feeling -in the mouth, a bruised shoulder, and a foot that ached ten thousand -times worse than he had ever thought a foot could ache. But, as -he struggled to one elbow, he saw another relic--he tricolour -sash about his body. He surveyed it without much approbation. Was -it that symbol which had saved him? No; it had been too dark when -he came down; they could not have seen it. Had they thought him -killed, then, and ridden off and left him? Hardly, because if they -knew whom they were hunting, which was probable, they would have -been anxious for the reward, since he was equally marketable alive -or dead--did he not carry that guarantee on his person? And where -was his wounded horse? He came at last to the conclusion that his -steed must have picked itself up and galloped on, and that the -hussars had pursued it, not seeing that it was riderless, or that -their quarry was lying at their mercy by the échalier. They must -almost have ridden over him as he lay senseless. All of which was -very miraculous, and seemed to denote a special care on the part -of Providence that was encouraging. "If only the brute had chosen -my other foot to roll on!" thought the victim. "But of course he -would not!" - -However, long as the grass was, and early as the hour, it was -unbecoming to lie there like a lame sheep and wait to be picked up. -A coppice ran along the side of this second field, and towards this, -on his hands and knees, the ends of the tricolour sash dragging -in the wet grass, La Vireville made his way. And in the coppice, -having drunk some brandy, cut off his slashed boot and applied the -same restorative to his swollen foot, he very stoically lay down -under an oak, thinking to sleep. That solace, however, he could -not compass; his foot hurt too much. Moreover, he had a fairly -knotty problem to solve--how best to remove himself from his present -environment to a safer. And he saw no way, short of crawling or -hopping. For even if he were physically capable of working his way -towards Carhoët he could only safely do it under cover of darkness, -and for darkness, near as he was to Porhoët, he could not afford -to wait. "I was really better in my cupboard," he reflected. -Certainly his knight-errantry, if it had proved of any avail for -the lady--which was more than doubtful--had left its author in no -happy plight. - -And at last it was borne in upon La Vireville that, daylight or -no daylight, he must somehow set a greater distance between himself -and the now enlightened village of Porhoët. With luck, the copse -where he lay might turn out to be a spur of the wood of Roscanvel, -which he knew, from a previous study of the map, to be somewhere -thereabouts. In that case, by going a little farther he might find -shelter till the evening, even if he had to climb a tree to attain -it. He sighed, sat up, and tried to draw the remains of his boot -over his foot--an attempt that proved out of the question. So he -tied up the injured member as best he could, cut himself a stout -stick out of the coppice, and, just as the first rays of the sun -began to strike through the trees, set his face towards the thickness -of the wood. - - - (2) - -Because it had been raining hard since ten in the morning--though -now, by sunset, it had ceased--the bad road was exceedingly muddy -and full of extensive pools. These it was at the moment so profoundly -delighting a small male child to stir up with a twig that he did -not observe the slow approach of a wayfarer, nor look up till -he heard himself addressed. He then saw a tall man leaning upon -a stick and wearing only one boot. He was bareheaded, wet, and -very pale; but he wore a tricolour sash. - -"Child," said the apparition, and its voice sounded strange and -small, like the voice of Uncle Pierre when he was ill of the -fever--"child, is there any house along this road . . . not far -away?" - -The boy was frightened, and much desired to return no answer at -all, but he knew that you must not trifle with those who wore the -tricolour scarf, or it would be the worse for you. So, rubbing his -bare toes for solace in the delicious mud, he responded truthfully: - -"Round the next corner, Citizen, you will see the old manoir of -L'Estournel. But nobody lives there, and it is full of ghosts, -witches, and all manner of evil things. One does not pass it -after dark." - -"Thank you," said the man with the tricolour. And adding solemnly, -"May you live to be an ornament to your country," he gave him a -silver piece and limped on. The boy watched him with open mouth -till he disappeared round the bend. - -It seemed to La Vireville that he had never known the possession -of two sound feet; also, that he had been walking for several days, -though it was only at noon that he had left the forest, which had -not proved a very happy resting-place. But since then he had set he -knew not how many miles between himself and Porhoët; indeed, by now -he had almost lost count of direction. He was wet and hungry, while -his foot was a plaster of mud, blood, and devouring pain. Finally, -he was on an open road, where he little desired to find himself. -But he hoped now to force an entrance into the deserted house. - -Round the turn of the road he saw it at last, steep-roofed, peering -greyly at him over its high wall. All round it the overgrown trees -flamed with spring and sunset, and, behind, two slim poplars mounted -like spires to heaven. The wall brimmed with the stems of matted -creepers, and in it, sheltered in a stone archway with a living -thatch of grass, was an old green door. He would go through this -and rest. - -As he had the thought, La Vireville's heart stood still, for he -had caught the sound of many hoofs in front of him. Was he neatly -trapped after all his fatigue and pain? Then at least he would not -be taken alive, nor die with their accursed rag on his body! He -tore off the sash and flung it into the ditch, drew behind the -row of chestnuts which fringed the road--a perfectly inadequate -cover--and, a hand on each pistol, waited. . . . - -And they passed, at a canter, half a squadron of red hussars, -looking neither to right nor left! - -Strong-nerved as he was, Fortuné de la Vireville turned a moment -giddy with the revulsion. Then once more he saw the trees beckoning -over the wall, the friendly green door, the grey roofs. If only he -could get inside he could at least drop down in peace in the garden, -and after that he cared little what happened. He hobbled forward, -steadying himself from chestnut to chestnut. In all the rainpools -the sunset gleamed, and the reflection bothered him, dancing up -and down. "I must reach the door! I must reach the door!" he kept -repeating. Only twenty-five steps farther, perhaps . . . or count -it by trees, that was better. . . . The effort of keeping his head -steady in the dizzying pain was as difficult as the actual walking. -At last he had shuffled across the road, and was at the old green -door, and dared not try whether it were fastened. La Vireville had -never in his life, he thought, desired anything so vehemently as to -be able to pass it--though in truth he knew not if he should find -safety on the other side. . . . The latch was stiff; his fingers -seemed stiffening too. . . . It lifted, the door gave, creaking -on its old hinges, and he found himself inside. He had just enough -sense to close it after him. - -Within, it was all as he had guessed it would be, of a neglect -so ancient that every growing thing had set itself to repair and -clothe it. But all that he saw clearly was the great, nail-studded -door above the flight of shallow steps, for it stood wide open, -and through the archway, framed in a tangle of still rust-coloured -creeper, was cool darkness. It drew him more than the rioting -garden, and he got himself somehow up the steps. And, once in the -place, that was half-hall, half-kitchen, and that was lofty, with -many great beams, he knew himself to be vanquished, for there was -mist before his eyes and the sea in his ears. Yet he staggered as -far as the huge old table, thick in dust, that stood before the -great empty hearth, before he felt himself falling. He made a grab -at the oak, missed it, stood swaying, and then sank heavily to the -cold hearthstone. Consciousness had left him before he reached it. - - - (3) - -When the familiar pain in his foot laid hold of him once more, -and pulled him up, reluctant, from this happy blankness he was -aware, as he came, of other sensations. Something wet and cold, -smelling strongly of brandy, was passing slowly over his forehead; -something hard was rubbing one of his hands. A voice said, "He -is coming to," and this being now his own opinion, La Vireville -opened his eyes. - -He was lying where he had fallen, but his head was resting in -the crook of someone's arm. On the other side knelt Grain d'Orge, -chafing one of his hands between his own horny palms; he looked -ridiculously lugubrious. La Vireville stirred. - -"You are safe, Monsieur, you are safe!" said a woman's voice above -him--a voice with a break in it. "Oh, your poor foot!" - -The émigré removed his gaze from Grain d'Orge, who kissed the -hand he was holding, and, looking up, beheld the face of Mme. de -Guéfontaine, stamped with a new character of pity and tenderness. -He concluded that she was no longer desirous of his blood. But -how was it that she and Grain d'Orge were here? He tried to ask -her, but the words were unaccountably difficult to say. - -"You shall know in good time, Monsieur le Chevalier," she said -gently. "Meanwhile, lie still. Grain d'Orge, roll up that cloak -and put it under his head. That is better." She slipped her arm -from under La Vireville's head, and his eyes closed again in spite -of himself. A little time passed; he heard the Chouan murmuring -prayers. Then light fingers were unwrapping the rags from about -his lacerated foot, and he felt on it the sting of water, deliciously -cold. He reopened his eyes. - -"I am afraid that I am giving you a great deal of trouble," he -said slowly and politely to the kneeling figure. - -Mme. de Guéfontaine lifted her head, and, to his amazement, the -tears were running down her cheeks. "I did not betray you!" she -said, clasping her hands together over the dripping cloth they held. -"Oh, believe me, M. le Chevalier, whatever I said to you in my -madness, I did not give you up! I could not do it--by the time I -was downstairs again I was ashamed of having said I would. But, by -the most evil chance, which I still cannot understand, the section -having got wind, somehow, of your arrival, chose that very moment -to break in to arrest you. And when they found you, as they thought, -gone, they arrested me instead . . . and if it had not been for -you . . . And you,"--she finished brokenly, looking down at his -foot,--"you went through all this for me, thinking I had betrayed -you." - -"Why," said La Vireville, with more animation, "if it comes to -that, Madame, you were yourself under a slight misapprehension -with regard to me!" - -"I know! I know! Oh, can you ever forgive me?" she cried, leaving -her task and kneeling down once more by his side. "I know now--it -was your cousin the Marquis--but the name, the likeness, your -having been at Coblentz--I felt so sure----" - -"Then how do you know now?" queried La Vireville, still more puzzled. - -"Because," she answered, "I have had someone to tell me the truth. -I told you that I was leaving Porhoët in a day or two. I was, in -fact, expecting my other brother from Guernsey to take me away--he -is in the Comte d'Oilliamson's regiment there. He was to meet me here -at L'Estournel, rather than come to Porhoët, because the manoir was -unoccupied, and we both knew it, as it belonged once to our kin. So -I made Grain d'Orge bring me here; it seemed the best thing to do, -since we could not safely return to Porhoët, and Henri, when he came, -could help Grain d'Orge to look for you." - -She broke off, and returned to her ministrations. - -"And then, Madame?" suggested her patient. - -"Henri was here waiting for me! He had come earlier by a day than -we had arranged. And he told me about poor André--how that it was -your cousin the Marquis. Indeed, I had been already prepared for -this, because Grain d'Orge spoke once or twice of you as 'Monsieur -le Chevalier.' . . . All day we have been searching for you, as -best we could--my brother is not yet returned. (Oh, this foot . . . -what you must have suffered!) But I, when I came in a little while -ago and saw you lying like a dead man across the hearthstone, I -could scarcely believe it--and that fate had given me a chance -after all of telling you that--a chance of undoing what I did----" - -"What you did not do, rather," corrected La Vireville. - -"But you thought I had--and yet you saved me!" - -It was impossible categorically to deny this accusation, yet La -Vireville was beginning to answer when a step was heard on the -flagged floor, and Mme. de Guéfontaine sprang to her feet. - -"Henri--he is here!" - -And into the prostrate man's somewhat limited field of vision -came a dark, good-looking young man whose resemblance to Mme. de -Guéfontaine proclaimed his relationship. His sister slipped her -arm into his. - -("Now I wonder," thought Fortuné, "how far her fraternal affection -for _this_ brother would carry her!") - -"Monsieur," began Henri du Coudrais, with emotion, standing looking -down upon the Chouan. "I have no words to express my apologies, my -gratitude, or my sense of your magnanimity. But why did you not -tell my sister the truth?" - -"Monsieur," replied La Vireville from the floor, "I began to do -so, but . . . had not time to finish. And I do not think that I -should have been believed. . . . But permit me to say, M. du Coudrais, -that if I had a sister, and she had been placed in like circumstances, -I could only be flattered if her affection for me had led her to -do the same, in all things, as Madame has done." - -Mme. de Guéfontaine lifted her head from her brother's shoulder, -against which she had suddenly hidden her face. "In all things?" -she repeated, stressing the words, and with something like a -remembered horror in her eyes. - -Fortuné de la Vireville raised himself a trifle, while his fingers, -as if unconsciously, tapped out a little tune on the handle of -his hunting-knife. "Yes," he said, smiling at her meaningly and -half-mischievously, "_in all things!_" - -And the old beams, which had heard so many wise and foolish utterances, -caught and flung to each other his perverse and fantastic condonation. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - SEA-HOLLY - - - (1) - -The moon that night, peering through the half-shuttered windows -of the manoir, spilt on the dark floor pools that reminded La -Vireville of those others in the interminable wet road of the -afternoon. Mme de Guéfontaine and her brother had contrived for him -a fairly comfortable resting-place by piling some old moth-eaten -hangings and a cloak or two on the oak settle, and he had been -made, despite his protests, to occupy this couch. But his foot -pained him too much to admit of sleep. - -From where he lay he could just see Mme. de Guéfontaine lying back -in a great chair by the empty hearth, a cloak over her knees; and -at one time the direct moonlight itself, falling on her fine, weary -profile, showed a wisp or two of hair escaping down her cheek, a -relic of her wild ride with the Chouan. But he knew that she slept -only in snatches, and that she was concerned for him. Every time -that she stirred and turned her head in his direction he deceitfully -closed his eyes to delude her into the belief that he was not -awake. At her feet lay her brother, wrapped in his cloak; he at -least seemed to be enjoying a motionless repose, and evidences of -an acoustic kind went to prove that Grain d'Orge, self-banished, -out of respect, to the other end of the hall, was certainly not -suffering from insomnia. - -La Vireville was indeed not without occupation of a sort as he lay -there wakeful and the hours went by. He was enabled to devote almost -unlimited time to an interesting problem--one now, unfortunately, -impossible of exact solution. Would Mme. de Guéfontaine, this modern -Jael, really have stabbed him yesterday morning if he had not -forestalled her? On the whole, he was almost inclined to think that -she would. But probably she would not have done it very well. . . . -What irony, though, if she had--if he, Augustin, after all his -hazards and escapes, had ended that way, slain in his sleep by -a devoted adherent of the same cause, for a private offence that -he had never committed, and which the real offender had since, -perhaps, almost expiated! (By the way, he must remember to tell -Mme. de Guéfontaine of that.) - -At any rate, he was heartily glad to know that she had not, after -all, betrayed him. To the conception of her now gradually forming in -his mind, such a course seemed so foreign as almost to be incredible. -But he did believe that she might have used the knife. - -Speculations of this kind did not, of course, advance sleep, though -they kept him a little from thinking of his injured foot, which -was the real obstacle to slumber. As the moon-pools ebbed away -and the place became full of a ghostly grey radiance that might -or might not be the dawn--for La Vireville had small idea of the -time--he changed his position on the settle, thinking it might -ease his foot. Stealthily as he did it, he heard Mme. de Guéfontaine -stir. He repeated his expedient of shutting his eyes and lying very -still. But he knew in a moment that she had risen from her chair -and was bending over him, so he reopened them. - -"M. le Chevalier, you cannot sleep, I know," she whispered. - -"Peu importe, Madame," he replied. "But what of you?" - -"If I could see you sleeping perhaps I could do the same," was -her retort. "Let me renew the wet cloth round your foot; it is -time it was done." - -La Vireville protested, but she paid no heed. Flitting about -noiselessly in that pale gloom she procured water, and, kneeling -by the settle, very intently unwound the heated wrappings, dipped -them in the cool liquid, and replaced them. - -"Is that better?" she asked, coming like a ghost to his side. - -"Much better," he murmured. "Almost worth having it crushed for, -in fact." - -Mme. de Guéfontaine looked down at him without speaking, but he -was aware, almost painfully aware, of the distress and remorse -surging in her heart. - -"I was sure that the Blues had got you--if they had not killed you," -she said in a vibrating voice. "And all for me, for me who . . ." - -"As far as I can tell," interrupted La Vireville lightly, "they -rode over me and never saw me. I assure you that I have the devil's -own luck, Madame; it is mixed with a good deal of an inferior kind, -but it has always held to this point, that I have so far succeeded -in cheating l'Ankou, as we call him in Brittany." - -"My brother André had that kind of luck too," said she sadly. "But -it failed him in the end." - -La Vireville perceived that she wanted to talk about him--perhaps -as a kind of amende honorable for her suspicions and hostility at -Porhoët. "If you cannot sleep, Madame," he suggested, "will you -not tell me about your brother? You see, I only knew of him as -'Alexis,' and I must tell you that I had got it into my head that -his real name was de Kérouan or something of the sort." - -"At what cross-purposes were we playing!" she exclaimed. "Do you -really wish me to tell you about André?" - -"If you will be so good," replied Fortuné. "Consider also, if you -please, Madame, that I have procured you a chair here." - -She smiled a little, and, bringing one quietly to the side of the -settle, sat down, and began in her low and beautiful voice to tell -him her history. There was a strange kind of unreal and yet intimate -charm in this recital in the morning twilight, that went back now -and then to childish days, some of which this old hall itself had -witnessed. For here André and Raymonde du Coudrais, from their -home in more western Brittany, had been used to visit an old uncle -and aunt, and here they and their cousins had played hide-and-seek, -and here André himself had lain hid only a week before his death. -By reason of its early associations with that beloved brother the -old place was now, the narrator confessed, painful to her, yet with -a kind of sweetness. But the rest of the Carhoët country, she -suddenly acknowledged in a voice that shook, had become intolerable -to her. - -An extraordinary devotion to her brother André had always been hers -from childhood; listening to her, La Vireville thought that so -ardent a nature as hers (beating under an exterior that in some -ways belied it) must always have needed someone on whom to expend -itself, and that having so early found that person, it was singularly -fitting that she should never have been forced to transfer her -allegiance. For André had never married, and her own marriage, in -1788, to a man many years older than herself, for whom it was -evident she had not felt love, but much respect, had left unimpaired -the bond between her brother and herself. The Comte de Guéfontaine's -death in exile at Hamburg, in 1792, had set her free to serve -André and the cause he followed with all her heart and soul. That -was the year of the unfortunate Coblentz episode, of which she -spoke with far more bitterness than of her brother's death; it was -from Coblentz that he had come to her at Hamburg, not yet recovered -of the wound to his body, and healed still less of that to his -spirit. At Hamburg they had shared the privations of exile--and -worse, the slight sneers of compatriots who looked askance at the -Marquis de la Vireville's victim. Their pride at last drove them -thence to England. And from England André had found the way to -Brittany, the command of the Carhoët division, and his death. His -sister had been with him all the time, nineteen months--a long -spell of life for a Chouan leader. - -And when he had heard the whole tale and realised what a sensitive -pride and what a singularly tender affection his cousin's action -had outraged, La Vireville was certainly in no mind to rescind -his half-jesting condonation of Raymonde de Guéfontaine's attempt -at vengeance. Rather, he ratified it. - -"Madame," he said when she had ended, "perhaps you can extend some -measure of forgiveness to my unhappy cousin when you learn that -he gave his life, after all, for the same cause as your brother -has done. He died of his wounds after the battle of Charleroi -last year." - -"But that does not undo what he did," she said quite simply. "It -does not give André back his honour; it makes no difference at all." - -"No," answered La Vireville, after a pause, "that is true. It -does not." - -There was a silence. Then she said, leaning forward and looking -at him very directly--there was more light now, "M. le Chevalier, -I think there are some who love better than they hate, and some -who hate better than they love. Could you forgive a mortal injury -so readily? . . . But perhaps you have none to forgive?" - -La Vireville abruptly put his locked hands over his eyes. "Madame," -he replied after a moment, "I have had a mortal injury to forgive -these ten years--and I have not forgiven it." - -She was startled, no doubt, at the hard intensity of his tone, -and drew back, as one who has stumbled on a grave. - -"I beg your pardon," she said in a very low voice. "That was -impertinent. I ought not to have asked such a question." - -And it was a proof of the measure in which they had both already -passed into a region of intimacy sufficiently remote from the -somewhat unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting, that -it struck neither of them at the moment, least of all the man, -that it was a strange question to put to him, considering those -circumstances. His recent treatment of an at least attempted mortal -injury could hardly be termed rancorous. But this reflection did -not occur to Mme. de Guéfontaine till she had, a little later, -resumed her efforts at slumber, and to Fortuné it did not occur -at all. - - - (2) - -It was something of a surprise to the Chevalier de la Vireville -to learn, next morning, how near the manoir of L'Estournel stood -to the sea. Henri du Coudrais had, it appeared, made all the -necessary arrangements for conveying his sister to Guernsey that -evening, and they were to embark, as soon as dusk fell, from a -tiny cove not a mile distant from the old house, and, when they -had sailed to a certain point, were to be picked up by a fishing -smack, and so to St. Peter Port. - -But La Vireville himself, as the brother and sister assured him, -could lie very conveniently hidden at L'Estournel for another day -or two, to permit his foot a further chance of recovery. This, -however, was not a course which commended itself to the invalid. -He declared that he also should leave that evening for Carhoët, -taking the sole means of locomotion open to him, namely, Grain -d'Orge's horse, which, having conveyed its double burden safely -to the manoir, was now secretly tethered in one of the tumble-down -stalls, nourished on handfuls of grass. If Grain d'Orge could not -somehow procure another steed for his own use (which was improbable) -he must go on foot, leading this beast, and his master upon it, -under cover of night, and by ways known to himself, to Carhoët. -Moreover, La Vireville proposed, since the coast was so conveniently -near, to accompany Mme. de Guéfontaine and her brother thither, -and speed their departure before himself turning inland for his -own destination. And in these two resolutions he persisted all day, -despite every effort to dissuade him. - -But all morning and afternoon he obediently lay, or rather sat -propped up, on his settle, his swathed foot extended in front of him, -and conversed with the two émigrés, or watched the lady preparing -the somewhat exiguous meals necessitated by the absence of fire, -which they dared not light for fear of the betraying smoke. During -the afternoon they held a solemn conclave, he and she, and she -gave him a fresh quantity of valuable information about his new -command, of which he took cypher notes. - -"How am I going to replace you, Madame?" he said at the end, putting -the notes away in his breast, and looking at her with a certain -admiration and wonder. - -"Shall I come back?" she suggested, smiling. And though he knew -that she did not for a moment mean the offer to be accepted, and -she had told him that the place, from its memories of the lost -André, was hateful to her, he guessed at some lingering traces of -regret, even of poignant regret, in her mind. - -"You could not take up your quarters at Porhoët again, I fear," -said he, smiling too. "I wonder if the Citizen Botidoux has got -over his interview with the Commissary! Why did you so providentially -keep that tricolour sash in your press, Madame? It is true that -I have not felt my own man since I had it round me, but it certainly -lent a most convincing--perhaps _the_ convincing--touch to the -whole affair." - -"How amazingly you carried it off!" she exclaimed, her eyes glowing. -"Oh, I kept the sash because . . . well, one never knew when it -would prove useful--to an émigré embarking, for instance. It came -off a dead Blue. But, as you can imagine, I could have bitten my -tongue out afterwards for having screamed as I did. Yet I--yes, -it seemed like a nightmare to recognise your voice. I thought -for a moment, you see, that all the time you must have been a -Government spy. I could hardly be expected, could I," she inquired, -with the glimmer of a smile, "to grasp in a moment such unequalled -magnanimity?" - -"Madame," said La Vireville hardily, "I am getting somewhat tired -of that word. You know, to be quite frank, I have not so much claim -to it as you might think. In the first place, I rather admired -you for . . . for that business with my hunting-knife--save that if -you really want to stab a man you must not hesitate like that about -it, and you must know just where to strike (I can show you if you -wish); and secondly----" - -"Monsieur," said his Jael, looking down and biting her lip, with -a heightened colour, "either you are laughing at me, or you are -trying to avenge yourself. I think it is true . . . you are not -so magnanimous after all." - -"Just as I told you!" cried Fortuné. "But I swear that I am not -laughing at you. It is the truth, as I live, that when I knew the -provocation you had received I thought not less of you, but more, -for trying to rid yourself of me--I mean of my cousin Gaspard. -But--there is one thing I am dying to know, though I do not feel -certain that you can tell me." - -She looked warily at his half-mocking expression. - -"I suppose, Monsieur Augustin, that you have earned the right to -any information I can give you." - -La Vireville lazily put his clasped hands behind his head and kept -his eyes on her. "Would you really have inserted that knife into -me if I had not . . . waked?" - -Mme. de Guéfontaine parried. "I will tell you," she said, no more -than a little perturbed, "if you will tell me something. At what -moment exactly _did_ you wake?" - -He held her a second or two under his amused gaze before he would -answer. "That, Madame," he said at length, "is too vital a secret -to be revealed. I cannot tell you." - -"Then I cannot answer your question either," retorted she. - -La Vireville made her a bow. "So be it. I shall always cherish -the hope that you meant to make a good job of it, like Mlle. de -Corday with the late Citizen Marat. Your opportunity, par exemple, -was something better. And you, Madame, if it gives you any pleasure, -need not know whether I was not awake and watching you all the -time." He smiled mischievously. "But let me proceed to the second -reason why I am not so magnanimous--what a mouthful of a word it -is!--as you think. It is this--that the advent of the patriots of -Porhoët followed so soon on your threatening departure that I felt -tolerably sure you had not had time, even if you had the will, to -summon them. And I remembered that you had warned me of certain -suspicious spirits." - -This time Mme. de Guéfontaine confessed to emotion, drawing a great -breath of relief. "M. le Chevalier, you believe me then--that I -did not send for them, that I never should have done!" - -"Madame, naturally I believe you. Have you not already told me so? -Yet consider--you told me here, after it was all over, while my -point is, that the idea had already occurred to me at the time, -and that when I had the honour of carrying you off I was pretty -sure that you had not, in the event, betrayed me." - -She winced at the word, and dropped her head. "I do not know how I -could even have threatened it," she said earnestly. "But I was mad." - -"You cannot think, Madame," went on La Vireville, the mischief -gone out of his face, "how much that thought comforted me. It was -difficult for me to connect the idea of you and . . . treachery. -The knife--well and good, I could understand that, but not the other." - -Mme. de Guéfontaine lifted her head and met his eyes. - -"The difficulty is," she said quietly, "to be sure that I have -convinced you that I did not betray you even in intention; that -when they rushed in, my idea of vengeance was already dead." - -"I am content to take your word for that, Madame," said La Vireville, -and, bending forward, he lightly took one of her hands and lifted -it to his lips. - -She flushed and sighed. "It is no use for you to deny it, M. le -Chevalier. You are what you refuse to be called." - -At that moment Grain d'Orge stumbled past, bearing an armful of -herbage for the horse, and casting at the pair as he went, out of -his quick little eyes, a glance at once solicitous and discontented. -Mme. de Guéfontaine seemed fully conscious of it. - -"Poor Grain d'Orge," she said musingly, as soon as he was out of -hearing. "He was half beside himself with anxiety about you. I -do not know to what saints he did not pray. I am sure he will never -be able to pay for all the candles he has promised to St. Yves -alone. How was it, Monsieur Augustin, you who repudiate . . . that -word . . . that you had never given him even an inkling that I -was responsible (as you had every reason to think) for the appearance -of the National Guard?" - -"Because in that case, Madame," responded La Vireville promptly, -"I should never have got him to help me in my little plan. He would -never have gone near the lock-up. He was sufficiently insubordinate -as it was. And, as events turned out," he added gravely, "it was a -good thing that I never even hinted at it. He would have been quite -capable of cutting your throat when he got you alone." - -"He did not seem very much pleased with me as it was," remarked -Mme. de Guéfontaine pensively. "He accused me of having----" She -stopped abruptly. - -"He made the same remark to me in the cottage," observed La Vireville -gravely, but with laughter in his eyes. "I trust that, like me, -you were quick to acknowledge its justice. I told him that you had -done it with a--knife." - -If he had wished to put an end to their conversation La Vireville -certainly succeeded, for at that Mme. de Guéfontaine, murmuring -something about Henri and a meal, arose and left him. She had, -for the time being, quite lost her beautiful pallor. - - - (3) - -La Vireville had his way in the end, and rode with them at dusk -to the sea, and Mme. de Guéfontaine walked beside the grey horse, -throwing a glance now and then at the bandaged foot, which his -rider could not get into the stirrup. - -"It was all my fault," she said, when they had gone a little way, and -L'Estournel, place of refuge and memories, was a memory once more. - -"Pardon me, Madame," objected La Vireville from above her, "it was -not you who dropped a barrel on my toes." - -She gave a rather impatient sigh. "Do you always jest about yourself, -M. le Chevalier?" - -"Madame, what else would you have me to do? Does it not strike -you as humorous, you who know the conditions of our warfare in -Brittany, that when fighting begins again I should have, for a -time at least, to lead my men over hedges and through the broom -in a litter, which is the only method of conveyance that I can -think of at the moment?" He laughed under his breath. "At any rate, -my foot is a change of site for an injury. Last time, not so long -ago, it was a knock on the head that I acquired." - -"And in whose cause, pray, did you receive that?" - -"But in the usual--no, parbleu, when I come to think of it, it -was an extra. It was for--a child, a small boy." - -"And what, if one may ask, were you doing that you got knocked on -the head for a small boy?" - -"I was trying to convey him back to England. He had come to France -by--mistake. I had some trouble over it." - -"And is he back in England?" - -The rider nodded. "Safely back in Cavendish Square by now, I trust." - -"Cavendish Square?" said she, surprised, for she knew London. "Then -he was an English boy?" - -"No, French, the son of a friend of mine, the Marquis de Flavigny, -who lives with his Scotch father-in-law there. And I think I may -count the child himself as a friend, if it comes to that." - -"Ah, it was not for a person unknown, then, that time--or for one -who had tried to do you an injury?" - -"What do you mean?" asked La Vireville. And he added quickly, -"Madame, I beseech you never to refer to that episode again, or -I----" But here the grey stumbled badly, and he never finished -his threat. - -"Hold up, Rosinante!" adjured Mme. de Guéfontaine below her breath. - -"You learnt this beast's name the other night, I suppose," suggested -La Vireville innocently, for he had not clearly heard what name -she used. - -She looked up at him with dancing eyes which held a suspicion -of moisture. - -"Did you not recognise the animal the moment you saw it, M. le -Chevalier?" - -"But I never set eyes on it before in my life," objected he. - -"Yet it certainly comes out of the illustrations--by Coypel, if -I remember right, they were. But perhaps when you read it in your -childhood you had not an illustrated edition?" - -"An edition of what?" asked La Vireville, now completely at sea. - -"Of an old Spanish book called _The Adventures of Don Quixote de -la Mancha_," she said, sparkling, having, as was evident, so timed -this thrust that their overtaking her brother and Grain d'Orge -at that very moment should prevent his answering her. - - * * * * * - -Since neither of them could assist in getting ready the little -sailing-boat, already at her moorings below them, they had, afterwards, -a few moments' more converse. La Vireville had dismounted, and -now sat upon the short sea turf at the head of the steep little -sandy track that plunged down into the cove. For all the circumstances -of escape and danger and caution there was a certain feeling of -security, almost of holiday. No patrol was out that night, so -much had been previously ascertained. The offshore breeze of evening -was blowing; although the sun was down there were rosy wisps in -the sky, and the tide drew in upon the little sandy beach like -a lover. - -"Madame," said La Vireville, looking up at her, for she was still -standing, "some time hence, when I come to Jersey, I shall make -an excuse to visit Guernsey and see if you are tired of domesticity, -and ready to undertake the post of agent de la correspondance again." - -"So it is not in the Carhoët division," answered she, looking out -to sea. - -"Would you come to Kerdronan then?" - -The breeze had loosened a strand of her hair, and she put it back -before she replied, turning to him with a half-smile, "I am afraid -that Grain d'Orge--I should say Sancho Panza--would not approve." - -"True," responded La Vireville, but before he had time to suggest -a means of getting round this difficulty, Henri du Coudrais appeared -up the sandy path. - -"Come, Raymonde," he said, "we should be off." To M. de la Vireville -he had already made his grateful adieux, and seeing that gentleman's -evident desire to escape any further testimonies of gratitude he -did not repeat them now. - -But for her leave-taking Raymonde de Guéfontaine waited till her -brother had run down the slope once more. - -"I forbid you to stand up!" she said to the Chouan, and, slipping -to her knees beside him, she held out her hand. When, however, he -thought to carry it to his lips, she seized his right hand strongly -in both of hers and pressed her own lips upon it. "I wish André -had known you!" she murmured, with something that sounded like -a sob. Then she got up and ran down the sandy path. - -And the Chevalier de la Vireville was left in some stupefaction, -staring after her and then at his just-saluted hand. . . . After -a moment he got to his knees and made a grab for the trailing -bridle of his horse, now deriving a hasty nourishment from the -coarse grass, intending by this means to support himself on one -foot. In clutching at the reins--the grey naturally moving on -precisely at the moment of capture--his hand, that hand which had -recently been so unexpectedly hallowed, came into contact with -something prickly. It was a young plant of sea-holly. - -"Peste!" ejaculated the sufferer, but he caught the bridle and -scrambled to his feet--or foot. Once again he looked curiously -at his right hand. But the tingling sensation which was running -over it now was not due entirely to its contact with a woman's -lips. There was a little blood on it, for the sharp, bloomless -sea-holly had scratched him. Blood on his hand and a kiss; the -sea-holly's wound and a woman kneeling beside him by the sea--these -things were all to come back to him afterwards. . . . Now he stood -with his arm over the saddle, and watched the embarkation. - - * * * * * - -"I am glad the witch has gone," observed Grain d'Orge with simple -thankfulness as he in his turn came up the slope. "She has caused -a great deal of trouble. Are you ready, Monsieur Augustin, to start -for Carhoët?" - -Monsieur Augustin came out of his momentary reverie. "Quite ready," -he replied. "Turn the animal round. I must mount on the wrong side -as before with your kind assistance. By the way, Grain d'Orge, do -you know what this creature's name is?" - -He was in the saddle before the Breton, with a grunt, replied in -a conclusive tone that it had no name. - -"There you are wrong, mon gars," retorted his leader, settling -his damaged foot as comfortably as he could. "Very wrong. We all -have names--you included. Heigh-ho . . . and so this interlude -comes to an end! Let us hope that we shall succeed in getting to -Carhoët this time." - -He gathered up the reins, and, with the old Chouan at the horse's -head, set his face inland. Not very far out from shore, in the -dwindling light, a little sail was bobbing to the waves. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - HOW ANNE-HILARION FED THE DUCKS - - - (1) - -It may be judged whether Anne-Hilarion kept silence on his adventures, -either to his grandfather or to his admiring audience of servants. -The chief rôle in his recitals, however, was always assigned to -M. le Chevalier, and endless were the tales of his kindness, his -cleverness, and his strength. Mr. Elphinstone, though he would -not for anything check these outpourings, found means sometimes to -avoid them by diverting his grandson's attention to other subjects, -partly because he did not think it good for the child to dwell too -much on his recent past, partly because he himself found them so -painful. He had latterly lived through a time that he could never -forget, nor would he ever be able to forgive himself for letting -Anne go to Canterbury. But he would not now, thank God, have to -greet his son-in-law, on his return from Verona, with the terrible -news of Anne's disappearance. - -As it happened it was Anne himself who conveyed to his father the -first intimation of what had happened during his absence. - -The Marquis arrived unexpectedly one afternoon when Mr. Elphinstone -was closeted with his lawyer in the library. Nothing, therefore, -passed between them, for the moment, beyond the usual very cordial -greetings, and de Flavigny had the fancy to surprise his son -unannounced. He went up to the nursery, and, opening the door -noiselessly, became a surprised witness of Anne's powers of narration. -Baptiste was sitting rapt upon a stool, and Anne, perched upon -a window seat, was describing the midnight flight from Abbeville. -To his father, of course, this was merely an exercise in fiction. - -"And then we came to water and ships, and M. le Chevalier said I -must be his nephew, and we would go in one of the ships, and the -captain said Yes, though at first I think he said No, and he gave -me that shell I have downstairs, and after quite a long time we -came to--where did I tell you yesterday, Baptiste, that we came to?" - -"It would be Caen, I think, M. le Comte," replied the ancient -retainer, devouring the small narrator with his doglike gaze. - -("What game is this they are playing?" thought the unseen listener.) - -"Yes, that was the name. I liked Caen; it is a fine town, with -many churches. But you know, Baptiste, I think the country of -France round that place, Abbeville, not so pretty as England." - -"And pray what do you know of Abbeville, little romancer?" interrupted -his father, coming forward. "Or, for that matter, of any part -of France?" - -"M. le Marquis!" exclaimed Baptiste, jumping up from his stool. - -"Papa!" screamed Anne-Hilarion, and was off the seat like a flash -and had flung himself at him. - -But, embraces over, and Baptiste discreetly vanished, de Flavigny -repeated his question. "What do you know of France, baby?" - -"But--a great deal!" responded Anne-Hilarion with dignity. "I -have just been there--did Grandpapa not tell you? I went from the -house of the little old ladies at Canterbury; a horrid man took -me away in the middle of the night, but M. le Chevalier de la -Vireville came after me, and he--well, I do not know what he did -to that man, but we went away in the middle of the night again -from Abbeville, and were in a ship, and a postchaise, and a small -boat, and it was very cold, and a shot hit M. le Chevalier on the -head, and we hid in a cave, and then we were in a forest in -Brittany--there they wear such strange clothes, Papa--and then in -another ship, and at Jersey, and after that----" - -"Good God!" exclaimed the Marquis, rather pale. And he sat down -in a chair with the traveller still in his arms. "Now tell me -everything from the beginning, Anne, and not so fast. . . ." - - * * * * * - -M. de Flavigny heard it all again that evening from a narrator -much more moved than the first had been--principal actor though -that narrator was as well. Mr. Elphinstone was indeed so overcome -with self-condemnation for having allowed himself to be duped, -and the child to depart, that it was his son-in-law who had to -comfort him. In the end the old gentleman registered a firm vow -never to take any more French lads into his household from motives -of charity. - -"But I felt so sure that I had heard you mention the name of de -Chaulnes, René," he said in justification. "And she seemed, that -old she-devil, really to have known your family. For you say that -the incident of your being lost in a quarry as a boy is true?" - -His son-in-law nodded thoughtfully. "She must have got hold of -it somehow--though one would have thought that some fictitious -adventure of my youth would have served as well. But I never -remember to have heard my parents mention the name." - -"M. de la Vireville implied that it was not their own," murmured -the old man. - -"I think he knows more about them than I do," said René. - -"They were gone, at any rate, by the time I got a warrant out -against them, as he prophesied in his letter that they would be." - -"You have heard from him then!" ejaculated the Marquis. "Where -is he, sir? Have I no chance of thanking him in person?" - -"I am afraid not," said Mr. Elphinstone. "I would give a thousand -pounds to do it. But, after all, what are thanks?" - -"All that Fortuné would accept," said the Marquis quickly. "On -my soul, I don't know which has moved me more, Anne's danger or -_his_ courage, address, and uncalled-for devotion. . . . But where -is he, and what of this letter?" - -"I believe," said Mr. Elphinstone, taking a paper from his desk, -"that he is either in Jersey or back among his Chouans in Brittany. -The letter, such as it is, he sent by Mr. Tollemache." - - "'I herewith return to you, sir,'" read René de Flavigny, "'my - charming travelling-companion, by the hand of a young man who - is, I suspect, as unused to acting the nursemaid as I was myself - a few days ago. I fear that Anne's apparel is not as Mme. - Saunders would wish to find it, but there was not time for - my mother completely to repair it, as I could see that she - was aching to do. I think that the child is mercifully none - the worse for his experiences, and I, for my part, am eternally - your debtor for allowing me to go after him. - - "'I return also, by the kindness of the same gentleman, the - residue of the sum which you entrusted to me for my mission--not - so large a balance as I could wish, but it was not possible to - conduct our tour on less expensive lines. - - "'Tell René, when he returns, that I hope to meet him, at no - distant date, with a contingent of the persons whose appearance - and attire has, I believe, made a deep impression upon Anne. - - "'I wager that you have already found the nest at Canterbury - empty.--Believe me, sir, yours--and particularly Anne's--always - to command, - - "'C. M. TH. F. DE LA VIREVILLE.'" - -"I shall meet him, as he says," said René de Flavigny, laying down -the letter, "in France, when the sword is drawn. I went to see Mr. -Windham directly I got back to London this morning. Preparations -for the expedition are already advancing, and it will start in a -few weeks' time." - -Mr. Elphinstone looked at the enthusiasm in his face. Once again, -then, that fatal shore was going to take a member of his family -from him. And would it, this time, yield up its prey? - -"You are going to enlist in it, I suppose?" he said sadly. - -"I have already done so," replied the young man, his eyes shining. -"At least, I have this morning given in my name to the Comte de -Puisaye as a volunteer." - - - (2) - -A few days after his father's return from a mission which did not -seem to have had any very tangible results, Anne-Hilarion, following -the example of his grandfather, definitely decided to write his -memoirs--a project which had been in his head since his own homecoming. -And since Mr. Elphinstone, a good draughtsman, was embellishing his -reminiscences with delicate sepia drawings of Indian scenes and -monuments, from sketches made on the spot, Anne-Hilarion resolved -that his too should have pictures--reconstructed in this case -entirely from memory. - -There were other difficult points to be settled. As, were these -annals to be written in a copy-book or upon loose sheets of paper? -The former was finally chosen, owing to the necessity of lines to -one whose pen did not always move in a uniform direction. Then, -were the records to be couched in French or English? After much -thought and discussion the diarist came to the conclusion, probably -unique in the history of autobiography, that the portion dealing -with his adventures in France was to be written in the Gallic -tongue, his doings in England in the English. - -Mr. Elphinstone had done all in his power to encourage his small -imitator, and had bought him a box of paints for the purposes -of illustration which, in the first onset of delirious joy, had -caused the child entirely to forsake, for the time being, the -more laborious travail of the pen, and to cover his grandfather's -table with drawings of ships of no known rig, and renderings of La -Vireville's person which his worst enemy would not have recognised. -Mr. Elphinstone's reasons for this course were not far to seek. The -dark day of his son-in-law's departure for the shores of France was -drawing nearer more quickly than the former had at first anticipated, -and the old man hoped that when it had become an accomplished fact, -the new occupation would serve in a measure to absorb and distract -Anne-Hilarion. He and the Marquis alike had forborne to cast a -shadow on the child, so recently restored to them, by telling him -how short a time was his with his father. For René de Flavigny -was to join his regiment on the twelfth of June, and May was now -half over. - - * * * * * - -And so, as late as June the sixth, a fine warm afternoon, the -diarist, who had not yet been told, was walking in St. James's -Park with his father, discussing the project which, near though -it was to his heart, had not as yet greatly advanced. It was their -last walk together, but only one of them guessed that. - -They stood a moment by the lake, where, later on, Anne proposed -to feed the wildfowl. At present literary cares were too absorbing. - -"I wish that M. le Chevalier were here, Papa," he observed. "You -see, I cannot remember the days of the month in France." - -"Yes," said the Marquis rather absently, "it is a pity he is not -here to help you." For of La Vireville, since the day when he and -Anne had parted at St. Helier, not a sign. - -"And then there is another thing, Papa," resumed Anne. "I cannot -remember anything about the time when I was born." - -"That is not expected in a memoir, mon enfant," replied his father. -"You state the fact, that is all. You know when your birthday comes." - -"Yes," assented Anne. "And that part must be in French, because -I was born in France. 'Je suis né le 14 juillet 1789, au château -de Flavigny.' You will tell me about that, Papa--about the château?" - -The young Frenchman did not answer for a moment. In place of the -ordered verdure of the London park, the lake, and the wildfowl, -there rose before his eyes the pointed roofs over the sea, the -fountains, the terraces, and Janet with the sunlight on her hair. . . . - -"Yes, I will tell you . . . some day," he said quietly. "Meanwhile -you could begin, could you not? with what you remember in England. -And for the present, don't you think, Anne, that you would like -to feed the ducks?" - -Rummaging in a pocket, his small son produced a paper of crumbs, -which, even before he could open it, was espied and loudly commented -upon by one of the denizens of the lake. - -"Oh, there's one coming already!" ejaculated Anne. "Do not be -in such a hurry, duck! Papa, I can't get this open. Please!" He -tendered the packet to his father. - -However, the expectant Muscovy drake at the edge of the water -was destined to disappointment, for just as de Flavigny took the -little parcel, Anne's attention was diverted to something widely -different. He gave a sudden exclamation of pleasure and surprise. - -"Papa, there is M. le Lieutenant coming--who brought me home from -Jersey, you know!" It was so. Along the path, the sun glinting on -his gold lace, accompanied by a fair damsel in cherry-coloured -muslin with a white Leghorn bonnet, Mr. Francis Tollemache of -H.M.S. _Pomone_ advanced towards the same goal. - -"May I speak to him, Papa?" inquired Anne earnestly. - -"Do, mon fils, and make me acquainted with him," said the Marquis. -"I have much to thank him for." - -"Hallo, young 'un!" exclaimed the sailor, as Anne ran towards -the pair. He gravely stooped and shook hands. "Where did you spring -from? Cecilia, let me present the Comte de Flavigny." - -Miss Cecilia, with a smile which was advantageous to her dimples, -followed the example of her escort. "I have heard a great deal -about you," she said to the little boy. - -"You are M. le Lieutenant's sister?" suggested Anne-Hilarion. -But Miss Cecilia, with a laugh and a blush, shook her head, and -before Mr. Tollemache could define her relationship the Marquis -had come up. - -"I must introduce myself," he said with a bow, in English. "I -am Anne's father, Mr. Tollemache, and very glad to have this -opportunity of thanking you for your care of my boy." - -"There is really nothing whatever to thank me for, sir," returned -the young man. "Somebody else did the work and I got the credit--that -is what it amounts to." - -"On the contrary," said Rene de Flavigny courteously. "I have -cause to be deeply grateful to you for your escort and for your -interest in the child. I can assure you," he added, with a smile, -"that he amply returns the latter. I have learnt much in these -last few weeks about life on board a British frigate." - -Mr. Tollemache laughed, and looked at his admirer, to whom his -betrothed was talking a few paces away. - -"You will shortly have the opportunity, I fancy, sir, of making -a more personal acquaintance yourself with the frigate in question. -I don't know anything exactly official, and perhaps I should not -even refer to the rumour, but I think we shall leave Portsmouth -in company very soon." - -The Marquis, lowering his tone, so that his son should not hear, -asked the sailor a few questions. Meanwhile Anne and Cecilia, -laughing together, threw bread liberally upon the waters, and -caused a hasty navigation of wildfowl from all parts. - -A little more conversation, and Mr. Tollemache and his fair one -agreed that they must be going. A dish of tea, it appeared, awaited -their drinking at the house of some elderly aunt in St. James's -Square, and they dared not be late. - -"Good-bye, Anne," said Francis Tollemache. "You and I must be -shipmates again some day." And he was, not very wisely, inspired -to add, "I will take good care of your father in France." - - * * * * * - -"What did M. le Lieutenant mean by saying that he would take care -of you in France, Papa?" came the inevitable question, as de -Flavigny knew it would, directly the pair were out of earshot. -"You are not going away _again_, are you?" - -Perhaps, after all, this was as good a moment as another for -telling the child. - -"Yes, my pigeon," he replied, trying to keep the sadness in his -heart out of his voice. "Look, you have dropped a large crumb on -the path, and that duck wants it." - -But Anne had no thought for ducks now. "Are you going soon?" he -queried, seizing hold of his father's hand. - -"Yes, I am afraid so," said René, gripping his fingers. - -"Oh, Papa, why?" - -De Flavigny went down on one knee and put an arm round him. A -flotilla of disgusted argonauts watched his movements. "Because -it is my duty, Anne. You know that the little King is in prison, -and that wicked men have taken the throne away from him. But we -owe him allegiance just the same. You remember, when you were at -the meeting in April in Grandpapa's dining-room, where you sat on -M. de la Vireville's knee, how we talked about an expedition to -France? This is the expedition, and I must go with it, to fight -for the King--a little boy like you, Anne--and you must let me -go." His voice shook a trifle. - -The slow tears gathered in Anne-Hilarion's eyes and coursed down -his cheeks. Dropping his last bit of bread, he laid his head -against his father's breast, as the latter knelt there by the -lake. "Je ne peux pas le supporter," he said. - -The Marquis thought that they could both bear it better if he -carried him home, and did so--at least, to nearly the top of -Bond Street. - - - (3) - -"I have had to tell the child," he said to his father-in-law when -they got back. - -"I thought you had done so," returned the old gentleman with -melancholy. "Perhaps it is as well. I have a feeling that you -may be summoned even earlier than you think." - -He was right. About seven o'clock that evening his son-in-law -came to him in the library, an open missive in his hand. - -"It is obvious that you possess the gift of second-sight, sir," -he said, with a rather forced gaiety. "It has come, as you predicted, -earlier than I expected." - -"What, the summons already!" exclaimed Mr. Elphinstone, starting -from his chair. - -René nodded. "I must go immediately--to-night, directly I can -get my valise packed. It is almost in readiness," he added. - -"But why so suddenly?" - -"I look to you, sir, with your gift of prophecy, to tell me that," -said René, with a smile. "There is no reason given; but I must -be at Southampton to-morrow afternoon." - -"You will have time for supper?" queried the old man, his hand -on the bell-pull. - -It was a sad, hurried little meal on which Janet Elphinstone and -her deerhound looked down. Neither of the men spoke much, or ate -much either. At last the Marquis, looking at his watch, got up. - -"If you will excuse me, sir, I will go and say goodbye to Anne now." - -At the sound of his carefully-controlled voice Mr. Elphinstone -almost broke down. "Oh, René, René, if only you need not!" - -Very erect, at the other end of the table, the young man wore a -look which was doubtless on the faces of those of his kin who had -mounted the guillotine, as they went to death. He had, indeed, -for what he was about to do, almost as much need of courage as they. - -"God knows," he answered, "that I would give everything in the world -not to leave him." He looked up for a moment at the child-portrait -on the wall. "I think Jeannette too knows that. He is all I -have--except my honour." - -"And you must sacrifice him to that?" - -"Would you have it the other way round, sir?" - -"No--no! I don't think so . . ." gulped the old man. "Go, then. . . ." - -But as the door shut behind his son-in-law he sank back in his chair -and put his hand over his eyes. First Janet, then Anne-Hilarion, -then René--France had taken them all, and only the child had been -given back. René, he felt sure, would never return. - - * * * * * - -The night-light was already burning, though there was yet daylight -in the room, when the Marquis came in to take farewell of all he -loved best on earth. He drew back the gay chintz curtains and stood -looking down on the treasure above all treasures which Jeannette -had committed to him, and which now he was going to forsake. For, -like his father-in-law, he felt that he should not return. - -Anne-Hilarion was sound asleep, one flushed cheek on his hand, -after his custom, his hair tumbled, and his lips parted in the -utter abandonment of childish slumber. What a pity to wake him! -De Flavigny all but yielded to the impulse just to kiss him and -to steal quietly out of the room. But he knew that the boy would -fret afterwards if he went away without farewell. So with a heavy -heart he stooped over him and spoke his name. - -"Is it you, M. le Chevalier?" murmured Anne sleepily. "Oh, I was -dreaming that I was in France. . . . What is it, Papa?" - -"Shall I take a message from you to the Chevalier?" suggested -René, catching at this opening and trying to smile. - -Anne was still only partially awake. "Yes," he said drowsily. -"Tell him that I want to show him my new goldfish . . . and tell -him to come back soon to England. . . ." The words began to tail -off into sleep again. So much the better. The Marquis knelt down -and gave him a long kiss. - -"Good-bye, my darling, my darling!" he whispered. - -And instantly Anne was fully aroused. "Papa! you are not going -_now_--to-night?" - -"Yes," said his father. "I start for Southampton to-night. Kiss -me, my son, and be a good boy while I am away--and a brave one now!" - -But really it was he--as he felt--who had need of courage then, -for next moment, releasing his hold of the child, as he knelt -there, he himself had buried his face in the coverlet. - - - - - BOOK THREE - - - THE ROAD THAT FEW RETURNED ON - - "It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight, - They waded through red blude to the knee; - For a' the blude that's shed on the earth - Rins thro' the springs o' that countrie." - - _THOMAS THE RHYMER._ - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - "TO NOROWAY, TO NOROWAY" - - - (1) - -From the quarterdeck of His Britannic Majesty's frigate _Pomone_, -which had recently come to anchor in the wide and placid bay of -Quiberon, Mr. Francis Tollemache gazed with interest on that portion -of the southern coast of Brittany which lay before him. The June -evening was calm and foggy, but not sufficiently so as to obscure -the nearer land. In front of the observer was the low, sandy shore -of Carnac; to the right the deeply indented coast, scarcely seen, -broke into inlets and islands till, passing the narrow mouth of -that surprising inland sea, the Morbihan, which gave its name to -the department, it swept round into the peninsula of Rhuis. But on -Mr. Tollemache's left hand, much nearer, curved the long, thin, -sickle-blade of the peninsula of Quiberon, with its tiny villages, -its meagre stone-walled fields, and its abundant windmills. About -two-thirds of the way up, at the narrowest part of the blade, the -threatening mass of Fort Penthièvre looked out on the one side over -the tranquil waters of the bay, on the other over the tormented open -sea, the 'mer sauvage,' that broke against the very rocks on which -the fortress was built. And to this long natural breakwater was due -the shelter of that ample beach at Carnac, indeed the spacious -harbourage of the bay itself, where now the present squadron and -its transports rode in comfort this twenty-fifth of June. - -For the long-talked-of Government expedition had really sailed, and -the surmise made by Mr. Tollemache to the Marquis de Flavigny that -afternoon in St. James's Park had proved entirely correct. Not only -did his ship, the _Pomone_, form part of the convoying force, but -she flew the flag of the commodore himself, that sterling sailor -and gentleman, Sir John Borlase Warren. Under his command there -had left Southampton on the sixteenth of the month a squadron -comprising two seventy-fours, the _Thunderer_ and the _Robust_, -and seven vessels of lesser armament, which flotilla had the task -of convoying transports containing three thousand five hundred -French Royalists, all kinds of stores and uniforms, muskets to the -number of twenty-seven thousand, and ammunition to match. And it -was in vain that the Brest fleet, under Villaret-Joyeuse, had -tried to cut them off from the coast of France. - -As Mr. Tollemache, his telescope under his arm, thus gazed at -their destination--for he understood that the landing, which the -British would cover, but in which they would not participate, was -to take place on the easy sands of Carnac--it occurred to him, -tolerably free though he was from the curse of imagination, that -the unfortunate devils of Frenchies whom they were convoying must -feel rather queerish at seeing their native shores again. They were -in fact crowded now on the decks of the transports, gazing at the -coast through the mist and the failing daylight. M. de Flavigny, -for instance, that little boy's father, he was probably there, -doing the same, poor beggar . . . just like the two leaders of the -expedition here on the quarterdeck of the flagship. Out of the -corner of his eye the young lieutenant could see them, talking to -the commodore; the strutting, self-important, irascible little man -in the uniform of the troops in English pay, the Comte d'Hervilly, -and the would-be organiser of the Chouannerie, the Comte de Puisaye, -tall, awkward, and enigmatic. From what Francis Tollemache had seen -of these individuals during the voyage he had not formed a very -high opinion of their capacity. There did not seem to be much harmony -between them either, and their authority was strangely divided, for -d'Hervilly, who held an English commission, was supposed to be in -command when the troops were at sea, and Puisaye when they were -landed. For this extraordinary arrangement Mr. Tollemache had heard -that My Lords of the Admiralty were to blame, and he thought the -plan very foolish. - -He was to be confirmed in this opinion. That night it fell to him, -as officer of the watch, to witness the arrival up the side of the -_Pomone_, from a tiny boat, of two Chouan chiefs, the Chevalier de -Tinténiac and the Comte du Boisberthelot, gentlemen of title arrayed -in dirty Breton costumes. As a matter of fact the young man had seen -them before, for they had boarded the frigate at Southampton before -she sailed, but he hardly recognised them now. They brought, so he -later understood, good accounts of the disposition of the countryside, -where all the peasantry were ready to rise, undertook to 'sweep' -the coast, and strongly pressed an immediate disembarkation. And -immediately the fruits of the divided command were made manifest: -the Comte de Puisaye and Sir John Warren were for following this -advice, but, since d'Hervilly objected, they had to give way to -the needless precaution of a reconnaissance, on which he insisted. -So next morning, at daybreak, the young sailor saw him embark in a -cutter and make a majestic tour of the bay--a proceeding which had -no effect save that of delaying the landing for twenty-four hours. - -"And," as Mr. Tollemache observed later in the wardroom to a friend, -"why give the beggars on shore longer warning of our arrival than -we need? They are not blind, I suppose; this little collection -can hardly be invisible to the crew in the fort over there, for -instance! Land 'em at once, say I!" - -The friend drew at his pipe. "Wish we were landing a party too -eh, Tollemache?" - -"Well, _we_ aren't getting any fun for our money! I confess I would -rather like to have a smack at the sans-culottes before we leave. -Do you think the fellows we are landing have much of a chance, -Carleton?" - -"Devilish little, I should say," replied his laconic companion, -and knocked out his pipe. - - - (2) - -"Surely it must be a good omen!" thought René de Flavigny that -night, where he sat, with the other officers of the regiment to -which he was attached--du Dresnay's--in the flat-bottomed boat -approaching Carnac beach. For everything to-night--or rather, this -morning, since it was two o'clock--was made resplendent by the -glorious moon which seemed to be riding the heavens on purpose -to welcome these exiles in arms to the land of their birth. Behind -the steadily advancing boats the hulls of the English squadron -lay almost motionless on the breast of an unrippled sea of argent, -in front the wide, pale sands of Carnac stretched like a magic -band of silver. Yes, surely it was a good omen! - -Oh, if only some day his little son too could come back to the land -of his fathers, in no hostile or furtive fashion, but openly, as -of right--and if he might be with him too! Or might his own death -avail, if need were, to bring Anne there before he grew old! Such -was René de Flavigny's prayer in that speaking radiance. And the -sight of that shore and the beauty of the night itself made him -think also. If only one were not coming with a sword against one's -mother! There stole back to him too the remembrance of the day when -he had pointed out the oncoming shores of France to Jeannette--a -bride--and then of the day when they had left them behind in their -flight--the last time she was ever to see them. Yes, when last he had -looked on France she had been in his arms, and Anne in hers. . . . - -De Flavigny's meditations were suddenly checked. Orders were being -shouted; the boats came to a standstill on the silver tide. And, -peering forward, René could make out the cause. - -Drawn up on the beach in the moonlight was a small body of Republican -troops. Their white breeches and facings and cross-belts were -clearly visible. Between the shore and the now stationary craft -with their load were slipping the flotilla's half-dozen gunboats. - -"Oh, why are we not there!" sighed a young officer sitting by the -Marquis, bringing his hand sharply down on his knee. - -But before the English sailors could fire a shot the Blues began -to draw off in haste, and from the mainland behind them came the -rattle of musketry. The Chouans there were evidently driving out -the small Republican garrisons before them--sweeping the coast, -in short, as they had undertaken. - -"First blood to the Bretons!" said the young officer, with envy -in his tones. René felt some consolation in reflecting that La -Vireville had probably had a share in that honour. - -He began to talk to his companion as the boats resumed their shoreward -course. There was time enough indeed for any amount of conversation -before either of them set foot on the beach, for the régiment du -Dresnay was in the second detachment, and the first had yet to be -landed--the regiment of Loyal-Emigrant, mostly veterans from Flanders, -and d'Hervilly's own regiment, once Royal-Louis, the numbers of -which had been made up, most unwisely, by drafts from the French -Republican prisoners in England. - -But at last their turn came, and to cries of "Vive le Roi" and -the roll of drums du Dresnay's colours were unfurled, and, when -they were near enough, many an émigré jumped into the water and -waded to land. In du Dresnay many were actually Bretons, and for -them the shore in front of them was not only France, but their -own sacred corner of France, and several of them, when they reached -it, dropped on their knees and kissed the wet sand. - -René de Flavigny did not do that, but it was not for want of emotion, -for his heart was swelling painfully as he stood at last on the -earth that had borne him. "It is France, France!" he said to himself, -hardly believing it. And then he was swallowed up in the intense -excitement reigning on the beach, where two or three bands of the -victorious Chouans had suddenly streamed down upon the regiments of -the first detachment, embracing their compatriots and declaring that -the whole countryside was theirs--and filling some of the correctly -uniformed newcomers with surprise at their strange appearance. Even -their officers were little better clad. De Flavigny's eyes lit upon -one of these--a French gentleman from Jersey--and beheld a figure -attired in a little green vest, short breeches of the same, with -bare legs covered with mud, burst shoes, a three months' beard, and -a perfect armoury of weapons. But where was Fortuné? Had he been -delayed, or met with some mishap? - -And the scene became still more confused and further charged with -emotions, for there were now arriving not Chouans, but the peaceful -inhabitants of the districts round, bringing cattle, and carts loaded -with provisions, and all eager to help disembark the ammunition and -the cannon, and insisting on carrying through the water, on their -shoulders, those émigrés who had not yet reached shore. The noise and -tumult were indescribable, and at last, to complete the reception, -there advanced on to the beach, singing as they came, a procession -of priests preceded by crosses and the banners of their parishes. - -It was at these last that the Marquis was gazing, wondering for -the first time why the saintly old Bishop of Dol, Monseigneur de -Hercé, whom they had brought with them, had not been landed with -his ecclesiastics, when a hand fell on his shoulder, and he found -himself looking into the face of La Vireville, bronzed and not -overclean, his hair falling loose on his shoulders in the Breton -manner--differentiated indeed from his men only by his high boots -and the white scarf that crossed his breast. - -De Flavigny seized him by the wrists. "At last, at last, I am able -to thank you, Fortuné!" - -But the Chouan wrenched a hand free and put it over the Marquis's -mouth. - -"Don't speak of that now, as you love me, René! It is past history, -and we have more important matters to occupy us. And as for thanks, -it is I who owe them to you, as responsible for the child's -existence. . . . Is he well?" - -If the young man was not allowed to speak his thanks, he could -look them, there on the sandy beach amid the excited throng, the -east on fire with the coming day, and his friend's hand in his. -"I was to tell you, if I had the chance to meet you, that he had -got a new goldfish in place of the one he left at Canterbury, and -that he hopes to show it to you--some day." - -La Vireville smiled. "He shall bring it to France." - -"And show it to the little King at Versailles," interposed de -Flavigny, "when we have put him into his own again!" - -All the amusement died out of the Chouan's face. "You have not -heard then?" - -"What!" asked Rene in alarm. - -La Vireville took off his shabby, wide-brimmed hat. "Louis XVII. is -dead . . . he died before you sailed, on the eighth of June. I have -not long known it--my men do not know it yet. The Comte de Provence -will have to be proclaimed here. The Bretons, who know nothing of -him, will probably murmur. That poor child was often spoken of -amongst them, whereas the Regent--Bon Dieu, what is happening!" - -They both turned. At a little distance, where the new muskets -were being distributed to the Chouans, a sergeant of d'Hervilly's -regiment was having an argument of more than words with two or three -Bretons who had evidently precipitated themselves on to these new -possessions more quickly than he liked. Into the disturbance there -now entered a Chouan of Herculean proportions, presumably a leader, -who, seconded in his efforts by a young man of twenty with the face -of a girl, began driving off the excited gars with the butt-end -of a musket. - -"That is Georges Cadoudal and his friend Mercier la Vendée," -observed La Vireville. "Those must be his own Morbihannais that -he is disciplining!" - -He looked on rather amused, but suddenly his face clouded. The -Comte d'Hervilly had unfortunately hurried to the scene, and began -to rate the two Chouan leaders in no measured terms. The gigantic -Cadoudal--brutal, adored, and bravest of the brave--restrained -himself with evident difficulty, and finally went off, the little -figure of d'Hervilly following him with gesticulations. Meanwhile, -amid shouts of laughter, the sergeant and the too impetuous Bretons -were suddenly reconciled. - -La Vireville shrugged his shoulders. - -"I cannot congratulate you, René, on your leaders! That man d'Hervilly -is incompetent and ridiculous; Heaven send he do not make a mess -of everything! And as for Puisaye, who fancies himself the man to -stand in La Rouërie's shoes and to head the Chouannerie--I know -something of him and of his intrigues in Jersey. Well, I must be -getting back to my men over there, lest Grain d'Orge is letting -them also acquire firearms too quickly. Au revoir, my friend; I -trust not to be away more than a few days." - -"You are going then--but where?" - -"I am going to help Tinténiac and du Boisberthelot drive the -Blues out of Auray and Landévant. When I return I hope to see the -fleur-de-lys on Fort Penthièvre over there. Au revoir!" - -He wrung the Marquis's hand and departed, and René watched his tall -figure making its way through the scarlet-clad ranks of émigrés -(whose uniforms seemed to many of them to smack too much of English -patronage) ere he himself turned away. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - DISPLEASURE OF "MONSIEUR AUGUSTIN" - - -In a little wood to the south of Auray, and in an exceedingly bad -temper, the Chevalier de la Vireville sat on a fallen tree and -surveyed his small band of Chouans, who, lying, seated or crouched -round him on their heels, looked at him with the expression of -dogs who know that they deserve a beating--though wearing, indeed, -the appearance of dogs who have already received one. - -It was the evening of the third of July, six days after the landing -at Carnac. During those days Auray and Landévant had already been -taken by the Chouans and abandoned again for lack of support. Last -night had come peremptory orders from Carnac that they were to -be retaken; so the Comte du Boisberthelot and La Vireville had -set out at eleven that morning, without a single piece of artillery, -to recapture Auray, which was garrisoned by a thousand men under -the Republican adjutant-general Mermet. At the same time Tinténiac, -although he knew the task to be impossible, had attacked Landévant. - -Mermet's sentries were not on the alert, and so the Comte du -Boisberthelot, who was a sailor, came charging in at the head of -his men by the route de l'Eglise, and drove out the Republicans. -But outside the town was Hoche himself, who ordered them to retake -it at any price. Mermet, in obeying this order, fell into the neat -ambush which La Vireville had prepared for him in a copse by the -Faubourg St. Goustan, and his column was on the point of breaking -up in disorder when Hoche came quickly up with his grenadiers -and two pieces of artillery. To stop his advance--a hopeless attempt -it was--La Vireville transferred himself and his Bretons to the -bridge into the town, cast up a barricade with carts and casks -and beams, and could probably have held this obstacle for a long -time against hand-to-hand fighting, or if he had possessed the -smallest piece of artillery. It was the want of that which had -caused him to grind his teeth as his men fired and reloaded and -fired behind the rapidly vanishing barricade, their own numbers -dwindling in proportion. For it was Hoche who had the cannon. - -So he and his Chouans were driven from their position, and, penned -into the square by the church, were mown down by grapeshot till -he got them out of the town, when, in order to cover the wounded -du Boisberthelot's retreat to Locmaria, they returned to the -guerrilla fighting to which they were most accustomed, lying -hidden in the broom and picking off their men with the skill of -poachers. Unfortunately the Republican artillery discovered them -there also. . . . Nothing that La Vireville could say or do would -stop them this time; their abandonment of the position became a -rout, whose track was strewn with discarded sabots and knapsacks -and even with muskets. The émigré himself, swearing and furious, -was swept away on the flood, and finally, at dusk, fugitives and -leader found themselves in this little wood, not much more than a -coppice, but safe enough from pursuit, where the former had time -to draw breath and to reflect, and the latter to get rid of some -of the bitter anger and disgust which had prompted him, at first, -to leave them to their own devices and return alone to sell his -life at Auray. - -He took another look round his dejected followers, and propped -his head between his fists, his elbows on his knees, to think. -He knew that he could get these fierce and childlike natures in -hand again--that, ashamed and penitent, they were, in fact, already -in the desired condition. He had no right, after all, to be hard -on them for the shortcomings of others. It was not their fault -that they had no artillery, and that help had not been sent from -the émigré regiments at Carnac. Moreover, his men had done no -worse than the rest, for a rumour was already afoot that Tinténiac, -the reckless and irresistible, had been beaten back from Landévant, -and that Vauban with his supporting force of Chouans had fared -no better. - -Seeing his chief's attitude, Grain d'Orge, looking more than ever -ruffianly by reason of the filthy rag round his head, rose from -the ground and softly approached him. - -"Monsieur Augustin is not wounded?" - -"Si," retorted La Vireville without moving. "In my pride." - -An uncomfortable silence. Grain d'Orge rubbed his bristly chin. - -"If only the general had helped us a little," he grumbled. "If -some of those fine uniforms we saw at Carnac----" - -"If only we had had a gun----" said another. - -"Perhaps if we had prayed more to Ste. Anne," suggested a third, -thinking of the famous shrine of that saint so dear to all Bretons, -just outside Auray. - -La Vireville heard the last remark. He lifted his head. - -"On the contrary," he observed bitingly, "I should recommend a -little less rosary and a little more attention to simple military -duties. Where is the sentry I posted by that hedge a short time -ago?--Tudieu, this is a shooting matter!" - -Springing to his feet, he went over to the hedge in question, -where indeed no sentry was visible. But he was there for all -that . . . only the shooting seemed to have been done already. - -"He was hit at the barricade," said the croaking voice of Grain -d'Orge in La Vireville's ear as he stooped over the prostrate man. - -"Then why the devil didn't he say so!" retorted his leader. "Give -me a hand, someone, and let us find out what is the matter with -him. Ah, I see; fortunately nothing very serious." - -And having duly played the part of surgeon--a part to which he -was not unaccustomed--set another man at the fallen sentry's post, -and made some further dispositions, La Vireville stood a moment -looking through the tree-trunks towards Carnac, a little south -of the dying sunset, wondering what was happening in the peninsula -of Quiberon. - -"And what shall we do next, Monsieur Augustin?" asked a voice rather -timidly, the voice of Le Goffic. - -La Vireville turned round. "I suppose, my children," he said, more -kindly, "that unless M. d'Allègre holds Locmaria we shall have -to go back to Carnac and tell the general that we have not been -able to do what we were told to do. For the present, we will wait -here till morning." - -"If Monsieur Augustin would sleep a little . . .?" One or two of -them had spread an old cloak under a tree, and now with gestures -invited him to repose. They were like children; it was impossible -to be long angry with them. So he went and lay down on the cloak, -to find that in spite of disgust and anxiety he was ready to sleep. -His new sentinel by the hedge, his musket leaning against him, was -telling his beads, and all his men, directly he lay down, lowered -their voices. He was drowsy, and floated away on a half-dream to -Jersey. . . . Why on earth were they talking of Anne-Hilarion? - -"The little one, thou seest, when he was with us at Kerdronan, how -he was like the little Jesus Himself!" - -"Yes, one looked to see His Mother round every corner." - -"And as for him," said the first speaker, indicating his recumbent -leader, "he might have been St. Joseph!" But at this comparison -La Vireville was shaken with irreverent mirth. - -He began to be more drowsy. Grain d'Orge was saying something -about Carhoët--he could not catch what. But the mention of the -name brought back the swarm of little memories that clung round -it, that had had their birth in so small a space of hours. His -foot was healed, the business of leader of that division passed -on, at his request, to someone else, but he had not forgotten -Mme. de Guéfontaine. On the contrary, he had found himself often -thinking of her during the few weeks that had elapsed since she -had made her somewhat sensational entry into his experience. He -was aware now of the sleepy conviction that she ought to have had -some part in this adventure--not indeed in the present sorry episode -of defeat, but in the landing the other night under the moon. Or -she might have stood, at daybreak, holding aloft the banner with -the lilies on the prow of one of those incoming boats. . . . She -would, surely, have been in her element. . . . - -Then, with the rattle of beads and the murmur of the Ave Maria -in his ears, La Vireville went off into slumber, and dreamt -that Mr. Tollemache, whom he believed to be in the English flotilla, -was telling Mr. Elphinstone (the latter in a cocked hat and -epaulettes) by the barricade at Auray, that it had been arranged -for the English soldiers to land, and the Frenchmen to man the -English ships. But, Anne-Hilarion appearing suddenly in a boat, -and signifying that he wished to have Grain d'Orge for a nurse -instead of Elspeth, the conversation became entirely occupied with -this startling proposal--which did not, however, strike La Vireville -in his dream as being anything out of the common. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - CREEPING FATE - - - (1) - - "Mon cher beaupère," wrote the Marquis de Flavigny, "my former - letter (if you ever get it, which I should think doubtful) - will have told you of the incidents of our landing at Carnac. - I have now to inform you that we are in complete possession - of the peninsula of Quiberon, the fort which commands it having - surrendered, on being summoned, three days ago. In consequence - all the émigré regiments have left their temporary quarters - on the mainland, round Carnac, and are bivouacked in the peninsula - itself. I myself write actually in Fort Penthièvre, and at this - very moment I hear the sound of pick and spade, for the engineers, - who have hopes, they say, of making it into another Gibraltar, - are hard at work this morning throwing up fresh entrenchments." - -The young man broke off, and looked down from the embrasure of the -surrendered fort, where he was sitting, at the work to which he -had just referred. For three days, as he had said, the fleur-de-lys -had floated over Fort Penthièvre, having been hoisted there, in -fact, on the very day of the failure of the Chouan attack on Auray. -What wonder if the enheartened Royalists had toasted the future that -night, in the poor little villages scattered among the stone-encircled -fields, or that they saw in a bright vision not only the restored -splendours of Versailles--the triumph of a cause--but the tourelles -of the château or the little manoir, long in alien hands, which -they had left for poverty and exile . . . recovered homes where now, -after all, their children and their children's children might play. - -But to-day the white and gold standard hung in heavy, listless -folds from the flagstaff, for it was a hot, close morning, of the -kind that saps the energies and is tinged besides with a suggestion -of unpleasant auguries, the sensation of waiting for something -to happen, one knows not what. . . . A scarcely visible sun sent -down a surprising heat, and haze lay over the sea on either side. -Even the throb of the Atlantic sounded sullen and remote, for -all its nearness. - -René de Flavigny, who was sensible to atmospheric conditions, felt -a fresh welling up within him of a vague uneasiness that had been -his all morning, an uneasiness which the two or three other little -groups of officers, mostly engineers, on the platform of the fort -did not appear to be sharing. Instead of going on with his letter to -his father-in-law he allowed himself to wander off into speculations -and apprehensions which could scarcely with prudence have been -committed to paper. He thought bitterly, regretfully, of the insane -jealousies and incompetence of the Comtes de Puisaye and d'Hervilly, -which, during the past days of inaction, had been growing more -manifest every hour. And why had there been those days of inaction? -Why was he, an officer in an émigré regiment, sitting idly here -in safety on the peninsula writing a letter, when they all knew -that the Chouans whom they had not been allowed to support had -been beaten off from Auray, and were, if reports were to be trusted, -faring none too well in other portions of the mainland? What madness -possessed the generals to keep them, regiments in the main of -trained men, doing nothing, while the irregular peasant levies -were pitted against the now reinforced Republican garrisons of -the interior? It was surely all too probable that these, gathering -in force, would utterly crush the brave but undisciplined guerrilla -troops. In that case, what of Fortuné de la Vireville, who had -gone off so gaily with his Bretons ten days ago? - -The Marquis got up from the embrasure, and, despite the heat, -began to pace up and down. Surely the proper course was to push -on into the interior, while the dismay which their coming had -undoubtedly spread amongst the Blues was still fresh, and before -the latter had time to discover that the Royalist invaders were -numerically not so strong as they had imagined. Puisaye indeed -was credited with the desire for such a course, but, owing to -the equivocal instructions of the English Government, his will -was not paramount. It was quite true that their present position -was strong; this very fortress on whose upper works he now meditated -formed an almost impregnable defence to the amazingly narrow -entrance of the lower part of the peninsula, and out there, half -seen in the haze, was the friendly English squadron to protect -them against any attack by sea on their rear. But René and his -friends were all impatient to do something more than merely create, -in this favourable position, a dépôt for supplies with which to -replenish the Royalists of the interior. Why, in God's name, did -they not press on, and strike while the iron was hot . . . and -why also had they not with them a French prince of the blood? Of -what use to say that the Comte d'Artois was following? He was -wanted now! - -M. de Flavigny tried to put a term to his impatient thoughts, and, -sitting down again, attempted to go on with his letter to Mr. -Elphinstone, keeping it free of indiscreet criticisms. But his -head was too full of these inopportune questionings; they threatened -to find an outlet by means of his fingers, and that would never -do. So he took a fresh sheet of paper, and began a letter to his -son, telling him under what circumstances he had met his friend -the Chevalier, how he had even, he believed, set eyes on the famous -Grain d'Orge of whom the child had talked so much, how---- - -He had got so far when he heard a sudden violent exclamation burst -simultaneously from a couple of officers talking near him. Jumping -up, he, like them, looked hastily over the nearest parapet. - -The sandy waste between the fort and the mainland had miraculously -become alive with quickly moving figures, groups of people running -towards the fort in the greatest disorder. René could hardly believe -his eyes. Children, women, old men, cattle, carts laden with household -goods, on they came, a confused horde streaming down the top of -the peninsula like affrighted locusts. It was only too clear what -had happened--the Chouans, left without support, had been driven -from their untenable positions, and were even now falling back on -Quiberon, while before them poured the panic-struck inhabitants -of the villages round, terrified at the prospect of being left at -the mercy of the victorious Blues. As they came nearer, it was -obvious that there were flying Chouans also in that advancing flood. - -"Good God!" exclaimed the Comte de Contades, Puisaye's chief of -staff, hurrying past, "they will take us by assault! There are -only fifty men on guard. M. d'Hervilly must be informed at once!" - -René watched, horrified and fascinated, from the embrasure. As yet -there was no sign of an enemy--only this panting multitude full of -one desire, to find safety. And soon some of the younger and more -agile fugitives were swarming unchecked over the palisades of the -newly erected entrenchments, clambering up the counterscarps of -the fort itself. They clung weeping round the legs of the officers -whom they encountered, having completely lost their heads; and in -the midst of the confusion arrived the Comte d'Hervilly, who seemed -as completely to have lost his. At any rate he was in his usual -state of ineffective irritation. - -"In God's name, get rid of all these people!" de Flavigny heard -him cry, striking out right and left. But thousands of terrified -fugitives were not so easily to be disposed of, especially when -all the passages were blocked up by the carts which they had brought -with them. And on d'Hervilly's sending for the régiment du Dresnay -to come in haste and turn them out, he learnt that his command could -not be at once obeyed, since the regiment was dispersed securing -provisions. The mixture of calamity and farce reached its climax -when some of the invading fugitives cried out, "There are the -Blues!" on which all who possessed muskets instantly fired them -off in every direction, to the no small danger of everybody else. -In fact, the Comte de Vauban, an officer of high rank, who was at -the bottom of the revetments at the moment, had only just time -to save himself by throwing himself off his horse. - -At last appeared, marching in good order, the Chouans of Tinténiac -and Cadoudal, who had not broken, then their rearguard, and finally, -a good distance behind, a hundred or so of Republican sharpshooters. -A salvo from the fort dispersed these latter, and mingled with -its echoes came the sound of the drums of du Dresnay, arriving to -bring some order into this scene of confusion. And thus, at last, -the crowd of fugitives was expelled, and driven down towards the -southern extremity of the peninsula. - -During all this affair the Comte de Puisaye sat very composedly -at his dinner. - - * * * * * - -When René de Flavigny was able to get free of the fort, thus carried -by its own defenders, he went anxiously in search of his friend -among the Chouan troops. He found him, but too busy to do more -than exchange a word with him. - -"Hoche attacked all along our line with about thirteen thousand -men," said La Vireville, wiping the sweat off his forehead with -the back of his hand. "Ouf, what an infernal day for a retreat! -Well, I am afraid we have brought you no welcome present in all -these useless mouths!" - -"Why, oh why, were we not allowed to come to your support!" cried -the Marquis. - -La Vireville shrugged his shoulders. "Why indeed! At any rate I -see the lilies, as I had hoped, blooming on Fort Penthièvre. Only -the gardener, you know, is not far off. . . ." - -Indeed, every émigré knew by nightfall that the victorious Republicans -had established themselves in the important position of Ste. Barbe, -a village which commanded the entry into the peninsula, where they -could be seen feverishly working at entrenching themselves. The -invaders were in danger of being penned, like trapped creatures, -into that tongue of land on which they had attained a foothold. - - - (2) - -The Marquis de Flavigny never sent his unfinished letters to -England. If he had completed them they would not have been very -pleasant reading. Even the Comte d'Hervilly realised the disastrous -consequences of being shut into Quiberon. The night after the -influx of the fugitives he attacked the Republicans (who were taken -by surprise), pushed his onset up to their very outworks, lost -his head, and abandoned the attack, for no apparent reason, just -at the very moment of success. _Quem Deus vult perdere_ . . . - -After that abortive attack on Ste. Barbe things went quickly from -bad to worse. The sixth of July had been on all counts an unmitigated -disaster; the Chouan defeat did not fail to have a bad moral effect -on the Bretons of the interior, and the useless mouths, as La -Vireville had only too truly called them, brought the number of -souls on the narrow strip of land up to fourteen thousand. It -became a difficulty to feed the refugees; and most of them were -not of the slightest military value. Old men, women, and children, -they had to subsist as best they were able, shelterless, and cooking -what they could get on fires of dung and seaweed. And even the -Chouans were sullen and discontented; it was hard to make them -work at the entrenchments with any zeal, and if they were reproached -with their idleness they invariably replied that they had had -nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. In fact, a small ration of -salt meat and biscuit did seem insufficient to a peasant accustomed -to more solid nourishment. The Comte de Puisaye, indeed, announced -in the order of the day that he wished the brave Chouans, those -dauntless supporters of the altar and the throne, to be particularly -well treated, but as, this order once promulgated, he took no steps -whatever to see that it was carried out, it frequently happened -that the supporters of the altar and the throne went very hungry. - -The Chouans of the Chevalier de la Vireville's little band, however, -never suffered from that particular privation; their leader saw -to that. How he managed it, by what system of combined begging, -storming, and cajoling, the young Le Goffic knew, but to de Flavigny -it was a marvel how he contrived to procure rations for them. The -two friends did not very often meet, for though de Flavigny, who -was only attached to the régiment du Dresnay, had more leisure -than most officers, La Vireville, whose men called for constant -attention of a kind that disciplined troops hardly needed, had -less. Yet, curiously enough, in those few days of breathing-space, -while the Royalists were awaiting the moment for another attempt -to free themselves of the snare in which Hoche held them, when -the young Republican general indeed was writing, with cruel and -justified metaphor, "The enemies are in the rat-trap, and I with -divers cats at the door of it."--in those days, when every man's -private affairs had sunk into relative unimportance, de Flavigny -was to learn that concerning his comrade's personal history which, -in spite of occasional speculation, he had never really sought -to know. He was, in fact, himself an agent in the chance encounter--if -there be such a thing--which brought about the disclosure. - -It befell as follows: One afternoon, de Flavigny, who was billeted -with some other gentlemen of like standing with himself in a cottage -in the tiny village of Clouarnet, found himself in his quarters -with a couple of these, and, in addition, an officer whom they had -brought with them, a M. de St. Four, of the régiment de la marine, -usually known, from the name of its colonel, as the regiment d'Hector. -M. de St. Four was a person of agreeable address and appearance, -about forty years of age, who, when younger, had evidently been -very handsome. He had, it seemed, already 'chouanné' a little -in southern Brittany under Cadoudal. - -The Marquis was standing talking to the newcomer by the big, -projecting, smoke-blackened hearth, when a tall figure suddenly -darkened the doorway of the cottage. - -"Is M. de Flavigny within?" it inquired, and René recognised the -voice as La Vireville's. - -"Yes, I am here. Do you want me, Fortuné?" he asked, turning round -from the hearth. The visitor did the same. And, as La Vireville -stooped his head to enter, it occurred to de Flavigny to introduce -him and St. Four, Chouans both of them. - -"Let me make you and this gentleman known to each other first," -he began. "M. de St. Four of the régiment d'Hector, M. le Chevalier -de la Vire----" - -The name died on his lips. La Vireville's eyes were not on him -at all, but on the stranger, yet the look he wore was enough to -slay instantly any attempt at introduction. The naked hatred and -contempt on his face seemed to have frozen equally the other man -and himself; then, after two or three seconds of an intolerable -silence, he turned without a word and walked straight out of -the cottage. - -The two other witnesses of this scene were also stricken dumb. -M. de St. Four was the first to recover himself. He gave an uneasy -laugh. De Flavigny, overwhelmed by the suddenness and inexplicability -of the incident, began to stammer out some apology. - -"It is of no consequence, Monsieur," said St. Four, shrugging his -shoulders. "Your friend does not wish to know me, that is all." -And he made an attempt to resume their conversation where it had -been broken off, but, as was hardly surprising, without any marked -success, and shortly afterwards he took his leave. De Flavigny -also, as soon as he could, made an excuse to the others, and went -in search of his friend. - - - (3) - -La Vireville was not at his quarters, and it took some half-hour's -search before the Marquis found him, sitting on a rock that faced -the Atlantic on the side of the 'mer sauvage,' his chin on his -clenched fists, staring out to sea. - -At the sound of a step he turned round, and showed de Flavigny a -face no longer, at least, like the Medusa's mask. - -"Have you come for an apology, René? I owe you one, I admit." - -"No; it is for me to apologise," said the Marquis, stepping on -to the rock. "But I did not know----" - -"Of course you did not. How could you? Fate is pleased to be humorous, -but you could not realise to what degree. It was something of a -pity that you could not." He laughed, a hard, mirthless laugh, -and tearing off a piece of dried seaweed from the rock on which -he sat, cast it towards the waves. The wind carried it away. - -De Flavigny sat down by him. "Mon ami, the last thing I wish to do -is to pry into your affairs. I can only repeat that I am exceedingly -sorry I was so clumsy as to cause you pain, and that, since his -presence is displeasing to you, I will make it my care, as far -as I can, that you do not meet the gentleman in question again." - -"I don't suppose," said Fortuné de la Vireville between his teeth, -"that he will seek for a repetition of the interview." - -He looked out to sea again in silence. René glanced at his set -mouth. His friendship was of too recent a date for him to know -much of La Vireville's private history, but he, like others, had -heard the rumour of a tragedy in his past, and he guessed that -he now stood on its threshold. He was silent, while the sea, all -a-sparkle in the sun, came splashing in a little below them, and -the gulls, uttering their fine-weather chuckle, sailed slantwise -in the wind. - -"I never thought I should see him again," said La Vireville to -himself, after a moment "--least of all here." And he pulled off -another piece of seaweed and examined it minutely. - -"You need never come into contact with him," repeated the Marquis. - -"A woman asked me not long ago," observed La Vireville inconsequently, -still examining the seaweed, "whether I could readily forgive a -mortal injury. I told her . . . the truth. Yes, by God, it was -the truth! . . . I think you have never had cause to hate anyone -overmuch, René? Destiny, perhaps"--his face softened for a moment -as he glanced at him--"but not a man--nor a woman." - -"No," answered the Marquis. And he added, "Thank God!" - -La Vireville threw him another glance, satirical this time. "Your -pious ejaculation is quite justified. It is not an emotion to -cultivate. Well, I suppose I ought to return to my flock, having -sat on this promontory long enough." He dropped the piece of seaweed -carefully into a pool. "Where is . . . your protégé gone to?" - -"Back to his regiment, I presume," answered de Flavigny. "Hector -is quartered at Port Haliguen, as you know." He hesitated, then -laid his hand on the Chouan's shoulder. "Fortuné, my dear friend, -forgive me for saying it, but if you meet him again you will not -quarrel with him? After all, every man here----" - -La Vireville's face hardened again as he broke in. "My dear René, -I know perfectly well what you are going to say. Private enmities -must be sunk for the common weal, is it not? I assure you I am -fully of your opinion. And, to reassure your scrupulous mind, -let me tell you that M. de St. Four and I settled our score in -that way ten years ago. You see that mark?" He touched his cheek. -"That is the proof of it. Come, let us go back." He scrambled to -his feet, and Rene de Flavigny followed him. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - HISTORY OF A SCAR - - - (1) - -The gods, however, had not finished amusing themselves with the -situation they had brought about, and planned an improvement on -it. The very next day La Vireville was summoned to d'Hervilly's -headquarters. - -He found the general alone, in a room in a little house in Quiberon -village, whose comfortable furniture, of English make, had obviously -appeared there synchronously with its present occupant. The walls -were impressively studded with maps, plans, and diagrams; the -greatest military leader could not have got more of these into a -smaller space. Unfortunately, La Vireville knew that M. d'Hervilly -had never seen a shot fired until he came to Quiberon. - -"I have sent for you, Monsieur," said the general, with the English -accent that he always affected, "because I have come to the conclusion -that the Chouan commanders who remain on the peninsula must have -an officer from one of the émigré regiments attached to their corps -to act as aide-de-camp, and, if necessary, as officier de liaison. -I conceive that this plan will give more homogeneity to our forces, -especially in view of the attack we shall shortly be making on the -Republican position at Ste. Barbe." - -He looked at the Chouan commander in question with angry eyes, as -though both anticipating a criticism he would instantly resent, and -demanding an approval he would consider impertinent. La Vireville -lifted his eyebrows a trifle, and said nothing, but amid the surprise -and distaste which this announcement roused in him he was visited -by a consoling thought. The general could impose one of his nominees -on him, but could not ensure his making use of that nominee unless -he wished. Perhaps, too, he could ask for de Flavigny in that -capacity. - -"I have naturally selected for this post," went on d'Hervilly, -"gentlemen who have some acquaintance with the Chouan methods of -warfare. As you may imagine, this considerably restricts my choice. -Your aide-de-camp, as we may call him, will be"--he turned to a -list on the table--"an officer who has spent some weeks with the -Chouans of the Morbihan--M. de St. Four of the régiment d'Hector." - -His hearer suddenly clenched his hands. - -"Well, M. de la Vireville?" - -"You cannot, I suppose, mon général," said the émigré, speaking with -great deliberation, "consider individual preferences in this matter?" - -"Certainly not, sir," snapped d'Hervilly. And he added, not -unreasonably, "For one thing, I have no more suitable candidates -available." With a tapping forefinger he drew the objector's -attention to the scored-out list, whereon his name and his worst -enemy's figured alone, the last of their respective columns. - -"Very good, mon général," said La Vireville impassively. "And what -do you want me to do with this gentleman who has spent some weeks -in the Morbihan when I have got him?" - -D'Hervilly glanced at him sharply, but except that the tone was -certainly not obsequious he could find nothing to take hold of. -"I will tell you," he said; and proceeded to give a short summary -of the duties which he expected the Chouan to assign to this new -subordinate, ending by saying pompously, "And in view of the fact -that when we attack Ste. Barbe I shall probably put most of the -Chouan troops with Hector on the right wing, it will be very valuable -to you to have an officer of Hector as your aide-de-camp." - -"Certainly," agreed La Vireville. "And I am sure that I shall -find M. de St. Four's services valuable in every respect. As soon, -therefore, as you see fit to send him to me, mon général, I shall -be ready to give him his instructions. May I ask if you have -already informed him of his appointment?" - -"No, not yet," replied d'Hervilly, running a pen through the two -names. "That will do, M. de la Vireville." - -But, happening to look up as La Vireville was saluting and turning -away, he suddenly thumped the table and demanded in a furious voice, -"What are you smiling like that for, sir?" - -La Vireville committed the military and social breach of going -out without answering. - - - (2) - -About two hours afterwards, Charles le Goffic, former law-student, -clad, as usual, in Breton costume, with an officer in English -uniform behind him, knocked upon the door of a shed in the Chouan -cantonments at St. Pierre, at the lower end of the peninsula, and, -receiving a command to enter, did so. Inside were a trestle table, -a couple of chairs, a bed of dried seaweed, and La Vireville. - -"Monsieur Augustin," said Le Goffic, "here is M. le Capitaine de -St. Four, sent by the Général Comte d'Hervilly." - -His leader, seated at the table in this his headquarters, looked -up from his writing. - -"I will see him at once," said he. "Be sure that the door is shut, -Charles, and put a sentry outside." - -And so Fortuné de la Vireville's one-time best friend, who had done -him the worst injury, almost, that one man can do another, came in -and saluted him, and they confronted one another as they had done -ten years ago, when the scar on La Vireville's face was a bright -wound. But if the thought of that meeting was in both their minds, -La Vireville at least gave no sign of it. Standing by the table he -punctiliously returned the newcomer's salute. - -"I am glad to see you, M. de St. Four," he said, in level tones, "so -that we can settle the little matter of our relations to each other -at the outset, and have done with it. We shall almost certainly be -attacking the Republican position in a day or two, therefore it is -as well to have them defined, if only for that reason." - -"You can disembarrass yourself of me then," said the other, in a -scarcely audible voice. - -La Vireville shook his head. "If you are going to have those ideas -we shall never get on. As you may imagine, this situation is none -of my seeking, as I am sure it is none of yours. But since we are -now in an official relation to each other, I should wish, for the -sake of our common aim, to behave to you exactly as I should to -any other officer who had been assigned to me in this capacity. -If I am always to feel that you are expecting to be treated as -Uriah was treated by David, the state of affairs will become very -difficult. Of course, I quite understand that you suspect me of -such a design . . . though you must admit that I should not stand -to gain, now, what David gained by it." A flash of bitter mockery -passed over his face, and, brief as it was, seemed to sear the -other's into agony. - -"Yes!" he broke out passionately, "if you lost, I lost too! A -year was all I had--and for that I threw away my honour--and your -friendship. And then I in my turn was thrown away. God! God!" He -turned away, shaking. - -La Vireville stood like a statue, as he had stood all along, his -finger-tips just resting on the table. His eyes indeed followed -St. Four, who went at last to the little window, and stood by it -with his back to him, pulling at a piece of loose planking. But -the life in them was of an icy quality, and when he spoke it was -as if the other man's outburst had never been. - -"I am making for you, Monsieur," he said, "a memorandum of what -the general tells me I may expect of you. I regret that it is not -ready, but M. d'Hervilly somewhat sprang this upon me. My lieutenant, -Le Goffic, will show you your quarters. That is all for the present." -He sat down again at the table, and pulling his papers towards -him bent over them. - -St. Four stopped fidgetting with the woodwork and turned round. -But he did not go. On the contrary, he came a little nearer, and -spoke, not without dignity. "La Vireville, you were generous once. -I acknowledge it. You gave me my life. . . . Is it any solace to -you to know that I have often wished you had not made me that gift? -I am not surprised that you would not take my hand. But is it -possible that some day . . . for the sake of the cause, and because, -as you know, I have suffered too . . . horribly . . . you might -be able to forgive me, Fortuné?" - -"I am not aware, Monsieur," returned La Vireville without looking -up, "that I have authorised you to use my Christian name. There -is, however, no objection to your calling me Augustin, as my men do. -You will find Le Goffic outside." - -And St. Four, making a hopeless gesture, turned and went out without -a word. La Vireville looked after him a moment, dipped his pen in -the ink, and resumed his writing. - - - (3) - -That evening, as he was eating his solitary meal by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle, René de Flavigny suddenly appeared -in the doorway of the shed. - -"Come in, my friend," cried the Chouan cheerfully. "Are you proposing -to share my modest repast?" - -"No," replied the Marquis, entering. "I only came to ask you if -this extraordinary report is true, and that the general has given -you M. de St. Four, of all men, as an aide-de-camp?" - -"Yes, it is quite true," replied La Vireville composedly. "I have -seen M. d'Hervilly and I have seen St. Four--quite a peaceable -interview, the latter, on my honour. Have some of this cheese, -Marquis!" - -"But--but it is intolerable!" stammered de Flavigny, sinking into -the other chair. - -"What--the cheese? Not at all; it is English. Try it!" - -René looked at him, but could gather nothing. The single candle -by his friend's elbow, ineffectual at its best in that dark place, -flickered woefully in the strong draught. The Marquis had left the -door of the shed ajar, and through it came, on the wind that smelt -of seaweed, the sound that day and night was ever in their ears--the -eternal recurrent plunge and retreat of the tide--and the glint of -stars. He got up, shut it, and came back. - -"Fortuné, what are you going to do with him?" - -"Set him in the forefront of the battle, of course!" - -This statement was to de Flavigny not susceptible of belief, though -the speaker's smile in the now steadied candlelight was enough to -give it credibility. - -"At least, that is what he seems to expect," went on La Vireville, -proceeding also with his meal. "And surely I could not do better -than emulate the Psalmist King. I am sorry I have no wine to offer -you, mon ami. Perhaps you have already supped, however. By the -way, have you heard anything about the approaching arrival of a -fresh division of émigré troops--Sombreuil's?" - -"Yes, I have heard something," answered the Marquis absently. "I -see that you do not want to speak of this business, Fortuné; you -must forgive me for having referred to it." - -La Vireville laid down his knife. "On the contrary, I am minded to -tell you once for all why I do not find M. de St. Four's company -congenial. Figure to yourself, my dear René, that ten years ago -he ran off with my affianced wife." - -"Bon Dieu!" - -"It has occurred before in the history of the world," said La -Vireville coolly and with a curling lip--sneering at himself, so -de Flavigny thought. "Only he happened to be my best friend. That, -as you may guess, made it much more . . . interesting. Also, it -was but the day before my marriage. Now you know why I did not fall -into his arms a short time ago when you wanted me to." - -Beyond the fact that he was unusually pale, one thing alone betrayed -that he was on the rack--his voice. Not that it was unsteady. René -was almost as much in torture as he, but it seemed best to follow -his lead and avoid at least the expression of emotion. - -"You called him out?" he hazarded after a moment, thinking of the -scar whose half-revealed history was now clear to him. - -La Vireville nodded. "He gave me this memento, as I told you the -other day." He poured out some cider, and added, "As for me, I was -fool enough to fire in the air." - -"You loved--_her_--as much as that!" cried the Marquis before he -could stop himself. - -The little remaining colour ebbed slowly from La Vireville's face, -and, like a palimpsest, all the suffering written below its sardonic -gaiety was abruptly visible. He did not answer, and René, ashamed -to have unveiled it, put his own hand over his eyes as if to shade -them from the candle. "He loves her still," he said to himself. - -La Vireville suddenly laughed, and the sound made his companion jump. - -"I might as well have shot him after all," he said, with cold levity. - -"Why?" - -"She left him after a year for another man. Dramatic justice, was -it not?--and a lesson to me always to follow my first impulses! -But I have bored you with my affairs long enough. As I have no -wine, will you drink a glass of cider? There is little variety of -vintage on this damned peninsula." - -But René de Flavigny refused and, rising, flung his cloak about -him. La Vireville surely was better alone. He longed to ask if -the woman were still alive, but dared not. - -La Vireville's face, however, was an enigma once more. He took the -Marquis's outstretched hand across the table. - -"You, at least, cannot betray me in that way. I am not affianced -now!" he said; and with that bitter jest, which René pardoned for -the pain still alive in the speaker's eyes, they parted. - - * * * * * - -Going back in the summer starlight, thinking of what had just -passed, he overtook another officer of the régiment du Dresnay, -also returning from St. Pierre. - -"Have you heard," asked the latter, "that the attack is fixed for -the night of the fifteenth?" - -"But there is a fresh division on its way," objected de Flavigny--"the -regiments with the black cockade. D'Hervilly will wait for them, of -course." - -His companion put his hand on his arm. "Young Sombreuil, who is -in command, is senior in the English service to d'Hervilly." - -"Well?" - -"D'Hervilly will find that he cannot wait for them!" - -"I cannot believe that!" exclaimed the Marquis, shocked. - -"You will see," said his brother officer. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - STE. BARBE--AND AFTERWARDS - - - (1) - -Just as on the day when he had first entered the cottage in Clouarnet -village to look for his friend, and had met his deadly foe, so now -Fortuné de la Vireville stood hesitating on the same threshold, -because he feared to find, already in possession, a Foe more deadly -still. As on that day, too, it seemed dark within, coming from -the brilliant sunshine outside. Was that why he put his hand for -a moment over his eyes? - -On the floor by the wall, at the left of the door, under a cloak, -could be dimly seen the figure of an officer, lying very still. -Another sat by the empty hearth with his head between his hands. -Fortuné straightened himself, went in, and touched the man by the -hearth on the shoulder. - -And René de Flavigny lifted the face of one who has come from a -great distance, across centuries of time, and saw him standing -there, powder-grimed, with sand on his clothes and in his hair, -and carrying his left hand thrust into his short blue embroidered -Breton vest. The sleeve of his coat bore, high up, a dark red stain. - -"I was afraid for you," said La Vireville abruptly and rather -hoarsely. "I knew that your regiment. . . I went to Fort Penthièvre. -I had to step over the wounded, they are lying so thick there. . . . -Well, thank God you are safe!" - -"Yes, I am safe," responded de Flavigny, in a dull voice. - -"You are not touched at all?" - -The Marquis shook his head. "What of you?" he asked. - -La Vireville gave a sort of laugh. "Oh, as for us Chouans," he -said, replying in general terms, though he must have known that -the inquiry was particular, "those of us who did not run shared -the fate of Hector, and you know what that fate was. . . . We had -to go back with them under the range of the guns. God alone--if -He--knows what possessed d'Hervilly to give that order. He is -dying, they say----" - -"Your arm!" exclaimed his friend, pointing to it. He seemed incapable -of prolonged speech. - -"Only a flesh wound," replied La Vireville, glancing down at it -indifferently. "A splinter of shell, I think; I was knocked down -by one." He went and looked down at the dead officer by the wall, -and came back without saying anything. "I must get back to what -is left of my men. Poor Le Goffic is badly wounded. I only came -to make sure of your safety, René." - -The Marquis was on his feet now. "But for one thing," said he, -suddenly finding speech, and pointing to the quiet figure under -the cloak, "I would rather be in his place." - -"I can guess what that thing is," returned La Vireville, making -to go; "but though I have no son, like you, to live for, and the -man I have hated so long is dead--I think he saved my life--yet -I want to live . . . for to-morrow." - -"_Will there be a to-morrow?_" asked the Marquis de Flavigny, -with sombre emphasis. - -La Vireville, who was already half-way to the door, stopped dead, -and turned to face that question. - -"No, René, perhaps not," said he very gravely, and there was a -silence. - -"There is now only the fort between us and Hoche's advance," went -on the Marquis. "If that goes, we shall be swept into the sea." - -"I know," replied the Chouan. He seemed to be waiting still for -something else to be said. - -De Flavigny came up to him and took his hand. "Fortuné, I have -a great favour to ask of you, and I must ask you now, for I have -a presentiment that I shall never have another chance to make -the request." - -"Ask," said his friend. - -"I do not think that I shall ever see England again," went on the -Marquis. "If I do not, and you escape, I want you to promise me to -look after Anne. Don't refuse me, Fortuné! Mr. Elphinstone is an old -man, and when he dies there will be nobody of my blood--nobody of -our nationality even--about the boy, and he is French, and I should -wish him to remain French, although in exile. By my will he inherits -all I have, and nearly all his grandfather's property will eventually -come to him, so he will be well provided for. There is no one in the -world, after his grandfather, to whom I would rather commit him than -you. He is very fond of you--and, Fortuné, he has a kind of claim on -you already, since you did that for him which can never be forgotten, -though you will not allow me even to thank you for it!" - -La Vireville had heard him silently to the end, looking down at -the beaten earth of the cottage floor. "But if we come to final -disaster, which, God knows, seems probable enough," he said quietly, -"it is not likely that I shall see England again either. Not that -I have any special presentiments about my own fate--one soon gets -rid of those en chouannant--but because I think, with you, that -we are in a desperate strait. Unless Puisaye, now that d'Hervilly -is dying . . . though I do not believe that Puisaye is the man to -save us. Yet we _may_ beat them off." - -"Will you promise me, then, to do your utmost, if the worst happens, -to save yourself, for Anne's sake, if not for your own? Will you -promise me that, Fortuné?" - -La Vireville looked him in the eyes and gripped the hand he held. -"Yes, I promise you that, René. So it be not inconsistent with -honour, I will do my best to save myself--and if you are killed, -and I live to return, Anne shall be my . . . son." - - * * * * * - -But how far off, how incongruous, in the midst of this welter of -blood and catastrophe, was the thought of that little boy, with -his confiding ways! Outside his own quarters at St. Pierre, Fortuné -met the surgeon who was attending to the Chouan wounded, and, going -in with him, displaced Grain d'Orge, who, looking like a necromancer, -was giving attentions of very doubtful value to the moaning Le -Goffic on his heap of seaweed. - -"Monsieur Augustin," whispered the self-constituted leech, while -the surgeon examined the young Breton, "this is not a good place, -this Quiberon!" - -"Your remark is very just, mon vieux!" returned La Vireville, half -sadly, half humorously. "You are not the first to make it, either. -Do you want to go back to the Côtes-du-Nord? There is the devil -of a deal of fighting before you if you wish to do that." - -"Ma Doué, I am sure of it!" said Grain d'Orge with a chuckle. He -rubbed off some blood, presumably Le Goffic's, from his hands on -to his baggy breeches. "You and I, Monsieur Augustin, have seen -much of that--and of this too," he added, laying a grimy finger -on La Vireville's wounded arm. "And I know that _I_ shall see my -parish again, because the wise woman told me so before I left. -But not many of the others, perhaps." - -A sudden compunction invaded La Vireville. It was his influence -which had led these children of Northern Brittany away from their -homes to perish in what was, to them, almost a foreign land. - -"Listen to me, mon gars," he said. "If ever I give the word for -a sauve qui peut, for disbandment, in short, remember it is because -I am convinced that each man, separately, has a better chance for -his life than with the rest. If you gained the mainland, it would -be difficult to distinguish any of you from the inhabitants there, -to prove, indeed, that you had ever been in Quiberon at all." - -Grain d'Orge's little eyes twinkled. "That is very true, Monsieur -Augustin. I will remember." - -And La Vireville, as he bent down to hear what the surgeon thought -of Le Goffic, had a conviction that the wise woman had not been -wrong about Grain d'Orge, who, of incorruptible fidelity though -he was, had too much innate cunning not to succeed in saving his -own skin. - -"I think he will do," said the surgeon, and gave directions. "The -rest--ah, but what have you there yourself, Monsieur? We will have -your coat off at once, if you please!" - -"I am not made of porcelain," protested La Vireville. "I know what -it is--a flesh wound merely. I want my men all seen to first." - -But to this the surgeon only responded by starting to slit up the -stained sleeve himself. - - - (2) - -Shortly afterwards, when his wound had been probed and dressed, -and he found himself set, by the surgeon's orders, to sit a little -beside Le Goffic, La Vireville had time to think--or rather, the -scenes and sensations with which his brain was spinning began to -unroll themselves before him again. - -And first, he was marching with his men over the sand and coarse -grass up towards Ste. Barbe. It was one o'clock in the morning, -and very dark. Six hundred Chouans they were altogether, with the -other bodies of the same composition, and, as d'Hervilly had told -him it would be, they were on the extreme right of the émigré -regiments. The régiment d'Hector--the régiment de la Marine--was -next them, on their left. - -The sand, fine and white, muffled their footfalls, light, in any -case, as became those of intermittent poachers. Just behind La -Vireville was St. Four, who never spoke, in his British uniform. -But La Vireville had not thought of him; his brain had been busy -with what they were doing, or hoping to do. - -And hope, indeed, had obstacles to surmount. Where, for instance, -were the large bodies of Chouans under Tinténiac and another, who -had been despatched several days ago into the interior for the -purpose of attacking Ste. Barbe simultaneously from the rear? To -anyone who knew Tinténiac as La Vireville did, their non-appearance -was very strange. They might yet come up in time. If they did not, -then d'Hervilly's refusal to postpone the attack for twenty-four -hours in order to allow of the landing of Sombreuil's division--still -out there in their transports in the bay--was deprived of its only -justification. - -They marched on. Far away the fires of the Republican bivouacs were -visible through the darkness, at the foot of the rising ground -of Ste. Barbe. . . . - - * * * * * - -The scene shifted. It was dawn now. They were still advancing, having -passed the Republican outposts with scarcely a struggle, for the -enemy, acting no doubt on instructions, had abandoned them and had -fallen back on the strong entrenched camp. In that uncompromising -light of dawn La Vireville could see how strong they were--a long -line of entrenchments with two redoubts and several batteries, -bristling with four-pounders, and well provided with heavy guns and -mortars. And he knew instinctively that his Chouans were casting -sidelong glances at those sinister black mouths. It was not the -kind of thing that they liked or were accustomed to. - -But he also perceived, with a leap of the heart, that there was a -much better thing to be done than attacking these in front. The -tide was out, and for that reason they had only to go on as they -were going, and they could turn the batteries and take them in -the rear. If only d'Hervilly would send orders to that end! For -d'Hervilly was away on the left with his own regiment, while Puisaye, -strangely enough, was with the rearguard. - -He was just thinking of communicating his hopes to St. Four when -orders to halt came down from the head of the combined column, -where the officer in command, a grand seigneur, the Duc de Lévis, -could be seen on his horse. They halted. - -La Vireville turned with a frown to St. Four, and read his own -uneasiness in his enemy's eyes. He nodded, and the officer of -Hector, saluting, disappeared. - -"Are we going to attack now, Monsieur Augustin?" whispered Grain -d'Orge, coming up, carrying his musket in a fashion peculiar to -himself. "The sooner the better." - -La Vireville knew that as well as he. He was quite aware that -you must keep the Chouan on the move, or watching from behind a -hedge--but not in the open, doing nothing, where his thoughts get -too much for him. - -"I expect so," he returned. "Go back to your place." - -Minutes passed. The dawn grew brighter in a pale, clear, tender -sky. The men began to fidget. Then--a relief--the order came to -march on. The column moved on a little, then stopped again. - -Le Goffic came up--he who lay, looking like death, beside him now. -"Monsieur Augustin, the men are getting impatient--that is to say----" - -"Tell them," interrupted La Vireville brutally, "that I have given -you orders to shoot instantly anyone who either stirs now, or who -refuses to stir when he is told to!" - -For he knew what Le Goffic's euphemism meant. - -And then at last St. Four came hurrying back, the sweat on his -face and tears of wrath in his eyes. - -"D'Hervilly is mad--mad!" he gasped. "He is going to attack away -there on the left front by himself--with the left wing only. He -says Hector can 'come on afterwards!' Hector will be wiped out -if they go back now under the fire of the batteries to rejoin the -left wing . . . and so shall we be! But go back they will--there -is nothing else to do. My God, what insanity!" - -If Hector went back, so must the Chouans, or be left in the air. -It was the death-knell of the little irregular force. Both men -knew it, and their faces were very grim as they stared at one -another for a moment. Then La Vireville turned away to give his -orders. So much for the sound, the obvious, plan of attacking -the batteries in the rear! - -Before he had finished, the drums of the régiment d'Hector, on -their left, were beating the charge. . . . - - * * * * * - -Le Goffic groaned. His leader got up, and, as well as he could -with one arm in a sling, gave him a drink. - -"Merci, maman!" said the young man, without opening his eyes. - - * * * * * - -There was a depression in the dunes, a sort of corridor between -two little eminences. Every clod of it, every blade of grass against -the young sky, La Vireville could see now if he shut his eyes. For -it was into that little sandy hollow of death, dominated as it -was by three batteries at half-cannon shot, that he and his men -had been obliged to follow the régiment d'Hector. - -For a moment its image, as it rested with him, was blotted out -by the picture of a whirlwind, the flying Chouan column, broken -at the first thunder of the Republican guns. Fortuné saw again -the Duc de Lévis on his horse in the midst of the torrent, trying -vainly to rally the distracted peasants, and literally unable to -keep up with them at the gallop, so fast did they flee. How La -Vireville himself had succeeded in keeping his contingent together -he scarcely knew--yet they _had_ followed him. . . . There was cover -of a sort here, in the ravine, and cover they knew instinctively -how to utilise. But the fire was murderous. - -"Courage, mes gars, this will soon be over, and then we can advance -again!" he had shouted, believing anything but what he had said. -It was worse, far worse, than the cannonade at Auray, but this time -his men could not run. They fell instead, and, raging inwardly, -he had watched one after another go down. . . . At last he saw Le -Goffic throw out his arms and stagger. Hastily he threw down his -empty musket (for he was firing like the rest) to go to him, and -as he did so, heard a cry behind him: - -"Look out, La Vireville, look out!" The voice was St. Four's. -Concurrently there came the whistle of a shell, and Fortuné was -sent reeling a couple of yards forward--the result, as he instantly -realised, of a very rough push from his aide-de-camp. The next -moment there was a violent explosion, and, amid showers of sand, -he was hurled on to his back. - -Half buried in sand and rubbish he struggled as quickly as he could -to his feet, and, rather dazed, looked round. Several of his men -began to run towards him, but his own gaze was fixed on the figure -of St. Four in his red uniform, lying motionless a few yards away. -La Vireville hurried to him. But there was no need of haste, nor -possibility of aid. The back of his head was blown away. - -Whether St. Four had actually saved his life or no, his intention -of doing so seemed clear then to La Vireville, remembering how his -enemy had thrown himself against him when he had heard the shell -coming. He stood a second or two looking down at the man whom he -could not forgive. The brain that had planned and carried out his -betrayal now lay spilt on the sand at his feet. "But that does -not undo what he did?" Who was it had said that? . . . He stooped -and covered the terrible evidence of mortality with his handkerchief, -a red trickle coursing down his own wrist the while. . . . - - * * * * * - -Le Goffic in his unconsciousness was moaning and muttering again. -This time it was something about "Yvonne." - -"Mon pauvre gars!" murmured La Vireville, bending over him. "I am -afraid you have your marching orders, whatever the surgeon may say." - - * * * * * - -How had Le Goffic been got here--how had any of them come alive -out of that place, where the sand was pitted with grapeshot like -dust after a thunderstorm? He could hardly tell even now. Long -after the order to retire should have come, the régiment d'Hector -and the little Chouan contingent, both fearfully reduced, had gone -on stoically firing and falling. . . . La Vireville had heard since -that d'Hervilly, the author of the disaster, had given the word -for retirement earlier, but that aide-de-camp after aide-de-camp -to whom it was entrusted had been shot down, and then d'Hervilly -himself received his own mortal wound. And when at last the order -reached them, the régiment d'Hector, whose losses had already been -so great, was obliged to sacrifice its company of cadets, boys of -fifteen and sixteen, before the manœuvre could be carried out. - -Well, somehow they had got out of the slaughter. And, afterwards, -the cost of failure was counted--du Dresnay (René's regiment) -fearfully cut up, its lieutenant-colonel in command killed; -Hector--so valuable a corps by reason of the experienced naval -officers which it contained--reduced to half its effectives; and -in Loyal-Emigrant, out of a hundred and twenty veteran chevaliers -de St. Louis, only forty-five returned from the attack. Other -regiments had been less exposed--but all had suffered. . . . - -La Vireville, still kneeling by Le Goffic, passed his hand over -his eyes as though to wipe away a vision. Seasoned as he was, the -past twelve hours had provided him with rather more in the way -of sensation than he could stomach. St. Four was dead. He himself -had promised, in certain circumstances, to be responsible for -Anne-Hilarion. Lastly, irretrievable disaster was moving swiftly -upon them. There was only Fort Penthièvre, as René had said, between -them and Hoche's advance. - -And, suddenly, a couple of snatches of Anne-Hilarion's favourite -ballad floated up to Fortuné's brain from the region where, all -unconsciously, he must have stored them that afternoon when he -had heard it from the child's lips in the cave by Kerdronan. The -first related to some man, whose name did not revisit him, lying -drowned, fifty fathoms down, 'with the Scots lords at his feet.' -The second brought with it the same picture which it had conjured -up for him then--of the fisherman's young wife waiting in vain, -in her cottage on the shore, for the husband who had been sacrificed, -really, on the same altar as to-day's victims--and to-morrow's. - - "O lang, lang may the maidens sit - Wi' their gowd kames in their hair, - A-waiting for their ain dear loves! - For them they'll see nae mair." - -He cast a last look at Le Goffic, and, going to the door of the -shed, went forth into the sunshine and the suffering outside. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - LA VIREVILLE BREAKS HIS SWORD - - - (1) - -The hour when their last defence should fail them was nearer even -than any of the Royalists had imagined. All next day, and the next, -while Sombreuil's contingent--the émigrés with the black cockade, -the regiments who had fought side by side with the British in the -Netherlands campaign of 1794-95, and had endured with them the -terrible retreat of that winter--were being disembarked on to a -shore which was all too likely to be their grave, the garrison -of Fort Penthièvre was leaking away to the enemy. And on the night -of the twentieth, a dark night of rain and tempest, three hundred -of Hoche's grenadiers, led by one of these deserters, came creeping, -knee-deep in water, round the base of the fort on the side of the -'mer sauvage,' and men of d'Hervilly's own regiment helped them -over the parapet. . . . - - * * * * * - -At half-past one on the morning of the twenty-first of July the -sound of a cannon, indistinctly heard amid the howling of the wind, -came to the ears of the wounded Le Goffic, where he lay wakeful -on his couch of seaweed in the lantern-light. He put out a feverish -hand and touched his leader, stretched out in sleep beside him. - -La Vireville started up instantly. "What is it, my boy? Do you -need anything?" - -"I heard a cannon-shot, Monsieur Augustin," replied the young man -in his weak voice. "It must have been from the fort, I think." - -"Then it is being attacked--or, more probably, surprised," said -Fortuné, reaching for his pistols. Almost at the same moment Grain -d'Orge, a lantern in his hand, appeared in the doorway. - -"The Blues have got the upper part of the fort, Monsieur Augustin," -he shouted. "They are killing everybody inside----" - -"Get the men ready--those that are able-bodied," said La Vireville, -snatching up his sword. "I will be with you in an instant." - -"There is such a cursed wind!" grumbled the Chouan, disappearing -with his lantern. - -La Vireville knelt down by Le Goffic. "Good-bye, Charles! If the -worst come to the worst, and if I do not return, there are plenty -of slightly wounded men here in St. Pierre who can take you off -to the English squadron. I have seen to that already." - -The young man looked up at his leader with undimmed affection and -trust shining out of his sunken eyes, and put his hot hands over -La Vireville's right, that held the sheathed sword. - -"If you do not come back, I would rather have died with you, Monsieur -le Chevalier! Let me fasten on your sword for you . . . you cannot -do it with your arm thus." - -The feeble fingers fumbled with the buckle, but Fortuné, guessing -what the rendering of that last service meant to his young lieutenant, -waited patiently till they had accomplished their task. Then he -stooped down and kissed him, French fashion, on both cheeks. - - * * * * * - -Outside was darkness, confusion, and violent wind. But his men -were marshalling. Already Vauban's Chouans, in disorder and with -recriminations, were setting out up the peninsula towards the scene -of the fresh disaster. - -"Are all here who should be?" shouted Fortuné in Grain d'Orge's ear. - -The old Chouan held a half-cocked pistol in his other hand. He -nodded. "All but Yannik. He said he would not go, so I----" He -lifted the pistol. - -La Vireville nodded. "Give me the lantern." And with it he went -forward to the little ranks, now pitifully depleted. "Mes gars," he -cried, holding the lantern high, and running his eyes over the rows -of familiar faces, "this is our last chance. We must help retake -the fort. If it is not retaken, all is finished. But listen now. -If I think that to fight any further is useless I shall give the -word--Every man for himself." And he explained, as he had explained -to Grain d'Orge, his reason for this course. "Do you understand, -mes enfants, and will you follow me till I give that word?" - -He was not sure that they would. But they had known and trusted -and somewhat feared him long before their recent unforgettable -experiences of artillery outside Auray and at Ste. Barbe. They -shouted back their acquiescence. - -"And then," yelled Grain d'Orge, putting in his word, "if M. Augustin -is pleased with you, he will come back to us at Kerdronan, and we -can go on again with _that_ kind of fighting----" - -"I wish to God that I had never brought them away from Kerdronan," -thought La Vireville, as he turned away and put himself at their head. - - - (2) - -They never reached the fort. The way towards it was blocked with -the fruit of past mistakes, with masses of fugitives--mainly the -dispossessed Bretons of the mainland, that unpropitious flotsam which -the events of July the sixth had swept on to the peninsula--pouring -away from the scene of calamity. The difficulty of struggling with a -handful of men through this flood, all setting in the opposite -direction, was enormous. It was almost impossible to keep together. -However, they fought their way on, their heads down, buffeted by -the wind and by the bodies of the fugitives, physically and morally -disheartened, till at last the light of the wet, cheerless dawn -was strong enough to show, in the distance, the grey bulk of Fort -Penthièvre, looking doubly massive and formidable now that it was -no longer in their hands. For, as La Vireville realised with a -pang no less keen because it was anticipated, the golden lilies -floated there no more. In their stead, flaring defiantly out in the -wind and rain over counterscarp and glacis, was the red, white, and -blue of the Republic. - -"Halt!" cried La Vireville, and remained a moment staring at that -significant sight. Then he called for Grain d'Orge. - -"Mon vieux, the moment has come," he said sadly. "I give the word to -disband. It is not right to sacrifice the rest of the men uselessly. -Remember what I told you about the mainland. Try to get them all -taken off in the boats of the English squadron, which will be -possible if the wind goes down." - -"But you, Monsieur Augustin, what will you do?" asked the old Chouan, -seizing him by the hand. His eyes were glistening in most unfamiliar -fashion, while with his other hand he fumbled inside his embroidered -vest, finally drawing out thence a long, reddish-brown, hairy object, -somewhat shrivelled, and tufted at the end. - -"Take this, Monsieur le Chevalier," he urged, pressing it into his -leader's hand. "It will certainly bring you back safe to Kerdronan. -The wise woman gave it to me." - -"No, no, mon gars," said La Vireville, rather touched, but not -altogether taken with the appearance of the gift. "Keep it to ensure -your own safety. But . . . what the devil is it?" - -"A cow's tail that has been offered to St. Herbot at his chapel -in Finistère," replied the Breton. "You will not take it, Monsieur -Augustin? It has great virtue." - -But La Vireville was firm in his refusal, and Grain d'Orge, replacing -his talisman, moved off to convey his orders to the already melting -band of Chouans. He came back, however, in a moment or two to repeat -his question. - -"What will you do, Monsieur Augustin?" - -"For the present," replied his leader composedly, "I am going to -offer my sword to anyone here who will accept it." - - - (3) - -And that was why the Chevalier de la Vireville found himself, half -an hour later, under the command of the Comte de Contades, trying, -with Loyal-Emigrant and the remnants of d'Hervilly's regiment, to -stem the steady advance of Hoche's forces, that outnumbered the -Royalists by three to one. But everything was against them. The -little eminence on which they fell back might well have been defended -had not the Blues already got possession of the park of artillery -at Portivy, which, owing to lack of horses, had not been removed -in time. So they fell back once more, in good order, not a man of -them attempting to join the throngs at Port d'Orange, where the -sick and wounded, and some of the regimental colours, were, despite -the tempest, being embarked on the boats of the English flotilla. - -It was now about four o'clock in the morning, and the rain had -returned to mist. It was in this mist that, still retiring before -the relentless pressure of the Blues, the two regiments came to -the knoll by the hamlet of St. Julien, where the troops of the -second division were quartered under their commander, the young -Comte de Sombreuil, the brother of the heroine of the 'glass of -blood.' Here, on his horse at their head, a gallant figure in his -hussar's dolman of chamois colour faced with red, his high shako -looped about with cords and decorated with the black cockade, -was Sombreuil himself. - -And La Vireville heard him say to Contades, his handsome young -face contracted with pain, "Puisaye told me to remain here, and -Puisaye himself has embarked!" - -For some time Fortuné had been asking himself what had become of -the general-in-chief, and yet the answer, now that it had come, -seemed incredible. But it was confirmed by the lieutenant-colonel -of the régiment de Rohan, when he came up with his men, who had -been ordered to hold the little battery at Port d'Orange, and could -not, because the battery consisted merely of one small cannon -without ammunition or even a gun-carriage. La Vireville began to -see why Puisaye, a moral if not a physical coward, had fled from -a situation which he was incompetent to control, and disasters of -his own making which it was too late to repair. - -There was no time to do more than to curse this extraordinary -defection. The mist was breaking before the full daylight, and -turning once more to rain, as the Comte de Sombreuil took command, -disposing his little force in line, from the régiment de Rohan on -the extreme right, the side of the sea, to du Dresnay (de Flavigny's -regiment) on the left, by the windmill. He threw out, too, a company -of the newcomers in advance, and posted two regiments of them -in the rear. But some of these just-landed corps had not more than -three cartridges to a man; one of the rearguard regiments, in fact, -had none at all until its neighbour shared with it. And they were -not the only bodies either who had to share their ammunition. -Cartridges there were in plenty for all, but their distribution -had not been finished before the surprise of the fort. . . . - -La Vireville, in the ranks of that veteran corps, Loyal-Emigrant, -learnt this fact with a sort of resignation. And what were they -waiting for now? he asked himself. With the brave and disciplined -troops at Sombreuil's command he might well have attacked Humbert's -cautiously advancing column with the bayonet. When he at last -ordered the advance it was too late, for hardly had the émigrés -begun to go forward when an officer, arriving in haste from the -left wing, announced that the soldiers of du Dresnay and d'Hervilly, -after killing some of their officers, had gone over to the enemy. -The Republicans were in possession of the windmill height, and -indeed their guns were already beginning a murderous cannonade from -that eminence. The Royalists had therefore no choice but to beat -a retreat. Word spread that Sombreuil intended to retire to the -Fort Neuf, on the shore south-east of Port Haliguen, and there -surrender upon terms. When La Vireville heard this he made a -grimace, for he happened to know what the 'fort' was like. - -So they began their last withdrawal, still slowly and in good -order, but forced all the time by the lack of cartridges to go -through the bitter farce of taking aim without firing; and were -thus driven gradually down to the extremity of the peninsula and -the sea. The shore was covered with fugitives, mostly peasants -and Chouans, running towards the Fort Neuf or trying desperately -to get a place in the overcrowded boats of the English squadron, -which, despite the high sea that was running, had been hard at -work, but were now being obliged to abandon their efforts. And it -was now that La Vireville, sword in hand--for he could not use a -musket--came suddenly on an officer lying, wrapped about in a -cloak, in a little dip in the sandhills. Two soldiers stood near -him, looking down at him. Fortuné had no time to wonder who it was, -for he saw at once the drawn features of René de Flavigny. - -He stopped and knelt down by him among the coarse grass and the -sea-pinks. On the scarlet of the English tunic, with its black -facings, no blood was visible, but the grey of the Marquis's face -was evidence enough of what had happened. His eyes were closed, -and La Vireville half thought him unconscious. - -"Where are you hit, René?" he asked quietly. - -De Flavigny opened his eyes. "Shot in the back," he said in a faint -voice. "But . . . it would be of no account . . . if only . . . O -my God! It was my own men!" He raised a trembling hand and put -it over his eyes. "O my God!" he said again. - -"You must be got off to the English fleet without delay," said -La Vireville with decision, though his heart sank. "How did you -come here?" - -"We carried him, mon officier," replied one of the soldiers, coming -forward and saluting, and La Vireville saw that he was a sergeant -of du Dresnay. "We will try to get him into a boat--but it will -be very difficult. They are nearly all gone back to the ships." - -"For God's sake do your best, however!" urged the Chouan. - -"It is useless, Fortuné," whispered de Flavigny. "You see I was -right. Remember your promise. . . . Kiss me . . . and kiss Anne -for me." And, as La Vireville bent and kissed him, he relapsed -into unconsciousness. - -There was not a moment to lose. Already the little group was isolated -between the retiring Royalists and the oncoming Republicans. La -Vireville hastily thrust some money into the soldiers' hands, saw -them raise their insensible burden, picked up his sword, and ran -back to the retreating ranks. - - - (4) - -And by the crumbling, four-foot walls of the little fort--a veritable -children's citadel of sand--with its one rusty cannon that pointed -seawards, amid the roar of the waves, the cries of the drowning, -and the persistent booming of the guns of the English corvette, -the _Lark_ (which, by firing steadily on the stretch of beach and -sandhills between the defeated and the conquerors, was retarding -rather than averting the inevitable), the last words were written -on the fatal page of Quiberon. - -First of all, from the grenadiers drawn up behind their artillery -among the dunes, where the corvette's fire could not touch them, -came Rouget de Lisle, his scarcely three-years-old immortality upon -him, to parley with Sombreuil. When he went back, Hoche, for the -first time, showed himself, and Sombreuil rode out of the fort to -meet him. - -From just within the low wall La Vireville watched the interview -of the two young soldiers, the victor and the vanquished. No one -of either force was near enough to hear what they said to each -other. But reiterated shouts came from the Republican ranks: "Lay -down your arms, comrades!" "Surrender, and you shall be safe!" The -rain, falling, falling, seemed a fit pall for the broken hopes that -were going down in night, the melancholy cry of the gulls that -wheeled overhead a fit requiem. The golden lilies were in the dust, -and all was vain--ardour and sacrifice and devotion--as vain as the -fury and despair that saw them wither, watered though they were -with the best blood of France. - -Sombreuil came back from his brief interview. It went instantly -through the lines of waiting Royalists that he had bargained with -Hoche for their lives--for all their lives except his own--at the -price of capitulation. And indeed he was heard to say to those who -pressed round him, "My friends, save yourselves, or else surrender!" - -But there was no possibility of saving themselves now. The English -ships, having done all they could, had withdrawn into the middle of -the bay; not a boat was visible. Only the corvette still continued -her stubborn fire. . . . And suddenly the unfortunate young leader -realised that the last door was closed, for La Vireville saw him, in -a paroxysm of despair, strike spurs into his horse and try to force -him over the rocks into the sea--not the only man there to prefer the -Roman ending. But the animal, rearing violently, refused the leap, -and in a moment or two his rider had regained his self-command, had -dismounted, and was attempting, with his handkerchief, to signal the -_Lark_ to cease firing. - -Evidently the signal was not seen, for the corvette's guns still -thundered away at the beach, and Hoche, coming up with the two -'representatives of the people,' Tallien and Blad, in their plumed -head-dresses, seemed to be expostulating with Sombreuil on the point. - -"He says that if a man of his is killed----" reported a youth near -enough to hear, and left the sentence significantly unfinished. - -"A lieutenant of the régiment de la Marine is going to swim off -to the corvette." - -"Then he will be drowned for certain," muttered La Vireville, -turning and looking at that wild sea which must have put an end -to René's last faint chance of escape. - -(But he was wrong about the swimmer, for Gesril du Papeu not only -accomplished his mission, but swam back again--to another kind -of death.) - -And soon to those in the little fort, when the thud and reverberation -of the _Lark's_ cannon had ceased, came insistently that sound which -in all this desperate business had never been absent from their -ears--the great voice of the sea, counting out the hours that were -left, till those ears should be deaf to tide and wind for ever. So, -after all the hours of tension (for it was now nearly one o'clock -in the afternoon), the supreme moment of humiliation and disaster -came at last. Charles de Sombreuil slowly detached his sabre, -half-drew the blade from its sheath, kissed it reverently, and -gave it into Tallien's hands, and Tallien put it into those of -Rouget de Lisle. Then the soldiers surrounded the young hussar, -and he was lost to sight. The expedition to Quiberon was over. - -And as the grenadiers in their blue and white came pouring into the -enclosure of the fort, La Vireville (like not a few others) broke -his sword under his heel and flung it over the wall into the sea. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - MR. TOLLEMACHE AS AN ARCHANGEL - - - (1) - -"Grandpapa," said Anne-Hilarion, "please to tell me what is -'ven-al-ity'?" - -Mr. Elphinstone looked up. "Eh, what, child?" - -"I read in this great book," proceeded Anne-Hilarion, "This -ven-al-ity co-in-cid-ing with the spirit of in-de-pend-ence and -en-cro-ach-ment common to all the Pol-y-gars pro-cur-ed them----" - -"God bless my soul, what book have you got hold of?" demanded -the old man; but before he could pull himself out of his arm-chair -to see, there was a knock at the library door, and Elspeth stood -revealed. - -"Maister Anne's bedtime," she observed severely, and stood waiting. - -Almost at the same moment Baptiste appeared at her side, in his -hands a salver, and on the salver a china bowl. "M. le Comte -mangera-t-il avant de monter, ou dans sa chambre?" he inquired. - -M. le Comte looked from his retainers to his grandfather. His -preference was so clearly visible in his expression that Mr. -Elphinstone, whipping off his spectacles, said: - -"He will have his bread-and-milk down here to-night, Baptiste. -I will ring for you, Elspeth, when he has finished." - -Mrs. Saunders retired, with a tightening of her tight lips, and -the old valet, advancing victoriously, placed the steaming bowl -on the table beside the volume of Orme's _British India_ which -had been engaging the child's attention. Anne-Hilarion, who had -screwed himself round in his chair, turned his dangling legs -once more tablewards. - -For a few minutes nothing was heard in the large, book-lined room, -this July evening, but the noise of a spoon stirring the contents -of a bowl, and the old gentleman by the fireless hearth went on -with his reading. But presently the spoon grew slower in its rounds, -and Mr. Elphinstone, looking up, beheld a large silent tear on its -way to join the bread-and-milk. - -"My child, what is the matter?" he exclaimed in dismay. "Is it -too hot?" - -The Comte de Flavigny produced a handkerchief, not too clean. -"I think," he said falteringly, "that I want Papa to-night." - -"My poor lamb!" murmured the old man. "I wish to God that I could -give him to you. See now, my bairn, if you were to bring your bowl -here and sit on Grandpapa's knee?" He held out his arms, and the -small boy slipped from his chair, went to him, and, climbing to -his lap, wept a little silently, while his bread-and-milk steamed -neglected on the table, and the deep frilled muslin collar round -his neck was crumpled, unregarded, against Mr. Elphinstone's breast. - -"I wish I could go to France and see Papa!" said Anne-Hilarion -presently. - -"My lamb!" repeated Mr. Elphinstone, his cheek pressed against -his grandson's head. He did not think it necessary to combat -this aspiration. - -"If M. le Chevalier were here he could find him, Grandpapa. M. -le Chevalier is so clever at finding people, is he not?" - -"Yes, indeed," assented the old man. "But you know, Anne, that -M. le Chevalier too is fighting for the King over there." And he -did not explain that, so far as he knew, it was hardly a question -of 'finding' the Marquis de Flavigny. - -Anne-Hilarion gave a great sigh. "Perhaps M. le Chevalier will come -back with Papa," he suggested. "And I can show him my new goldfish." - -"And your memoirs, my bairn, with all the pictures you have made -of him!" - -"Yes," agreed the artist. "But, Grandpapa, when _will_ they come -back?" - -_They!_ Mr. Elphinstone seemed to see a tall figure standing by -the door, with a face full of grief--alone. Of the two men who -shared, in different degrees, this child's heart, one might return, -but it would not be the better loved. Why had he this conviction -about René, if not to prepare him for the reality? He made a great -effort over himself, and said, "They will come back when it pleases -God to send them, my child. Now eat up your bread-and-milk." - -Anne raised a doubtful face. "Perhaps," he objected, "it will not -please God for a very long time." - -"If He sends Papa back in the end, we should not mind waiting -even a very long time, should we?" - -"No-o-o," said the little boy, still dubiously. He got down from -his grandfather's knee, and went slowly back to the table. Yet, -as he gained his chair, by a means peculiar to himself, he murmured -again, "But I _should_ like to see Papa soon." - -And, with his eyes fixed on some vision of his own, he resumed -operations on the contents of his bowl, now somewhat cooled by -time and tears. - - - (2) - -It was not till next day that Anne-Hilarion, sitting on the -window-seat of his nursery, revolving anew the question of seeing -his father, hit upon the idea of consulting M. de Soucy. For M. de -Soucy, lame, as always, from the wound he had received at Thionville -when he fought in the army of the Princes three years ago, had not -been able to join the expedition, and he was still in his lodgings -in Golden Square eking out a living by teaching music. And it -appeared to Anne that M. de Soucy, who had seemed so disappointed -at having to remain behind, might be induced to go, privately as it -were, and to take him, Anne-Hilarion, with him--not, of course, to -fight, but merely to see Papa. They might even see M. le Chevalier -as well. . . . Having already travelled on the Continent, Anne felt -that the actual journey presented few difficulties; but it would, -he supposed, cost money, and the Vicomte de Soucy, ruined by the -Revolution, was very poor. Grandpapa said so, and indeed M. de -Soucy himself, always with a laugh. But if he, Anne-Hilarion, -proposed such an expedition, it was surely his duty to defray its -cost. Could he do this? He had, in his money-box, a crown piece -which would not go through the hole in the lid, and which Grandpapa -had introduced by means less legitimate, means which had revealed -the presence of many other coins in the receptacle. There might -be as much as a guinea there by this time. This wealth was not -exactly accessible to Anne-Hilarion, since he could not open the -repository, but if he went to interview M. de Soucy he could take -the box with him, and doubtless M. le Vicomte would unfasten it. - -The preliminary step was certainly to consult M. de Soucy. But how -was he to do that? How was he to get to Golden Square without the -escort of Elspeth or of Baptiste? Elspeth in particular had, as he -knew only too well, a wary eye and a watchful disposition. He looked -at her now, as she sat not far from him mending a little tear in -his coat, with so meditative an air that Mrs. Saunders asked him -what he was thinking of--and was no wiser when he replied, truthfully -enough, "M. le Vicomte de Soucy." Yet before he returned to his -contemplation of the Duke of Cumberland's equestrian statue in the -Square, Anne-Hilarion had come to the conclusion that the only way -to evade Elspeth was to call in celestial intervention. - -Little, however, did Elspeth Saunders, that staunch Calvinist, -imagine, as she impatiently surveyed the child at his 'Popish -exercises' that evening, what it was which caused their unusual -prolongation, nor what forces were being invoked against her. -Little did she realise to what heavenly interposition was due, at -least to Anne-Hilarion's thinking, the fact that next afternoon, -at half-past one precisely, she slipped on the stairs and twisted -her ankle rather severely, so that she had to be conveyed to her -room and Baptiste despatched to fetch the doctor. M. le Comte had -not in his orisons specified the hour of the miracle--nor, of -course, the form that it should take--but he was on the alert. Mr. -Elphinstone was nowhere about, so his grandson slipped into the -library, and penned, not without labour, the following note: - - "DEAR GRANDPAPA,--I think to go to France with M. le Vte. de - Soucy, if God permits and there is mony suffisant in my box, - to see Papa. I will not be gone for long dere Grandpapa. I - love you alwaies." - -He stood upon a chair and put this communication on the library -mantelpiece; then, clutching his money-box, he struggled successfully -with the front door, and set out towards the hackney coaches -standing for hire on the other side of the Square. - - - (3) - -Anne-Hilarion met no dragons on his adventurous way--which, after -all, was very short. The hackney-coachman--who may have had qualms -about accepting so immature a passenger--was most agreeable, and -willingly agreed to wait, on arrival at Golden Square, in case -he should be wanted again. The only obstacle to progress was the -purely physical barrier of a stout and slatternly woman who, at -that unusual hour, was washing down the dingy staircase, and whom -Anne-Hilarion was obliged to ask to let him pass. - -"Bless my soul!" ejaculated she, turning in clumsy surprise. "And -what are you doing here by yourself, my little gentleman?" - -"I have come to see M. le Vicomte de Soucy," answered Anne-Hilarion. -"He is above, is he not?" - -"The French gentleman? Yes, he is. I'll go first, dearie; mind the -pail, now. To come alone--I never did! And who shall I say?" - -"The Comte de Flavigny," responded the little boy, with due gravity. - -Strange to say, M. de Soucy, in his attic room, did not hear the -announcement, nor even the shutting of the door. He was sitting -at a table, with his back to the visitor, his head propped between -his hands, a letter open before him. There was that in his attitude -which gave Anne-Hilarion pause; but he finally advanced, and said -in his clear little voice: - -"M. le Vicomte!" - -The émigré started, removed his hands, and turned round. "Grand -Dieu, c'est toi, Anne!" - -His worn face looked, thought Anne-Hilarion, as if he had been -crying--if grown-up people ever did cry, about which he sometimes -speculated. But he was too well bred to remark on this, and he -merely said, in his native tongue, "I have come to ask you, M. le -Vicomte, to take me to France to see my Papa." - -M. de Soucy, putting his hand to his throat, stared at him a moment. -Then he seemed to swallow something, and said, "I am afraid I -cannot do that, my child." - -Anne-Hilarion knew that grown-up people do not always fall in at -once with your ideas, and he was prepared for a little opposition. - -"Your health is perhaps not re-established?" he suggested politely -(for he was master of longer words in French than in English). He -did not like to refer to M. le Vicomte's lameness in so many words. -But M. le Vicomte made a gesture signifying that his health was -of no account, so Anne-Hilarion proceeded. - -"I have brought my money-box," he said, with a very ingratiating -smile, and, giving his treasury a shake, he laid it on the table -at the Vicomte's elbow. "I do not know how much is in it. Will -you open it for me?" - -M. de Soucy snatched up the letter that was lying before him, got -up from his chair, and limped to the window. He stood as if he -were looking out over the chimney-pots, but as he had put his hand -over his eyes he could not, thought Anne-Hilarion, have seen very -much. And gradually it began to dawn upon the little boy that the -Vicomte must be offended. He remembered having heard Grandpapa -once say how impossible it was to offer to assist him with money, -and he felt very hot all over. Had he, in merely mentioning the -money-box, done something dreadful? - -But M. de Soucy suddenly swung round from the window. His face -was as white as paper. - -"Anne," he said, in a queer voice, "money will not bring you to -see your father. He . . . my God, I can't tell him. . . . Come -here, child. Bring your money-box!" - -Anne obeyed. - -"First, we must see whether there is enough in it, must we not? -It costs a great deal of money to go to France, and, as you know, -I am poor." - -"I think there is a great deal, but a great deal, in it," said -Anne reassuringly, shaking his bank. "Will you not open it and -see, M. le Vicomte?" - -"Yes, I will open it," replied M. de Soucy. "And if there is enough, -we will go to France. But if there is not enough, Anne--and I fear -that there may not be--we cannot go. Will you abide by my decision?" - -"Foi de Flavigny," promised the child gravely, giving him his hand. - -How wonderful are grown-up people! M. le Vicomte had the strong-box -open in no time. Together they counted its contents. - -"Seventeen shillings and fourpence--no, fivepence," announced M. -de Soucy. "I am afraid, Anne . . ." - -M. le Comte drew a long breath. The muscles pulled at the corners -of his mouth. - -"It is not enough?" he inquired rather quaveringly. - -"Not nearly. Anne, you are a soldier's son, and you must learn -to bear disappointment--worse things perhaps. We cannot help your -father in that way." Again M. de Soucy struggled with something in -his speech. "I do not know, Anne, how we can help him." - -It was, fortunately, not given to the Comte de Flavigny to read -his friend's mind, but he perceived sufficiently from his manner -that something was not right. He reflected a moment, and then, -remembering the celestial intervention of the afternoon, said: - -"Perhaps I had better ask la Très-Sainte Vierge to take care of -him. I do ask her every day, but I mean especially." - -"You could ask her," said de Soucy, bitter pain in his eyes. - -"You have no picture of our Lady, no statue?" - -"Not one." - -"It does not matter," said the little boy. "Elspeth sometimes -takes away my image of her too. They do not know her over here, -but that," he added, with his courteous desire to excuse, "is -because she is French. . . . M. le Vicomte, I think that after all -I had better ask St. Michel, because he is a soldier. It would -be more fitting for him, do you not think? Yes, I will pray St. -Michel to take great care of my Papa, and then I shall not mind that -the money is not enough and that I cannot go to France to see him." - -So, standing where he was, his eyes tight shut, he besought the -leader of the heavenly cohorts to that end, concluding politely -if mysteriously, "Perhaps I ought to thank you about Elspeth." - -"I had better go back to Grandpapa?" he then suggested. - -M. de Soucy nodded. "I will come with you," he said. - - - (4) - -Anne-Hilarion had been gone for so short a time that he had not -even been missed, for the domestics were still occupied about -Elspeth's accident, and Mr. Elphinstone, though returned to the -library, had not found the farewell letter. The only surprise, -therefore, which the old gentleman showed was that his grandson -should be accompanied by M. de Soucy. He got up from a drawing of -one of the gates of Delhi that he was making for his memoirs, and -welcomed the intruders. - -"Anne has been paying me a visit," said the Frenchman. "He wanted -to go to France again, but I have persuaded him to put it off for -a little. Can I have a word alone with you, sir?" - -"Did you not get my letter, Grandpapa?" broke in Anne-Hilarion, -clinging to Mr. Elphinstone's hand. "I left it on the mantelpiece, -behind the little heathen god. I did not run away, foi de gentilhomme!" - -"Send him out of the room!" signalled the émigré. But Anne-Hilarion, -having perceived his grandfather's occupation, was now in great -spirits. "Let me look at the livre des Indes, Grandpapa!" he -exclaimed. "I so much love the pictures. Faites-moi voir les -éléphants!" And he jumped up and down, holding on to the arm of -his grandfather's chair. - -But the old man had followed M. de Soucy to the window. - -"What is it, Monsieur?" he whispered. "Bad news from France?" - -"Read this," said the Vicomte, thrusting the letter into his hands. -"It could hardly be worse. D'Hervilly attacked the Republican -position at Ste. Barbe five days ago, and was beaten off with -frightful loss. God knows what has happened by now, what has happened -to René--the worst, I have small doubt. . . ." - -Mr. Elphinstone unfolded the letter with shaking hands. But ere -he had got to the bottom of the first page, Anne-Hilarion was at -his side, pulling at his sleeve. - -"Grandpapa, I want to tell you a secret!" - -"In a moment, child," said Mr. Elphinstone, his eyes on the letter. - -"But it is very important," persisted Anne. "It is about Papa--at -least it is about Elspeth." - -For once he was not to be put off. The old man yielded. - -"Well, my bairn?" - -"I want to whisper," said Anne. - -So his grandfather bent down and received the following revelation, -"I prayed to my ange gardien about Elspeth." - -"To make her better, do you mean?" - -"No--it was before she fell down--to make her let me go and see -M. de Soucy." - -"Well?" said Mr. Elphinstone, still more perplexed. - -"Eh bien, he arranged it," said the successful petitioner, in a -tone of satisfaction. "He pushed Elspeth, no doubt, that she slipped -on the stairs, and so I was able to go. I did not _ask_ him to make -her slip, Grandpapa," he hastened to add. - -But still the old man did not realise whither all this was tending. -The Vicomte de Soucy also, his threadbare coat showing very greenish -in the strong light near the window, was looking at the little boy -with puzzled, unhappy eyes. - -"So now," proceeded Anne, "since I have asked St. Michel himself -to take care of Papa--did I not, M. le Vicomte?--he will be quite -safe, and I do not want any more to go to France. That is the secret, -Grandpapa--and when you have finished reading that letter will you -show me the elephants?" - -"If Elspeth can be disposed of by the heavenly powers, even the -Blues are not beyond their control--is that it?" observed M. de -Soucy with a grating laugh, half to Mr. Elphinstone and half to -the child. "Good God, if only one could believe it!" - -As Anne, his mind at ease, climbed up into his grandfather's chair -by the table with a view to the elephants, Mr. Elphinstone finished -and let fall the letter, his apple cheeks gone grey. Then he turned -without a word to the window and stood there, his back to the -room, while into the silence came, with a strange little effect -of calamity, the sound of a scud of summer rain beating against -the glass. - - - (5) - -And the rain was falling steadily on the white sand of Quiberon -Bay also, on the low dunes, on Hoche's triumphant grenadiers, on -the little fort, now abandoned, on the useless English ships, and -on the upturned face of René de Flavigny, who lay, wrapped in a -cloak, a short stone's cast from the rising tide. All about him -were the evidences of the great disaster, but he had never heeded -them, lying where the two soldiers had left him, by a little spur -of rock that had its extremity in the sea. It had proved impossible -to get him off to a boat; there was no chance for an unconscious -man when even good swimmers perished. So his bearers had laid him -down by the rock; he was no worse off than hundreds of others, and -neither the cries of the drowning nor the boom of the English -cannon had wakened him. - -But now he had drifted back to pain, and the thirst of the stricken, -and the numbing remembrance of catastrophe. He had tried to raise -his head, but desisted from the distress of the effort. The fingers -of his left hand ploughed idly into the sand. As it dribbled through -them, white as lime, he remembered everything. . . . His eyes, so -like Anne-Hilarion's, darkened. Since there was no one to make an -end of him, he would do it himself, not so much to ease the pain -and to hasten an otherwise lingering death as because everything -was lost. And he would go to Jeannette. - -Yet his senses were playing him tricks again. One moment he was -here, a piece of driftwood in the great wreck; the next, he was -kneeling by Anne-Hilarion's bed, going again through that dreadful -parting, promising that he would soon return, and the boy was -clinging to him, swallowing his sobs. He could hear them now, blent -with the plunge of the tide. He could not keep that promise. Better -end it all, and go to Jeannette. - -René thrust down a hand, tugged a pistol out of his belt, cocked -it, and put it to his head. - -But ere the cold rim touched his temple, sky and sea had gone black. -Flashes of radiance shot through the humming darkness, steadying -at last to a wide sunflower of light, and then . . . he saw -distinctly Anne-Hilarion's terrified face, his little outstretched -hands. His own sank powerless to the sand, and he was swept out -again on the flood of unconsciousness. - - - (6) - -"Not a single blessed patrol, by gad!" thought Mr. Francis Tollemache -to himself. "That means they have got at the port wine and beer we -landed at Fort Penthièvre: trust the sans-culottes for scenting it -out! But, O gemini, what luck for us!" - -For Mr. Tollemache was at that moment--midnight--steering a small -boat along the shore of Quiberon. On his one hand were the lights -of the English squadron, still in the bay; on the other, the -Republican camp-fires among the sandhills. The files of Royalist -prisoners had started hours ago on their march up the peninsula, -but Sir John Warren was still hoping to pick up a fugitive or two -under cover of darkness, and Mr. Tollemache's was not the only boat -employed on this errand of mercy. But it was emphatically the most -daring; nor had Sir John the least idea that Mr. Tollemache was -hazarding his own, a midshipman's, and half a dozen other lives in -the search for one particular Royalist. Mr. Tollemache, indeed, -never intended that he should have. - -A rescued Frenchman sat already in the sternsheets--the sergeant -of du Dresnay, picked up earlier in the day, who had helped to -carry de Flavigny down the beach. Truth to tell, Mr. Tollemache -had smuggled him into the boat as a guide, for the task of finding -the wounded man in the dark would otherwise have been hopeless. -But the sergeant could direct them to the little rock by which -his officer had been laid, and, rocks being uncommon on that long -sandy shore, he did so direct them. Unfortunately, since Mr. -Tollemache, no expert in tongues, could not always follow his -meaning, they had not yet found it. Already, indeed, had they -made hopefully for some dark object at the water's edge, only to -ascertain that it was a dead horse, and Mr. Tollemache's flowers -of speech at the discovery had not withered till the body of a -drowned Royalist slid and bumped along the boat's side. But meanwhile, -even though the shore was unguarded, it was getting momentarily -more difficult to see, the tide was rising once again, the men -were becoming impatient. After all, it _was_ rather like looking -for the proverbial needle. - -The French soldier tugged suddenly at the Englishman's arm. "V'là, -m'sieur!" he whispered. "There is the place--that is the rock!" - -The young lieutenant peered through the gloom, gave a curt order -or two, and then, lifted on the swell, the _Pomone's_ boat greeted -the sand of Quiberon Bay. Another moment, and Englishman and Frenchman -had found what they sought. But only Mr. Dibdin's special maritime -cherub averted the discharge of the cocked pistol which the Marquis -de Flavigny still grasped in a senseless hand, and which Mr. -Tollemache had some difficulty in disengaging before they got him -into the boat. - -The middy, now in charge of the tiller, desired, as they pulled -away, to be informed why his superior officer had been so set on -saving this particular poor devil. - -"Oh, I met him once in England," replied Mr. Tollemache carelessly, -and, as far as the bare statement went, quite truthfully. "Here, -give me the tiller now! It makes a difference when you have actually -known a man, you see." - -For he was ashamed to avow the real motive power--his acquaintance, -much more intimate and cogent, with a younger member of the family. -At any rate, it was not a safe thing to let a midshipman know. - - * * * * * - -They were nearing the _Pomone_ when the Marquis de Flavigny, his -head in his compatriot's lap, began to mutter something. The middy -bent down. - -"The poor beggar thinks he's talking to his wife--or his sweetheart," -said he, pleased at being able to recognise a word of French. -"'Anne,' her name seems to be." - -Mr. Tollemache, in the darkness and the sea-wind, turned away -his head and smiled. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - VÆ VICTIS! - - - (1) - -All that night Fortuné de la Vireville sat in the desecrated church -of St. Gildas at Auray, his back against a pillar. Hundreds of his -comrades were there with him, so crowded together that it was -difficult to find room to lie at length. He was fasting, as they -all were, since the evening before, his wounded arm was inflamed -and aching, but his thoughts were with René, stiff and stark by -now, most probably, on the sandhills or the shore; with Le Goffic, -helpless at St. Pierre; with his scattered and leaderless Bretons. -Before his eyes, in that encumbered church, lit only by a single -lamp, rushed in a stupefying panorama all the events of that long -day of disaster, from his ominous waking in the early morning to -the last scene in the little fort--and its aftermath. He remembered -how, as the grenadiers drew up their long column of prisoners on -the shore, the rain had ceased, and the sun had come out; even the -wind, which had wrought them so much calamity, seemed, too late, -to be abating. But by three o'clock in the afternoon, when, faint -with hunger and fatigue, they arrived at Fort Penthièvre, the -downpour had begun again, and it rained in torrents as they marched, -for eight hours or more, towards Auray. At the head of the column -walked Sombreuil, supporting the old Bishop of Dol, who, on account -of his age and infirmities, had not been able to embark for the -English fleet, and who, in any case, as he said, had made the -sacrifice of his life. And because, before they started, every man -had given his parole not to attempt escape, they marched for all -those weary hours through a strongly Royalist countryside, half -of the time in the friendly darkness, with an insufficient and -fatigued escort, and not one broke his word. Thus, in the dead -of night, they had reached Auray, and had been huddled into its -various churches. - -Here in St. Gildas were massed all ages and ranks, veterans and -boys, officers and private soldiers alike, and the wounded, of -whom there were not a few, lay in their rain-soaked clothes on -the stone floor with no care but what their empty-handed companions -could give them. Here was Gesril du Papeu, the brine scarcely -dry in his hair, who had swum back again from safety to share -the fate of his comrades; and Charles de Lamoignon, who had carried -his wounded younger brother to a boat, himself forbearing to embark; -and men with names like Salignac-Fénelon and Broglie, and the -seventeen-year-old Louis de Talhouët, who had passed, a prisoner, -through the estates of his own family on the way to Auray; and -many another. . . . - - * * * * * - -Somewhere between three and four in the morning an émigré named -de Manny, whom La Vireville had known some years previously, came -past, and, finding a little vacant space by the Chouan leader, sat -down, and recalled himself to his memory. - -"You have been in Holland since then?" inquired Fortuné, looking -at the faded sky-blue uniform with its orange cuffs. The fact was -equally proclaimed by the black cockade which marked him as one of -the second--Sombreuil's--contingent. - -"Yes; I was--and am--in the Légion de Béon, and had the luck to -escape when the Republicans massacred eighty of us as we marched -out at the surrender of Bois-le-Duc. This time----" he shrugged -his shoulders. - -"We surrendered on terms, even if the capitulation was only verbal," -said La Vireville, without much conviction. "There are plenty of -witnesses to that." - -"Yes," retorted de Manny; "and what are the chances of the capitulation -being observed?" - -La Vireville said nothing. - -"There is one man who will not escape in any case," went on the -lieutenant of Béon, looking towards the tombstone a little way -off where Sombreuil sat talking to some of his officers. "He is -exempt from the capitulation--he exempted himself. And do you know, -La Vireville, that he was summoned by the English Admiralty to -Portsmouth, to take command of us of the black cockade, on the very -eve of his wedding day? The summons came at midnight, and he obeyed -it instantly; but he was to have been married on the morrow to a -lady whom he adored." - -La Vireville made a sudden movement, as if his posture irked him. - -"How very dramatic!" he observed drily. "Was the lady sorry or -relieved, I wonder?" - -De Manny looked at him, astonished at the tone, but the speaker's -face was now in shadow from a neighbouring pillar. - -"I understand that she was heart-broken--that they both were. But -what makes you ask such a question? Have you anything against M. -de Sombreuil?" - -"Nothing whatever," replied the Chouan, shifting his wounded arm -to a more comfortable position. "I pity him from the bottom of my -heart. But the lady will marry someone else, you may be sure." - -"Sombreuil will be difficult to replace, however," said de Manny -meditatively, looking again at the young colonel of hussars, who -had indeed every gift of mind and body to commend him both to man -and woman. - -La Vireville gave a smothered laugh. "Good heavens, man, have you -not yet learnt that to a woman's heart no one is irreplaceable? She -can always find somebody else . . . if she have not already found -him," he added, almost inaudibly. "But it is half-past three; if -you will excuse me I shall try to sleep a little." And, putting -his head back against the stone, he closed his eyes. - -The officer of Béon studied him for a moment, in the dim light, -with a curiosity which even the desperate nature of their common -situation could not blunt, before he, too, settled himself to -snatch a little repose. - - - (2) - -Next morning some charitable hand threw in a little bread through -the ruined windows of St. Gildas. Later, the muster-roll was called, -and the officers, separated from the men, were marched to the town -prison, though some eighteen hundred émigrés were drafted off to -Vannes and other places. - -La Vireville was among those who remained at Auray, to witness the -indefatigable devotion of the women of that town to the prisoners. -These cooked for them, brought them food, running the gauntlet of -the pleasantries of their guards, took messages for their families, -and tried--in a few cases successfully--to smuggle them out of -prison. The days passed. Time was punctuated by the summons to -go before the military commission, by batches of twenty, every -morning and evening. Few came back. Sombreuil, the old Bishop of -Dol, and twenty priests were shot at Vannes on the twenty-eighth -of July, just a week after the surrender, and it was abundantly -clear that the capitulation, if it had ever existed save as a -tragic misunderstanding, would not be observed. It was for this -that they had given their paroles, that those who from fatigue had -fallen out during the march from Quiberon had voluntarily come into -Auray next morning and surrendered themselves. . . . Even before -trial, therefore, they all prepared for death, and since, against -all expectation, a priest was allowed them, they went to their last -confessions in a little bare room at the top of the prison--the -only room that could boast a chair. - -One of the military commissions to try the prisoners sat over the -market of Auray, that remarkable building with the great roof which -La Vireville remembered well enough, having seen it when, at the -head of his gars, he had helped to take the town a few short weeks -before. But the other was in the little chapel of the Congrégation -des Femmes, and it was here that he was tried, and condemned, as -an émigré taken with arms in his hand. No reference was made by the -tribunal to his exploits in the Chouannerie of Northern Brittany; -it was not necessary. - -There was still a picture over the altar in the other little chapel -to which he was taken, with the rest of that day's condemned, -for his last night. A few mattresses, even, had been put in the -sacristy, but most of the prisoners were of the mind of the old -Breton gentleman, M. de Kergariou, and needed nothing save a light -to pray by. Scattered about the chapel was a pathetic flotsam, -the possessions of former occupants who also had spent here their -last night on earth; and La Vireville, picking up a little book -of prayers marked with the name of a boy of fourteen, Paul Le -Vaillant de la Ferrière, a volunteer in du Dresnay, who had been -wounded, like him, at Ste. Barbe, knew by it that, despite his -extreme youth, he too had been sent to the slaughter. - -In this little place Fortuné lay down for his last living sleep. -He had no desire to meet death with bravado; it was, he felt, -more seemly to meet it with devotion, as so many had done, and -were doing now. If he could not compass that he had been too -long accustomed to the daily thought of it to fear it. Everything -had ended for him on the morning when he broke his sword. He -wished, it was true, that he could have left his mother in better -circumstances, but before he quitted Jersey he had had the Prince -de Bouillon's promise of a pension for her if he did not return. -She would grieve for him, yes; but she would not have had him -outlive his comrades. And she, too, would sleep soundly soon. - -Poor little Anne-Hilarion! For him he was really sorry. The child -loved his father so much; he would find it hard to believe that -he would never see him again. (For he was certain now that René de -Flavigny, even if he had survived, had never reached safety.) And -there had been no chance of fulfilling his own promise; escape -had never even looked his way. . . . After all, Providence had -been merciful to him, just where it had seemed most merciless. . . . -He had no son, and therefore no anguish of farewell. - -And so, disturbed neither by thoughts of the morrow, by the low-voiced -conversation of two friends near him, nor by the prayers of others, -Fortuné de la Vireville slept soundly, as has happened to not a -few in like circumstances. - - - (3) - -He woke a little before four o'clock, and heard an old émigré, M. -de Villavicencio, standing under one of the windows, read the -prayers for the dying to two others, much younger. The old man -was beginning the _Profisceretur_ when the tramp of feet was heard -outside. The chapel door was opened, letting in the air of the -early morning; soldiers stood there with packets of cords. Just -for one moment there was silence, and, in it, the rapturous song -of a thrush; then M. de Villavicencio finished the prayer. - -Fortuné got to his feet and tried to put some order into his attire. -As he did this he cast a sudden keen glance at the captive who -happened to be nearest to him, a man a good ten years younger than -himself, fair-haired and slim, and pitiably nervous. - -"I believe they have recently adopted the happy plan of tying us -together two and two," he said to him quietly. "Might I have the -honour of being your companion?" - -The young émigré was obliged to put his hand over his mouth to -steady its traitorous twitching before he could reply. Then he -said, out of a dry throat: - -"You are very good, Monsieur, but surely there is someone else -you would rather . . . die with? . . ." - -The Chouan shook his head with a little smile, and as they stood -side by side waiting for the soldiers to tie them together, the -younger man pulled out from his breast the miniature of a girl, -and showed it to him without a word. - -"Believe me, it will not hurt," said La Vireville in a low voice -as their turn came. "I have seen men shot by a firing-party before -now. It is over so quickly that they know nothing about it." (Perhaps -the youth would have the luck never to find out that this statement -was not always true.) "It is nothing near so painful as being tied -up like this when one is winged.--De grâce, corporal, put that -cord round my right arm instead, if my friend has no objection!" - -The two changed places, and La Vireville restored his wounded arm -to the sling. Before the cord was knotted the officer in charge of -the party began to read out the names. Every man answered to his own. - -"La Vireville, Fortuné." - -"Present." - -The officer looked up from the list. "You are not to go with this -batch. Why the devil have you tied him up, corporal?" - -"_Not to . . . not to go . . ._" stammered La Vireville, thinking -he must be already dead--and dreaming. "It must be a mistake--you -are confusing me with someone else!" - -"Untie him!" said the officer briefly, offering no explanation; -and the corporal, grumbling a little, obeyed. - -"This is horrible!" said La Vireville to his comrade, a comrade -no longer. "Dieu, why did I answer to my name! If I had had the -least idea, you should have answered instead." - -"You are wanted to give somebody else the courage you have given -me," answered the young man with an attempt at a smile. "You permit, -Monsieur?" And he kissed him. - - * * * * * - -A little later--it was still not much after sunrise--they were -marched off, two and two, through the quiet streets of the little -town towards the red meadow, the 'martyrs' field,' without him, -and he sat alone in the deserted chapel, stunned, emptied of any -conscious feeling, even of relief. And later still he heard, over -the mile or so of distance, the volley which told him that they had -reached their journey's end. Fortuné de la Vireville bowed his head -and prayed for their souls as he had never prayed for his own--as -he would not have prayed, perhaps, had he shared that volley. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - - ATROPOS - - -La Vireville reprieved was much less composed than La Vireville -condemned. For about half an hour, it is true, he sat motionless -on the steps of the desecrated altar in the little chapel-prison, -a prey to the most acute feeling of loneliness he had ever known in -his life. The place was so horribly empty now that it was unbearable. -But after a while he rose and began to walk up and down. The harvest -of relics which he had seen last night was this morning a little -more plentiful, but most of this morning's victims had taken their -last precious things with them to the place of death. That young -man, his erstwhile comrade, with the miniature--who had that now? -he wondered,--how had he, in the end, been able to face the levelled -muskets? . . . - -As Fortuné paced to and fro, he naturally came before long to the -thought of escape. He had promised to try. . . . But a very cursory -survey of the improvised jail, with its windows high up in the wall, -quite out of reach, convinced him of its efficiency in that respect. -And, Royalist in sentiment though the people of Auray were, had he -succeeded in breaking out he would hardly find safety by broad -daylight in its streets full of soldiers. These things needed some -previous arrangement. It wanted someone ready to receive and hide -him, someone to--yes, parbleu, someone to gallop up with a horse, -unlock the door, and then . . . For his mind, by no very subtle -ways, had leapt back to the captive of Porhoët, reversing the part -he had played in that episode of deliverance. Now was the time for -Mme. de Guéfontaine to appear and save him in her turn. It was, -alas! a most unlikely consummation. Away in Guernsey, no doubt, she -was quietly mending her brother Henri's uniform. But she would have -made the attempt, had she been here; of that he was sure. - -La Vireville sat down once more on the altar steps, and leant his -head against the chipped and discoloured plaster rail upborne by its -short, stout columns. Two instincts were beginning now to torment -him, hunger and curiosity, and neither could he satisfy. From -whatever angle he looked at the postponement of his fate--for he -never judged it to be more than that--he was baffled. _He_ had no -friend in the ranks of the foe. The only thing that occurred to -him was that, since his appearance before them, his judges had -discovered his identity with that sought-for chief, Augustin of -Kerdronan, and wished to question him further--a nuisance, if it -were so, and a proceeding likely to be of advantage to neither -party. He profoundly wished, however, that something would happen. - -Yet he was half dozing against the rail when, about nine o'clock, -he heard a key thrust into the chapel door, and beheld the entrance -of a grizzled sergeant of grenadiers, with a couple of soldiers -behind him. Others were visible in the sunlight outside. Fortuné -got up and stretched himself. - -"What the devil is the meaning of this, I should like to know?" -he inquired. "Is the Citizen Hoche desirous of offering me a post -under him? It is lost labour on his part; I shall not take it." - -"It is orders, neither more nor less," replied the sergeant briefly. -"All I know is--yes, you had better tie him up--that you are not -going to join the others to-day. Afterwards, perhaps--I don't -know. At present I am to take you to a house in the town." - -And so, with his wrists lashed together behind his back--a posture -which secretly caused him not a little pain--La Vireville set off in -the midst of his escort. This could hardly mean release, still less -escape. Besides, except that a natural revulsion had left him a -little doubtful as to what he really did wish, he was not sure that -his desire was towards release if he could have it. But why this -house in the town, and who--or what--could be awaiting him there? - -In Auray streets, where he had twice fought, and which were full -this morning of sunshine and bright air, and of peasants with -baskets, leading cows or driving pigs (for it was market-day), -La Vireville was looked at with curiosity and pity. Probably, he -thought, recognising the fact, because he was a solitary prisoner -in the middle of his guards. They were used to batches at a time -now in Auray. . . . And, passing once again by the Halles, he met -the glance, brimming with a beautiful compassion, of a young -countrywoman in a wonderful wide coif, who held a child in her -arms. Indifferent though he was to his own fate, Fortuné felt -that look like a benediction, and he wished that he could have -kissed her hand. All he could do was to smile at the child, who -was waving a small delighted arm to the soldiers. - -Auray is a little town, and it was not long before the guard halted -in front of a house taller than its elder neighbours, having a -passionless female head in the Græco-Roman style and a frieze of -acanthus leaves above the door. La Vireville particularly noticed -them. In the large well-furnished room on the first floor, looking -out on to the street, to which he was conducted, was a silver-haired -old lady seated in an arm-chair, reading, whom he noticed with even -more particularity. It was Mme. de Chaulnes. - -He was hardly astonished, in a sense. After all, it was ridiculous -to suppose that his escort would have conducted him to anything -agreeable. But he could not conceive what she wanted with him. - -On their entry Mme. de Chaulnes looked up, closing the book over -her finger, for all the world like a woman suffering a trivial -interruption which she also intends shall be brief. - -"You can remove your men, sergeant," she said calmly. "I have a -moment or two's private business with this gentleman, and I do not -doubt the security of your knots." - -The soldier had presumably no fears on that point either, and in -another instant the former antagonists were alone. La Vireville -had no difficulty in recalling their last meeting. Now he was a -beaten man, wounded and fettered, but he stood before her very -composedly, and waited. He had to wait some time, too, while Mme. -de Chaulnes studied him. But there was no vulgar triumph visible -in her look. - -"You are wondering," she said at last, "why I have had you brought -here?" - -La Vireville assented. - -"You are possibly thinking, Monsieur Augustin, that I am about to -heap coals of fire on your head by putting the means of escape -within your reach, like other charitable ladies of this place?" - -"I am sorry if it disappoints you, Madame," returned the captive -politely, "but that is the last idea that I should entertain." - -"Or to offer you your life on terms, then?" - -"They would undoubtedly be terms that I could not accept." - -Mme. de Chaulnes smiled slightly, and laid down her book on a little -table near her. "That is a good thing, then, for indeed I have no -terms to offer to a person of your integrity, Monsieur. Though, if -I had, perhaps you might find them tempting for the sake of the -little boy--now, I presume, fatherless--for whom you once risked -that life so successfully." - -The émigré was silent. - -"You are right to give me no answer," went on the old lady, "for -really I have no proposition of any kind to make to you. I merely -wish to ask you a question, which you will not, I think, find it -inconsistent with your honour to answer. But I cannot force you -to give me a reply, nor (as you see) do I seek to bribe you into -doing so." - -"I will answer your question if it be in my power, Madame," said La -Vireville, outwardly unmoved and secretly curious. - -"Thank you, Monsieur. It is merely this--did you, or did you not, -bribe my agent Duchâtel when you took the child from him at Abbeville?" - -"No," replied the Chouan on the instant, "most certainly I did not. -The only intercourse of any moment that passed between us was a blow." - -"Ah," said Mme. de Chaulnes, with an air, real or fictitious, of -relief, "that interests me very much. I am greatly indebted to -you for your frankness, Monsieur Augustin. Since you can have -no motive in protecting Duchâtel--rather the reverse--I believe -you unreservedly. He is a useful tool, but there have been moments -when I was tempted to consider that transaction at Abbeville a -farce. I am glad to learn, on the best authority, that it was -not." And taking up a tablet that hung at her waist she scribbled -something on it with a silver pencil. - -"And it was in order to discover this," broke out the prisoner -in spite of himself, "that you were barbarous enough to have me -reprieved at the last moment, to----" He pulled himself up, for -he had no wish to exhibit his emotions to this woman. - -Mme. de Chaulnes finished writing. "And you would really have -preferred to go with the rest this morning?" she asked. - -La Vireville bowed. "Your occupation, Madame, has very naturally -blunted your perception of what a French gentleman would prefer." - -"On the contrary," retorted Mme. de Chaulnes, sitting up in her -chair, her old eyes flashing, "it has greatly enlightened me as to -his preferences. It has taught me that he considers it consistent -with that honour of which he talks so much, to make war on his -native land for the sake of his own class, and for a discredited -dynasty--you see that I place these in the order in which they -appeal to him--and that for his own ends he will not scruple even -to call in the assistance of his country's enemies, the Prussians, -and her hereditary foe of foes, England." - -La Vireville shrugged his shoulders (thereby causing himself a -violent twinge of pain). "On that point, Madame, we shall never -agree. In return for the question I have answered, may I now ask -one of you? . . . How do you reconcile your own position as a -French gentlewoman with--the use to which you put it?" - -Mme. de Chaulnes' smile was insolent. "Quite easily, Monsieur. I -fight for my country--at the cost, I grant you, of my class; you, -for your class, that degenerate, self-seeking class, at the expense -of your country. To me it seems the more patriotic course to -sacrifice the part to the whole, whatever it may cost one personally. -I had a nephew in this morning's batch, but I would not have saved -him if I could. Yes, it is rotten, this aristocracy of ours, and -the sooner France is purged of it the better." - -That smile had maddened La Vireville. She was a woman, and his hands -were tied behind him, but he still had the means of striking. "Ah -yes," he said, in his most careless voice. "And when your misguided -father was shot by order of Montcalm for his treachery during the -siege of Quebec, you approved even then, no doubt, of the process -of purgation, and applauded its beginning. He also, if I have heard -rightly, had the same fancy for the assistance of the English against -his own country." - -Not a muscle of Mme. de Chaulnes' face had quivered, but its faint -colour had faded to grey, and La Vireville saw the small knotted -hands in her lap gripping each other till the knuckles stood out -white. And he was pleased. - -"You think, Monsieur, that this forty years' old story is the -reason for my present actions? It is not, I assure you." And, -seeing the smile on his face, she added with more warmth, "No, -you would never understand that a woman could have conviction, -apart from personal animus, in a matter of this sort." - -"You misjudge me, Madame," retorted the Chouan. "I am quite sure -that Delilah, for instance, had convictions of the same kind. No -doubt your unfortunate father had them too when he invited the -English into Quebec. One may say, in fact, that it was a sort of -family conviction that upheld you in your spider's web at Canterbury. -But if the blood of those you have betrayed could speak, I think -it would cry out less against a renegade who acted from revenge, -than against one who made a trade of treachery from 'conviction'!" - -Light and intentionally wounding as his tone had been at the -beginning of this brief speech, a passion of loathing had slipped -into it by the end. A flush crept into the grey old face opposite -him, and the blue eyes hardened. But, a condemned man, La Vireville -knew himself beyond any vengeance of hers. She could not touch -him now. - -"If our not very fruitful conversation is at an end, Madame . . ." -he suggested. - -There was a little bell on the table near her, and to this she -put out a still shaking hand. But before she rang it she showed -herself not unconscious of his thought. - -"You owe me something, Monsieur, for your triumph over me in the -matter of the child. I dare say you think that since this is to -be your last day on earth you have paid me that debt. You are -wrong." She rang the bell. "You have not paid it yet!" - -As his guards took La Vireville away he saw that she had returned -to her book, but one hand was pulling at the lace round her wasted -throat, and she looked very old. He flattered himself that he had -contributed something towards that effect of age. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - - THE PAYING OF THE SCORE - - - (1) - -Quiberon once more, place of intolerable memories, that Fortuné -had thought never to see again, and the sea, blue and sparkling, -breaking idly on the white sand that a few days had sufficed to -wash clean of blood and tears. - -It was thus that it had greeted La Vireville's eyes this afternoon, -at the end of the long and dusty march back along that _via dolorosa_ -from Auray. For when he left Mme. de Chaulnes' presence he was -included in a draft that was being taken back to Quiberon to be tried -by a commission there. It was in vain that La Vireville had protested -that he had already been judged and condemned--that he had, in fact, -a right to be shot at Auray. It was useless, and he had to go. - -He found himself this evening herded for the night, with these fresh -comrades marked for death, in a stone-walled field, with a sentry at -every ten paces outside. They were to appear before the commission -next morning. Most of them had in their pockets a hunch of bread, -but the long hot march had made them very thirsty, and water was -hard to come by. La Vireville contrived to procure some, and shared -it with a grey-haired émigré of Loyal-Emigrant from Poitou. - -"To our last night on earth!" said the old man tranquilly as he -took it, and thanked him. - -"I have already had one 'last night,'" replied the Chouan, with -rather a wry smile. "I did not expect another. But at least it is -under the stars this time." - -He settled himself under the lee of a wall to sleep. The stars -indeed were very bright, save just near the moon. In the silence -he could hear the surf breaking on the rocks of the western shore. -He was tired, but he did not sleep as he had slept last night at -Auray, after his condemnation. This place was too bitterly full of -memories. One in particular, that of his lost friend, haunted him, -and he recalled his promise to him here, where it was made--the -promise he could not have kept, the promise he did not even want -to keep, for he had no wish to live now. But for Mme. de Chaulnes -he would be sleeping at this moment with the others, in the meadow -at Auray. And yet his fury at her cruelty had died already into -ashes, for she had given him this night under the stars, a night -like many he had passed among the broom with his men . . . a -whole lifetime ago. . . . - -That he should have recognised this for a boon, and felt thankful -for it, might have told Fortuné de la Vireville that the unquenchable -instinct of life was not really dead in him, though he thought it -was. But he was not given to self-analysis. This only he was aware -of, as he lay there, that whereas at Auray he had been genuinely -resigned to his fate, and would hardly have looked at the chance -of escape if it had been offered to him (save perhaps for Anne's -sake), now some obscure process of the mind, in stirring up a -profound annoyance at the way in which he had been treated by Mme. -de Chaulnes, had also stirred up the desire to live, and cheat her -of her vengeance. Only now there appeared no means of putting that -desire into practice. - -And had Providence been as merciful as he had thought? Ah, if after -all he had had a son--if he were not going down into the dust, -leaving no trace and no memorial behind him! But that thought -brought him face to face with the tragedy of his life. He flung his -arm over his eyes, and so lay, motionless, a long time. . . . The -stars moved on; the sea-wind swept, sighing, over the prone figures -which would lie yet more still to-morrow, and at last La Vireville, -rousing himself, came back to the present. - -Should he try to save himself, this time, at his trial? There was -just a chance of doing so if, as was probable, the tribunal had -not the minutes of the court at Auray. Could he gull his judges -with some story of his being just a Breton peasant, as his dress, -or at least the chief part of it, proclaimed him? They were showing -more mercy to the Chouans than to their leaders. He could take off -his high boots and go barefoot, leave here in the field his sling -which, though no longer white, had obviously once been a leader's -scarf, untie his hair once more and wear it loose on his shoulders. -Among so many, his guards would hardly notice the transformation, -and his judges would not have seen him before. Was it worth trying? - -Yes, for the sake of the promise to the dead, for Anne-Hilarion's -sake, and because, at thirty-five, it is not easy to be twice -resigned. - - - (2) - -The military commission began its work at eight next morning. La -Vireville, appearing before it at about half-past eleven, found it -to consist of a captain of artillery, a sous-lieutenant and a -corporal of sharp-shooters, and a sergeant, under the presidency -of a chef de bataillon. - -It was very soon evident that this commission, as he had hoped, had -no record of the proceedings of its fellow at Auray. La Vireville's -statement that he was a peasant of the Morbihan passed practically -unchallenged, helped by the changes he had made in his appearance -and by the Bas-Breton with which he interlarded his replies. How -then had he come to be taken at Quiberon? Why, because when Hoche -had driven in the Chouans from their positions on the mainland, -quantities of the peaceable peasants there, as his interrogators -knew, had fled to the peninsula with their families. Indeed, warming -to his work as he went on, as once before on a less serious occasion -at St. Valéry, here in the little bare room in Quiberon village, -with his life at stake, Fortuné began in his own mind to invest -his supposed family with many likely attributes, and went so far -as to tell the commission that one of his brothers had been drowned -in trying, most foolishly, to escape to the English fleet. - -So he had not borne arms against the Republic? Ma Doué, certainly -not! Nothing was further from his thoughts; he was a peaceable -cultivator, and only wanted to be left alone to cultivate. He had -never emigrated? Dame, no! Why should he leave his family, his -parish, and his recteur? - -The commission conferred together. The chef de bataillon seemed to -be studying some paper in front of him, glancing off now and again -to look at La Vireville very keenly from under his grey eyebrows. - -"You have never been in North Brittany then?" - -No; he had never in his life left the Morbihan. - -"Then you do not know Erquy and Pléneuf?" - -Not if those places were in North Brittany. For his part, he did -not know where they were. - -"Then," inquired the president suavely, "you have never met or -even heard of the North Breton Chouan leader called Augustin?" - -And in that moment, as La Vireville realised that he was lost, -he realised also what Mme. de Chaulnes had meant when she said -that the score was yet to pay. This was her real vengeance. - -But he made a fight for it. "How could I possibly say that, mon -commandant?" he asked, with an air of puzzled innocence. "I do not -wish to tell a lie. I may have seen him here at Quiberon. Is that -what you mean?" - -The president laughed, not unappreciatively. "I suggest to the -prisoner that he can indeed see Augustin at Quiberon this very -moment, if he will be at the trouble of looking in a mirror." - -La Vireville assumed the most bovine air of stupidity at his command, -and shook his head. "I do not understand," he answered. - -"I think you understand only too well, Monsieur Augustin, otherwise -La Vireville," said the chef de bataillon sternly. "Courtois, -oblige me by reading out the description of the Chouan Augustin." - -The sous-lieutenant read it out slowly and clearly--a damning -document enough, not the old incorrect Government 'signalement,' -but the one, drawn from the life, which Mlle. Angèle had penned -that evening at Canterbury. - -"The scar on the left cheek--put back that long hair of his!" - -The wheel had come full circle. What he had had to submit to, in -order to save Anne-Hilarion, months ago, had proved fatal to him -himself now, as he had always known it would some day. Well, Anne -could live without him. - -"I do not think," observed the president, folding up the paper in -front of him, "that there is anything more to say. Take him away. -The next, sergeant!" - -So La Vireville lost the throw, for the dice were loaded against -him. He had no doubt that Mme. de Chaulnes had sent the 'signalement' -down with him to Quiberon, and that the president had been ordered -to keep it back till the last moment, as he had done, so that he -could delude himself that after all he was going to escape. She had -a pretty taste in vengeance, that old woman! - - - (3) - -At half-past nine that night seventy of them were marched out to -die. It was a beautiful and serene evening, light enough to slay by. -Over the quiet waves the just risen moon made a wide golden highway. -They went four abreast along the sandy track till they came, among -the barley-fields at the edge of the sea, to a stony, uncultivated -meadow with a fringe of wind-sloped and stunted trees behind one of -its encircling stone walls. There they were halted and their sentences -read to them, and after that stationed, thirty at a time, a few paces -apart, against this low barrier. To each was told off a firing-party -of four. La Vireville had been speculating how it would be done; at -Auray he had heard that they had arranged otherwise. He himself was -placed among the first thirty, the last but one of the line. - -He had shaken hands with his right-hand neighbour, the Poitevin -from Loyal-Emigrant, and was turning to the one remaining victim -on his left, when his own four soldiers closed upon him. One of them -drew out a handkerchief to bandage his eyes. Fortuné did not think -it worth protesting that he should prefer not to be blindfolded, -and submitted without a word to the operation. Another man held his -unbound wrists, but La Vireville had no intention of struggling, -though all the time he was thinking, "If I had a chance, even now, I -would take it--were it only to spite that she-devil!" The handkerchief -smelt strongly of brandy. - -"Citizen," suddenly said a husky voice in his ear, and he felt the -rough hands still fumbling behind his head with the knot of the -handkerchief, which he was sure was already tied--"Citizen, we are -very sorry, but it is the law. So if you have any money about -you, give it to me now!" - -La Vireville gave a laugh. Could they not be at the trouble of -searching him afterwards? - -"I have several louis left, as it happens," he said, "but it would -not be fair to give them all to you, my friend. If I am to pay for -the privilege of being shot . . .! Shall I throw them to you all?" - -"_No!_" said the first applicant, with emphasis. "No, divide them -now!" cried two of the others; but this altercation on the brink -of the grave was broken into by an angry order from the officer -commanding the party: "You there at the end, get to your places -instantly!" And the hands, unwillingly, left Fortuné alone in the -darkness, on the bank of the same river whose fording he had tried -to make easier for that unfortunate young man at Auray yesterday -morning. For himself, he had always known and expected that he -would end like this, with his back to a wall and a firing-party -in front of him; the only feeling which remained, now that the -moment had actually come, was a hope for accurate aim. - -Down the line in front of him he heard the click of cocking hammers. -The voice of the old Poitevin a little way off on his right began, -firm and clear, to repeat a response from the Burial Mass: "_Libera -me, Domine, de morte eterna, in die illa. . . ._" The man on his -left was murmuring over and over again a woman's name. . . . All -that Fortuné himself thought was, "They might as well have it, the -rascals, if I can get it out in time!" He thrust his right hand -into his breeches pocket. - -"_Apprêtez armes!_" shouted the officer. - -And La Vireville, drawing out his hand full of gold pieces, threw -the money from him with a gesture half-tolerant, half-contemptuous. - -But all that he had played for and lost, much that he remembered, -much that he had forgotten, surged like a tumultuous mist before -him, in those two or three seconds that he folded his arms on his -breast and waited for the final order. . . . - -"_Feu!_" - - * * * * * - -In Quiberon village the peasants crossed themselves at the sound -of the volley. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - - DEAD LEAVES - - - (1) - -In the Square garden, behind the statue of Butcher Cumberland, the -leaves fell early that year. Anne-Hilarion, Comte de Flavigny, -playing under their fading splendour, daily collected those he -most esteemed, and bore them indoors to hoard in a rosewood box, -lined with tartan, that had once been his mother's. Alas, like many -other of this world's treasures, these precious things proved very -evanescent. Either they fell to pieces, so brittle was their beauty, -or else Mrs. Saunders, declaring that she would not have a rubbish -heap in her nursery, threw them implacably away. - -Those were rather sorrowful days altogether in Cavendish Square. -It had seemed at first, when August was beginning, that Anne's -father had been snatched by a British naval officer's pertinacity -from that shore of death in the Morbihan only to die in England. -And the Chevalier de la Vireville, like so many others, had never -come back at all. . . . Ere August was over M. de Flavigny, it is -true, was out of danger; now, by mid-October, he was mending fast. -But he was very sad; and of M. le Chevalier no one ever spoke to -Anne-Hilarion, since a certain dreadful fit of crying, occasioned -by his queries about his friend--or rather, by the answers which -had to be given to those queries. And all the tragedy of Quiberon, -its waste of life and loyalty and devotion, lay heavy over that -London house, though no English existence or interests had suffered -loss there. - -All the more, therefore, did it seem good to the powers governing -Anne-Hilarion's days that he should frequent the Square garden -this autumn more than in previous years. And this morning he was -doing so, unattended, too, since John Simms, the gardener, was -there sweeping up the leaves, and the child was under engagement -not to go outside the enclosure. Elspeth had therefore left him for -a space to his own devices, and Anne was supremely happy, transporting -fallen leaves from one side of the garden to the other, in a little -painted cart indissolubly united to a horse of primitive breed. The -lack of playmates did not trouble him, and indeed his experience of -these had not been uniformly happy. There had been the episode of -Lord Henry Gower's two little boys, who also, as dwellers in that -house overlooking the garden where the Princess Amelia had used to -hold her court, sometimes took their pastimes therein. To them, on -one occasion, 'French and English' had seemed a highly suitable -game, and since Anne-Hilarion bore a Gallic name, it was quite clear -what part he was to sustain. He sustained five distinct bruises -also, and relations with the Masters Gower languished a little in -consequence. - -"A'll lairn them play _Scots_ and English!" had threatened Elspeth, -on discovering these evidences of realism; but the culprits never -gave her the chance. - -To-day, however, there was no one in the garden but John Simms and -Anne himself; and John Simms, though amenable and ready to reply when -addressed, never bothered him with tiresome questions, as strangers -were apt to do, nor exercised an undue control over the dispositions -of his game, like Elspeth. He was a person of intermittent spasms of -labour, alternating with intervals of reflection, during which he -scratched his head, and silently watched whatever was going -forward--in this case Anne-Hilarion busily conveying to and fro -minute quantities of dead leaves, under the impression that he was -helping him. - -Accustomed to these periods of inaction, Anne, as he passed the -clump of laurels on the other side of which John Simms was at the -moment working--or meditating, as the case might be--would have -paid no attention to the cessation of the sound of the broom, had -he not just then heard the gardener thus deliver himself to some -person or persons unknown: - -"The Markis dee Flavinny, the French gentleman? Why, Mam, he -lives over there, just by where Cap'n Nelson used to live. But -the 'ouse ain't the Markis's, though, 'tis the old gentleman's, Mr. -Elphinstone's. And as it 'appens, the Markis's little boy's here -in the garden along o' me at this very minute--him with the gal's -name, Master Anne." - -Taking this as a summons, Anne-Hilarion at that came round the -laurel bush, his horse and cart behind him, to find that John Simms' -questioner was a lady in deep mourning, with a long veil. - -"This 'ere's the Markis dee Flavinny's little boy, Mam." - -Anne could not remove his hat, as he had been taught to do in the -presence of ladies, since he was already bareheaded. "Did you wish -to see my Papa, Madame?" he inquired rather diffidently. "Because -he is ill. . . ." - -The lady had never taken her eyes off him since he first appeared. -Even through the veil, Anne thought she was very beautiful. - -"I should like to talk to you a little first," she said, in a sweet -voice, speaking French. "Shall we go and sit on that seat over there?" - -They went over to it, and she sat down; but Anne, still a trifle -doubtful, stood in front of her clutching the string of his horse. - -"And what have you in your cart?" inquired the lady, putting back -her veil. - -"Leaves," replied the little boy. "I fetch them from _there_, and -I empty them out _there_. It is to help John Simms, but it takes -a long time." - -A pause, and then the visitor observed, "Did you say that your -father was ill, Anne?" - -The child nodded. "He was wounded over there in France, at -Qui--Quiberon, Madame. He has been very ill, but he is going to get -better now." - -"And is----" began the lady, and then seemed to change her mind -about what she was going to say. "I suppose he had friends who -went to Quiberon too?" she suggested. - -"Yes," replied Anne. "But M. de Soucy could not go," he volunteered, -and contributed the reason. The lady, however, did not appear to -be in the least interested in the Vicomte de Soucy, indeed she -scarcely seemed to hear. She looked as if she were seeing something -a long way off. - -"My child," she said at last, bringing back her gaze to him, "you -remember the gentleman who fetched you back from France in the -spring?" - -A quiver went through Anne-Hilarion. "Oh yes," he replied. - -"I must ask," said the lady to herself; "I cannot wait." She looked -hungrily at the little figure with the cart, her hands gripping -each other, and as Anne had averted his head she did not see how -the young roses had faded from his cheeks. "Anne," she said, -finding her voice with difficulty, "has he come back--the Chevalier -de la Vireville?" - -Anne-Hilarion shook his head, and then, collapsing on to the grass, -put his curls down on the unyielding neck of his toy horse and -burst into tears. - -The lady covered her own face for a moment with her hands, the -next, she was kneeling beside him in her black draperies. "Mon -petit, don't cry so--don't, don't, you break my heart!" - -But Anne sobbed on as if his own heart were breaking, till the -zebra-like stripes on the little horse were all sticky with the -tokens of his grief. - -"Dear little boy," said the lady beseechingly, putting her arms -round him. "I should not have asked you--I ought not to have -mentioned him." Her own voice was by no means steady. - -"He said," gulped Anne, without raising his head, "that he would -be my uncle . . . in England too. But he has never come back . . . -and I want him. . . ." - -"Oh, Anne, so do I!" said the lady. "But don't cry so, darling! -Perhaps he will come back one day. Let me wipe your face . . . look!" - -"I thought you were going to say . . . that he was not killed after -all," sobbed Anne. - -"But we do not know, mon chéri, that he is killed, do we?" said -the lady, whose own face was now much the paler of the two. "You -see, Anne, he has perhaps gone back to his Chouans--to Grain d'Orge. -You remember him, my child? Do you know, Anne, that I once rode -on a horse behind Grain d'Orge?" - -She beguiled him at last into submitting to be detached from his -steed, and having his smeared countenance wiped with her fine -cambric handkerchief (much pleasanter than Elspeth's towels), and -finally, on the grass of the Square garden, she got him into her -arms and kissed and comforted him. - - - (2) - -All this time the broom of John Simms had been silent, and if he had -heretofore stood and scratched his head and watched Anne-Hilarion -at play, with how much more abandonment did he not now give himself -to this occupation! So absorbed was he in the spectacle before him -that he fairly jumped when he heard a fierce voice at his elbow, -and perceived Mrs. Saunders, come to fetch her charge to the house, -and, equally with him, amazed at what she saw. - -"Wha's yon wumman?" she repeated. "What for did ye let her in here, -John Simms?" - -"I dunno who she is," responded he weakly. "She's furrin, that's -all I know, and asked queer-like wheer the Markis dee Flavinny -lived. So I tells her, and I says, 'This here's his little boy!'" - -"Ye doited auld loon!" ejaculated Elspeth. "'Tis anither French -witch, as A'm a sinner, come after the wean. John Simms"--she shook -him by the arm--"gang till yon gate, and dinna stir frae it--she'll -hae him awa gin ye dinna! A'll sort her!" - -But though she advanced towards the unconscious little group upon -the grass with that intention, she changed it en route. Glenauchtie -should deal with this intruder. - -"A'm gaein' for the maister," she announced, as she passed John -Simms, who was slowly and reluctantly gravitating from his post -of vantage to the gate, as he had been bidden. "Hasten noo, ye -gaberlunzie!" - -So Mr. Elphinstone, having for once contrived a comfortable morning -with his books, was disturbed by a tempestuous knock at the door, -and the entrance of his highly discomposed countrywoman. - -"Glenauchtie," said she breathlessly, "there's a wumman--a French -body, in the garden, crackin' tae the bairn. She's gar'd him greet, -and noo she's at rockin' him in her arrms. A'm thinkin' she'll be -anither o' they deils frae Canterbury. Come awa quick, sir!" - -"Dear, dear!" exclaimed her master, catching her alarm. "Fetch me -my hat,--tis in the hall,--and let us go at once!" - - * * * * * - -"There's Grandpapa," said Anne, detaching himself from the warm and -consolatory embrace. The lady rose from her knees as Mr. Elphinstone, -closely followed by Elspeth, came hurrying towards them over the -grass. But when he saw her Mr. Elphinstone mitigated his haste. She -was not, somehow, what Mrs. Saunders had led him to expect. - -"Madame?" he began, removing his hat. - -"You are Mr. Elphinstone, Monsieur?" asked the lady, stumbling a -little over the difficult, only once-heard name. "Forgive me that -I have made acquaintance with your grandson before waiting upon -you, Monsieur. I came in here to ask the gardener the number of -your house. Forgive me, too, that I have made the little boy to cry." - -Despite the consciousness of Elspeth, breathing out slaughter behind -him, Mr. Elphinstone felt calm. This was some émigré's widow, -perhaps (unaccustomed to the depth of French mourning, he would -never have imagined it assumed for a brother) but she had certainly -not come to beg financial assistance. Her air, even more than her -dress, assured him of that. As to spiriting away the child---- - -"In what can I be of service to you, Madame?" he inquired. - -"I came to ask news of someone," replied the stranger. "But"--she -looked a moment at Anne--"I have had my answer." - -"Come awa', Maister Anne!" whispered Elspeth, gesticulating from -behind. - -Mr. Elphinstone began to understand. "Yes, go with Elspeth, my -bairn," he said. And Anne-Hilarion went, first saluting the hand -of the lady, who thereafter bent and kissed him, and watched him -as he departed. - -"Madame, will you not come into the house?" suggested Anne's -grandfather. - -She shook her head with a little sigh. "Thank you, no, Monsieur. -I will not detain you a moment. You can tell me what I want to -know only too quickly, I fear." - -"It is about the Chevalier de la Vireville?" queried Mr. Elphinstone. - -She bowed her head without answering. - -A look of pain came over Glenauchtie's ruddy features. "Madame," he -said, "it is best to be frank with you. We have no news of him since -that fatal day of the surrender--no certain news, that is. We have -made every inquiry in our power. My son-in-law was his friend, as -you may have heard, and he was severely wounded at Quiberon. As it -happens, almost the last thing he remembers is bidding a hasty -farewell to M. de la Vireville, who was then with the retreating -troops. He himself knew nothing more till he found himself that -night on board the English frigate, one of whose boats had rescued -him. We fear the worst now on M. de la Vireville's count, and it is -a great grief to us. We owed him much, my son-in-law and I. In fact," -finished Mr. Elphinstone not very steadily, "we owe him _that_!" -He indicated the departing figure of Anne, now just disappearing -with Elspeth through the garden gate. - -"I know," said the lady. "And I owe him much too--though we only -met once. But what did you mean, Monsieur, by saying you had no -'certain' news? Have you any then that is uncertain?" - -"It is so untrustworthy," said Mr. Elphinstone, hesitating, "that -I would rather not tell you." - -"I would rather hear it, Monsieur!" - -The old man still showed reluctance. "It is only this, Madame," -he said at last, "that a friend of ours, a naval officer--he, in -fact, who saved my son-in-law--met an émigré who said that he had -seen M. de la Vireville's name in a list of those who were shot at -Auray or Quiberon on a certain date in August. But indeed, Madame, -that is not evidence--still less so because this officer's informant -affirmed that he had seen the name in both lists--which is surely -impossible." - -"I thank you, Monsieur," said the lady, putting down her long veil. -"I had not really any hope. You will pardon me for having troubled -you? Your son-in-law will, I trust, soon be restored to health. -I am glad I have seen the little boy." - -She was extraordinarily calm, the old man thought. He went with her -to the gate. For one moment, forgetting that she had confessed to -having only once seen him, he wondered whether she had been La -Vireville's wife. - -"May I know your name, Madame?" he asked, as he bowed over her hand. - -"The Comtesse de Guéfontaine," said she, and was gone. - - * * * * * - -René de Flavigny, lying wearily in his mahogany fourposter, was -a little reproachful when he heard of this visit, showing, in -fact, some of the petulance of the convalescent. He asked why his -father-in-law had not brought Mme. de Guéfontaine in to see him. - -"I am sorry, my boy," said Mr. Elphinstone. "I thought it would -be too much for you. Still, it might have been a consolation to -her to talk with you." - -"Not that I could have told her anything consoling," said the -Marquis dismally. "Fortuné is engulfed with the rest--we shall -never see him again. Did you tell her what Tollemache said?" - -"Yes," said the old man, with a sigh. "She took it, I think, as -conclusive. She had great self-command." - -His son-in-law sighed too, a sigh of utter weariness and depression. -"I wonder what she was to M. de la Vireville," said Mr. Elphinstone, -pursuing his train of thought, as he stooped to mend the fire. - -René started. He was back suddenly at Quiberon, on the rocks in -the sunshine, in his friend's quarters by candlelight. "Bon Dieu!" -he murmured to himself. "I have only once--no, twice--heard him -speak of a woman," he added aloud. "Surely it cannot have been she!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII - - THE MAN SHE WOULD HAVE MARRIED - - - (1) - -So he was dead--was lying with his comrades in a hasty trench -at Auray, or under the bloodstained sand of Quiberon itself. -Sometimes--for she had heard that many had been drowned--Raymonde -de Guéfontaine had fancied that the sea, out of which he had come -to her, had claimed him again, and that his body lay forgotten on -some lonely Breton beach, or swayed gently, far down, with the -drift of the full Atlantic. It was not so; French soil held him, -as she hoped it would hold her some day. Yet, no more than the -little boy, should she look on him again. - -The October sunshine seemed to hurt her eyes as she went along -Oxford Street. These English people too, prosperous and indifferent, -who walked the streets of their dull city without a care, with such -satisfied faces, such garish-coloured clothes--she hated them! -Why had not England done more, lent the full weight of her arm -to that doomed enterprise? England had not shed a drop of her blood -for it. There were even those who said that she was not sorry to -know that so much French blood had flowed, and was glad to have -rid herself so cheaply of some of her pensioners. Raymonde de -Guéfontaine had too generous a nature herself to lend a ready -credence to that rumour, and yet she felt that the country which -sheltered her had wounded her too. For someone had told her that, -to England, the main significance of the expedition which had meant -so much to her and hers was that it had served as a diversion in -favour of England's ally, Austria; and seeing how, at the end, it -had been hurried forward, she did not wholly disbelieve this. - -Mme. de Guéfontaine had come over to London from Guernsey, where -her brother Henri was stationed, to visit an old aunt who, unlike -most of her compatriots, had succeeded in saving no inconsiderable -sum from the wreck of her fortunes, and was now enjoying life -and society in an atmosphere perhaps greyer, but certainly less -inflammable, than that of Paris. Mme. de Nantillac was fond of her -niece, and, being one of those to whom bodily comfort is paramount, -was set upon driving Raymonde into giving up the lodging she shared -with her brother at St. Peter Port and living with her in comparative -affluence in Sloane Street. She had even selected a parti for her, -the most eligible of her circle. And for these reasons Mme. de -Guéfontaine felt a strong repugnance towards returning immediately -to her society. Instead of summoning a hackney coach she would go -into this great park, and sit there a little under the trees, alone -with the strange guest that had lodged all at once like a bird in -her heart--grief. - -She should never see him again. Now she realised that all the early -summer, when she had been in Guernsey, she had felt that only a few -miles of sea sundered them, were he in Brittany or in Jersey, and -that perhaps some day he would fulfil his promise, and come to St. -Peter Port. And then, on that day, she could try again to convince -him that, once that wild moment of fury and pain and vengeance past, -she had not even in will betrayed him. For it haunted her sometimes -that she had not really persuaded him, though she could point to no -look or word of his to prove it. - -Then had come Quiberon--yet she had hoped, and hoped . . . - -But now she could never plead her cause--now she could never convince -him. She could never have again that moonlit vigil at L'Estournel, -nor their twilight parting above the little bay. . . . But it was -only now that she really knew--only now, in this stinging, choking -mist of pain and regret, that two things, the most simple and -ordinary and terrible in the world, were made plain to her: that she -loved him, and that he was dead. - -And Raymonde de Guéfontaine, a Catholic, was transported in mind -from the bench in Hyde Park to the little church of her faith in -Guernsey, where every day she went to pray for André's soul. It was -unfamiliar to her, and she always found it stiff and new-looking, -with its pews and whitewash and self-complacent plaster saints. The -feet of her spirit faltered now upon its threshold. No, better far -to be in that little old pinnacled chapel in Finistère where she -and André had knelt as children, a marvel of delicate and lovely -tracery, set away from mortal haunts in a world of shining chestnut -trees--the little chapel where woodland beasts and grotesques chased -each other about the intricate carving of the ancient painted screen; -where St. Christopher, uncouth and truly gigantic, looked across at -St. Roch, whose dog no longer possessed tail or ears; where the floor -was worn by generations of use, and the pillars green with damp. -There, before the rude wooden Pietà, wrought centuries ago with much -love if with little skill, she could have prayed indeed to the Mother -who knew, if ever woman did, what loss meant. . . . And there, in -spirit, she did so pray, while her bodily eyes, long exiled from that -shrine, watched the fans of the alien horse-chestnuts flutter to -the ground about her. - - - (2) - -The Vicomtesse de Nantillac was stout, she wheezed when she spoke, -and was sometimes besprinkled with snuff; but she had been a beauty -at the court of Louis XV., and did not forget it. - -"You know, child," she said that evening, as they awaited a guest -in her comfortable drawing-room, which faced the fields towards -Westminster, "it really is time that you were rangée. You have been -in that barbarous island since the spring, and Henri might well -part with you now. What further do you propose to do there--or -he with you?" - -"I may find means of making myself useful," said her niece placidly. -Having not the slightest intention of yielding to these attacks, -she was not disturbed by their recurrence. - -"You know," went on the old lady, shaking her elaborate grey curls, -"M. de Pontferrand thinks----" - -"But it is nothing to me what M. de Pontferrand thinks!" interrupted -Mme. de Guéfontaine with vigour. - -Mme. de Nantillac turned up her eyes to heaven, then addressed a -much more mundane deity, her lapdog. "Cupidon, you hear!" she -wheezed. "And as for that time in Brittany with poor André . . . -Tell me, Raymonde, what did you wear there? Did you really go about -with pistols and a cartridge belt? I said something about it to M. -le Duc, and though of course he thought it was most unfitting, he -vowed you must have looked like Minerva or la Grande Mademoiselle." - -Mme. de Guéfontaine gave a laugh. Out of deference to her aunt's -wishes, she was not wearing deep mourning this evening, and the -full grey silk and abundant fichu from which her neck rose like -an ivory column had about them nothing of the Amazon. - -"Ma tante, the Duc would never have looked twice at me in Brittany. -I wore a coarse stuff skirt, pleated into a thousand folds all -round, and a peasant's embroidered bodice, and a peasant's coif. -But as to settling down--no! I must fight in some way. I cannot -live at ease." - -The Vicomtesse bent her large pug face forwards. "You know, my dear -child," she whispered, "M. le Duc has . . . has recovered a good -deal of his money, and if you wanted to assist the cause in that -way, as I am sure we all do" (she never gave a penny herself), -"you would find him by no means parsimonious." - -"Possibly," said Mme. de Guéfontaine, shrugging her shoulders. "But -I do not want M. le Duc either as a banker or in any other capacity." - -"All I can say is that you do very wrong, Raymonde," urged her aunt. -"You should always think of the future. Who is going to look after -you in the years to come, when Henri is married and I am gone, -and perhaps the English are not as generously disposed as they -are at present?" - -"I do not want the charity of the English!" said Raymonde, flushing. -"And as for someone to take care of me--I am not a young girl. You -forget; like you, ma tante, I am a widow." - -"I do not know what that has to do with it, child," retorted her -fellow-bereaved. "Even I sometimes, not so young as I was, feel . . ." -She left her sensations of unprotectedness to the imagination. "Let -me implore you to think about it seriously. If you are determined not -to have the Duc (I am certain he is going to ask you, and probably -this evening), you might even marry an Englishman. You are so odd, -who knows?--it might be a success! There are English officers of -family in Guernsey, I suppose?" - -"I suppose so," returned Raymonde indifferently. - -"My dear child, if they were there you must have seen them, in six -months. I have met English officers, quite proper men. You have -not taken a vow against marrying again, I imagine?" - -"Not that I remember." - -"Of course I know--your first marriage, your husband was somewhat -old for you. And on that score, perhaps, M. le Duc . . ." - -"The man I would marry," began Mme. de Guéfontaine suddenly, looking -down and pleating the silken folds of her gown, "would not be like -M. le Duc in any way. He would be lean and sinewy and agile. He -would not be rich, but he would have a mouth that held always a -shade of mockery, and he would do the most unexpected things with -an air of being amused by them, from befooling a Republican official -to saving the life of a woman who had tried to kill him." - -"You are describing some man you know," said Mme. de Nantillac, with -a certain measure of excitement. "Cela se voit. Who is it? And who -was the woman?" - -Raymonde de Guéfontaine checked herself. The light which had been -in her downcast eyes was extinguished. "Oh no, ma tante. My portrait -has no original . . . _now_," she added inaudibly, and, turning -away, she began to rearrange the flowers at her breast, just one -minute before M. le Duc de Pontferrand, with his smile and his smooth, -portly, debonair presence, was announced. - - * * * * * - -That night she revisited Porhoët in her dreams. The tide was up, the -moon was full, and from her little cottage, as she stood on the sand -and looked up at it, shone a light. She went up the path, lifted -the latch, and entered; and sitting at the table, breaking bread -together, were the two who had never met in life--André, pale and -smiling, with the fatal bullet wound in his forehead, and . . . the -Chevalier de la Vireville. They both rose as she came in, and held -out their glasses towards her, and as La Vireville moved she saw -the blood run through the fingers of the hand which he held pressed -against his side. - -She stretched out her arms towards the two phantoms with a great -cry--"Mes morts!" and with that woke, and lay sobbing. - - * * * * * - -A week later she was on her way back to Guernsey--Guernsey, whence -she could sometimes see the coast of that France for which they -both had died. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV - - MONSEIGNEUR'S GUEST - - - (1) - -Up and down the Hard at Portsmouth, among rough sailors and rough -language, but apparently unconscious of either, there walked in the -last days of November 1795 a little old man in the dress of a French -ecclesiastic, absorbed in a book. Such sights were not very infrequent -now in the southern ports, and if they aroused occasional comment, -it was not of a hostile nature. This old priest was small, frail, -and a little shabby, but of a very unaffected dignity, and on one -finger shone an amethyst ring. - -"Monseigneur does choose such extraordinary places to say his office -in!" thought a younger and taller priest, making his way through the -throng to the old man. "One knows, of course, that it is all the same -to him wherever he is." - -He approached his compatriot and addressed him with deference. For -the shabby little ecclesiastic was the exiled bishop of one of the -most important dioceses in France. - -"It is as Your Grandeur thought. The corvette is from Houat, and -she has on board a dozen or so of our unfortunate fellow-countrymen -from Quiberon. They are sending them ashore now." - -The Bishop slipped the book he was reading into a bulged pocket. -"Then we will go and meet them. Ah, pardon, my friend, I hope I -have not hurt you?" he exclaimed, as, in turning, he collided with -a gigantic man-o'-war's man in a shiny tarpaulin hat. - -The sailor pulled his forelock. "Not very likely, sir, saving your -presence," he returned, with a grin. "'Twould take a vessel of more -tonnage than you has to sink Tom Richards!" - -"I love these good mariners!" observed the Bishop, as the two priests -made their way to the edge of the quay and looked down. The corvette's -boat was already there, landing her cargo of battered and broken -men. So the Bishop stationed himself at the top of the steps, and as -they came up he spoke to each, asking his name, where he was going, -if he had need of anything. - -Last of all came a tall, gaunt man in English uniform who seemed -rather dazed, and was helped by two sailors up the steps. When his -supporters abandoned him he sat down on a bollard and put his right -hand over his eyes. His left sleeve hung empty. - -Perceiving his condition the Bishop did not address him directly, -but applied for information about him to the lieutenant of the -régiment de Rohan with whom he had last been conversing. - -"No one at Houat knew exactly who he was, Monseigneur," replied -the French officer, glancing over his shoulder. "He was found -half-dead on the rocks there as long ago as August, and he was ill -for months afterwards from wounds and exposure. Neither then nor -since has he been able to give much account of himself--he seems to -have lost his memory--though from the few rags remaining on him when -he was discovered it was supposed that he had been one of the -Chouan leaders." - -"Thank you, Monsieur," said the Bishop. He went over, with compassion -in his face, to the seated man, and touched him on the shoulder. - -"My son," he said, "is there anything that I can do for you?" - -"This is St. Helier, is it not?" answered the other in a dulled -voice, without looking up. "If you could kindly take me to where my -mother lives. I . . . I have been ill . . . and I do not think I -could find the way." - -The Bishop paused a moment, then he said, very gently, "This is -not Jersey, my child; it is Portsmouth." - -"Portsmouth," repeated the émigré, in the same uninterested tone. -"Not Jersey--Portsmouth. But she is not at Portsmouth----" Then he -looked up, and his eyes, full of fever though they were, knew the -man who was speaking to him for a bishop of his own Church. - -"But they shot you at Vannes, Monseigneur, with Sombreuil!" - -The old man guessed to whom he was referring. "God rest his soul!" -he said, signing himself. "But you mistake, my son; I am not the -Bishop of Dol, and this is England. What are you going to do?" - -The Frenchman got to his feet. "I?" he said, and laughed a little. -"Why, I should have been shot at Auray, Monseigneur . . . or at -Quiberon. . . . It would have been better. . . . But I am here. . . . -God knows why." He sat down again on the bollard. - -Monseigneur beckoned to his Grand Vicar. Then he turned again to -the émigré. "My son," he said, "you will come home with me. It is -not far. Come, take my arm!" - -And the émigré obediently took that ridiculous support (the Grand -Vicar, however, walking in readiness on the other side) and so -came, with difficulty and without speech, to the little hired house -where the Bishop lived. - -In the parlour Monseigneur said to him, "And now perhaps you had -better tell us your name?" - -"Augustin," replied the guest, and, turning suddenly faint or giddy -with the word, collapsed like a log against the Grand Vicar, who, -being fortunately nearly as tall as he, and robust to boot, was not -felled to the floor as the Bishop would undoubtedly have been. - - - (2) - -The good Bishop sat all that night by the bedside of his guest, -and all night long La Vireville tossed and talked, so that, being -undeterred by his occasional lapses into language of a vigour which -would have shocked the Grand Vicar, the Bishop learnt many things. -The empty left sleeve indicated, as he had of course supposed, that -the émigré had lost his arm--or most of it, for it had been amputated -some way above the elbow. That wound was healed, but his whole body -still bore the marks of what the sea and the rocks between them had -done to it, and it was to one of these injuries, to the head, that -the surgeon summoned next morning was inclined to attribute his -sudden lapse into insensibility and his present state of semi-stupor. - -"He was not really fit to have made the voyage from Houat," he said -in conclusion; "but from what one hears of conditions in the Ile -d'Yeu he is certainly better in England." He was thinking of the -privations which, since the end of September, General Doyle's little -force had been undergoing in the latter island. - -When the surgeon had gone the old Bishop said to his Grand Vicar, -with his customary gentle resolution, "We must try to find our -guest's mother in Jersey, of whom he spoke on the quay yesterday." - -"But we do not know his surname, Monseigneur," objected the younger -priest, "unless by any chance 'Augustin' is his family and not his -Christian name. And there are so many French exiles in Jersey." - -"His mother evidently lives at St. Helier," replied the Bishop, -"and that gives us something to start from. I shall write to the -Prince de Bouillon and ask him to make inquiries. . . . Also I shall -have M. Augustin moved into my bedroom. He will be more comfortable -there, and if, as I suspect, he is going to be ill for some time, -it is a sunny room, which is important." - -As the Grand Vicar and the housekeeper alike knew that it was of -no use arguing with Monseigneur, especially when his own discomfort -was in question, they did not waste their energies in conflict, and -La Vireville, still only half-conscious, was transferred to the -modest episcopal apartment. - - - (3) - -The volleys that rang out that August evening over the Bay of -Quiberon had left one man out of the doomed thirty untouched by -any bullet--preserved as by a miracle. The miracle was wrought by -greed, and the man--as may be guessed--was Fortuné de la Vireville. - -Fortuné had realised the incredible thing quickly enough. Dazed -though he was by the ear-splitting general discharge at such close -quarters, he had no sooner perceived that he was still on his feet, -unharmed, than he had torn off the bandage round his eyes, taken -one glance at the scene through the drifting smoke, and with a -single bound had cleared the low stone wall behind him. Even as he -jumped, however, came a report, and his left, his already injured, -arm fell powerless to his side. He staggered a moment with the -shock, recovered himself, plunged through the little thicket of -dwarfed trees, and in another minute was running like a deer across -the pale barley-field beyond. He was saved--for the time at least--by -a chance the possibility of which had never entered his head. At the -moment of the command to fire, his executioners had been stooping -after the gold which he had just thrown to them. . . . One man only, -he who had just winged him, was bringing his musket to the level -as the émigré had snatched the handkerchief from his eyes and turned. -Now, as he ran, the barley catching at his bare feet, the rest of -the belated volley and some other shots came after him. But they -went wide; the light, at that distance, was too uncertain. La -Vireville tore on. - -Yet that one marksman had scored heavily enough, as was soon only -too obvious to the fugitive. His left elbow was shattered, and--what -for the moment was worse--the injury was bleeding very copiously. -La Vireville supported it with his other hand and arm as he raced -through the barley, but he knew that between the severity of the -pain, which the rapid motion was momentarily intensifying to agony, -and the haemorrhage, he would not be able to run much farther. And -indeed there was not much farther for him to run, since beyond the -field was nothing but the shore. That solved the question, anyhow. -With forty others to despatch, too, there was just a chance that -they would not pursue him immediately. - -So, where the edge of the barley-field curved gently over to the -beach, he scrambled down, panting and dizzy, and fell to his knees -on the soft sand. One thing he knew to be imperative--to stop the -blood pouring from his arm, and in a kind of frenzy he tore off -the bandage from his former, half-healed wound and tied it tightly -above and around the new. This proceeding, necessary though it was, -put the coping-stone on his endurance, and it was barely finished -before he toppled forward on to his face and lay there motionless. -Dimly, as consciousness left him, he heard the sound of the second -series of volleys. - - * * * * * - -He came to--how much later he had small idea--with sand in his mouth -and an almost intolerable aching in his fractured elbow. Whether the -soldiers had searched for him or no he could not tell. He hardly -realised that, except from the beach itself, he was invisible where -he lay. But he did not conceive that there was any permanent shelter -for him on Quiberon. Looking stupidly at his arm, he saw that the -bleeding had stopped, but the arm was much worse than useless, for -it was anguish to move it in any direction. . . . Really the simplest -plan was to stay where he was. The soldiers would find him in time, -and could finish their work; on the whole, it was foolishness not -to have stayed up there by the wall to let them do it. . . . And -Fortuné lay down again, with relief, on the fine and kindly sand -that had already drunk his blood and now offered him oblivion. - -For though he had said to himself a little while ago that if he -had a chance he would take it, and though he had leapt the wall -instinctively, and had run as never before in his life, yet now, -after all, his will faltered. For one thing, he was sick with pain; -for another, he was badly crippled. And what inducements had he, -he asked himself, to wrestle further with destiny?--for a fight it -would be, and most probably a losing one. Anne-Hilarion, to whom he -now owed a duty; his mother, whom he loved; the cause he followed? -Yes; but to none of these was he indispensable. That dark star of -his, which for ten years had represented love to him, certainly -offered him no light to live by; nor did revenge, since St. Four -was dead. All he asked for was to yield, to contend no more. - -But in a few moments he had struggled up again on to his elbow. -The naturally unsubmissive bent of his mind worked automatically -against such a surrender, and the remembrance of his promise to René -came back even stronger than it had done last night. He had pledged -himself to do his best to escape; René's last words to him--possibly -the last he had ever spoken--had been on that matter. But how was he -to fulfil that promise? - -Leaning thus on his right elbow, La Vireville studied the sand, that -strangely white sand of Quiberon. How _could_ he save himself--it -was practically impossible now! Under his gaze, covered with -half-dried blood from the shattered arm which it had supported in -his flight, lay his right hand, and that was all he had to depend -on. Slowly and awkwardly enough (and even then at the cost of what -made him set his teeth) he raised himself a little higher. And as he -propped himself on this sound but bloodstained hand, he was suddenly -aware of a minor pang in that. Glancing down again he saw that in -changing his position he had brushed it against a plant of sea-holly, -of which there were many on the shore and the dunes of Quiberon. - -And La Vireville stared at that sturdy thistle, with its sharp, -glaucous leaves and its beautiful dream-blue flower, both misty now -in the dim light, almost as if he saw it in a dream, for its harsh -touch had carried him back in a flash to the little bay in the -Côtes-du-Nord where all this, surely, had happened before--where, -when he was crippled, that same hand had known the scratch of the -sea-holly, even to blood, and Mme. de Guéfontaine's kiss. - -"She would not like to kiss that hand now!" he reflected, rather -grimly. Yet suddenly he had the impression, as vivid as if she were -there now, kneeling by him, near the sea-holly, as she had knelt -that evening in the northern bay, that she, with her high courage -and her ideals of devotion, would never counsel him to lie here like -a coward till he was found and shot. She would have counselled -him--did indeed seem to be counselling him now--to bestir himself, -for the child's sake, for his own self-respect. But how was he -to obey her? - -There was only one way--the way she had gone that evening. The waves -to-night broke not much less gently on this shore of tragedy than -they had done on that placid strand. Yes, there lay, as always of -late in Fortuné's life, the call. But it had never been so hard to -follow. Nevertheless he believed the English squadron to be cruising -somewhere off the little isles of Houat and Hoedic, and the former -of these could not be more than ten miles away. If Providence would -but complete the miracle and put him in the way of coming by a -boat--a possible but an unlikely occurrence--he would take it for -an omen, and make an attempt to reach the fleet. - -And so, supporting his mangled arm again with the other, he began -to get with difficulty to his feet, reflecting as he did so that -even if there were a boat on the shore he could not launch it, -injured as he was, and that in any case, if he showed himself near -it, he would probably be fired on by some unseen sentry. Luckily -the moon was near her setting. He must therefore look for this -problematical boat before she set, but not attempt to embark till -afterwards, when it would be much darker. - -Directly he was on his feet, La Vireville became aware of a black -blotch on the waters of the bay, a little to his left, and a few -yards from shore. He stood there staring at it, utterly unbelieving. -Was this the answer of Providence? Two fantastic thoughts immediately -visited him: the first, that she, with whom he had almost seemed, -a moment ago, to hold converse, had known that the boat was there; -the second, that Anne-Hilarion must really need him. It was quite -a small boat, yet, as far as he could see by straining his eyes in -the moonlight, it had a mast ready stepped--a vital point, since he -must have a sail. Then he tried to calculate the distance of the boat -from the edge of the water, because he thought it very unlikely that -in his present condition he could swim out to her. If the tide were -ebbing, however, he might possibly reach her by wading. - -"I shall be taking the deuce of a deal of trouble for you, Anne," he -said out loud, "and I expect it will come to the same thing in the -end--a volley at ten paces." But he sat down again to wait for the -moon's setting, his back against the bank of sand that was the edge -of the barley-field, trying to keep his hot thoughts off the great -pain that he was suffering, wishing that he had not made away with -his sling, and facing the more than probability that the fresh injury -would in the end be his undoing. - - * * * * * - -Twelve hours later, shivering with fever under a hot noon sun, he -was lying becalmed somewhere to the east of Houat. He had almost -lost his sense of direction, and in any case there was no wind. -The oars he naturally could not use. He had eaten nothing since -the day before, he was very thirsty, he had been soaked to the skin -in getting to the boat, and his wounded arm was causing him such a -martyrdom that if he could have cut it off and thrown it overboard -he would willingly have done so. Half the time Anne-Hilarion seemed -to be sitting beside him, asking why they did not sail faster, and -once, at least, he answered him very seriously, "Because, mon petit, -your uncle has such extraordinary bad luck,"--to which Anne had -contended that it was good luck, not bad, or that it might at least -be regarded as mixed. And then the fugitive found himself saying -something about the devil's own luck, and a voice replied, "André -had that kind of luck too, but it failed him in the end." Who was -André? Was he in the boat too? If he were, then perhaps his sister -was with him, and perhaps she could do something for this terrible -pain which was driving him crazy--as once she had with her cool -fingers eased his foot. . . . - -And Fortuné raised his throbbing head from the gunwale to look for -her--but he was quite alone in the boat, and the boat was alone, -motionless, in the midst of a shining sea. How the sun stared at -him--and yet he was so cold! His head fell back again inert, and -he returned once more to the vision of that tragic line of fallen, -writhing figures, an ineffaceable glimpse of which his senses had -caught and recorded as he leapt the wall. - -Later still, as daylight faded, the little boat, lifting sideways -with every long shoreward wave, her sails racketing madly about, -drifted nearer and nearer to the iron rocks of Houat, where the surf -was always pounding. The wished-for wind had sprung up just at -sunset, but the helmsman, lying face upwards in the sternsheets, -much as François the fisherman had once lain, was in no condition -to utilise it, or even to avert the disaster to which it was -hurrying him. - - * * * * * - -Author's Note.--It is a matter of historical fact that one émigré did -escape shooting at Quiberon by throwing his gold to the firing-party, -exactly as described. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV - - MR. TOLLEMACHE AS A LINGUIST - - - (1) - -The full-rigged ship, in oils, embedded in a solid sea of the same -medium resembling a newly ploughed ultramarine field, which hung -over the chest of drawers in the Bishop's bedroom (he having taken -the little house furnished, and feeling, with his fine courtesy, -that he had no right to change the place of anything therein), -perplexed La Vireville not at all. Almost his last memory had been -of the sea. There was, too, a stuffed trout in a glass case which -might also, with a little difference, have been a denizen of the -deep. . . . But his mind, still, after ten days' care, somewhat -confused, was not at all cleared by lying and gazing, as he often -did, at the little triptych of the Assumption which the Bishop had -succeeded in bringing away from his private chapel in France, and -which hung not far from the other painting. La Vireville could not -have told why, but the triptych seemed to him, as it did to the -Grand Vicar, incongruous with the stuffed trout. He used to speculate -how it got there. - -At first he had remembered very little about Quiberon, either about -the surrender or his own abortive execution, but he had a vivid, -detached memory of what came after the latter event. He could recall -how, just as the little boat plunged into the breakers of Houat, -he had suddenly regained his senses, brought back, no doubt, from -the borders of unconsciousness by the never-dying instinct of the -seaman. Too late though it was to save himself then, that instinct -kept his nerveless hand on the tiller in an attempt to guide what -he could no longer control. . . . He remembered the crash, the -swirling, foaming water that sucked him down twice, struggling -desperately, from the rock which, crippled as he was, he could -neither gain nor cling to, the water that beat him against it like -a cork, and that then, in a great wave, finally engulfed him, to -bear him back and fling him senseless on the pebbles. He remembered, -too, waking once more to a brief, semi-animate existence, to find -himself lying face downwards on the wet shingle, his hair in a salt -pool that seemed half blood--or was it merely tinged with the light -of the red sunset that towered over Houat? Close by the surge still -thundered, drenching his cold, half-naked body with spray. He was -bleeding and battered from head to foot, yet, though he knew he -saw death face to face at last, he contrived to drag himself up the -shingle a few inches farther from the furious breakers. . . . After -that, darker oblivion than before. . . . - -Of his finding next morning by two of his compatriots, refugees -like himself from Quiberon, in time to save his life but not his arm, -he knew nothing, and most of the memories of his slow and painful -struggle back to existence in that bleak, scarcely habitable islet, -among the human débris of the great disaster, were confused, -and--except one--in no way desirable as reminiscences. - -Yet now, whether as the result of better care and conditions, or -because the strain of the voyage to England had worn itself off, -brain and body alike were recovering fast, and Monseigneur, very -much pleased, intimated that he should shortly set up in practice -as a physician. His best medicine, however, was still to come--from -Jersey. - - - (2) - -Fortuné was sound asleep when his mother at last bent over him, -one frosty December afternoon, her heart brimming with mingled -thankfulness and tears. For indeed the face on the pillow, always -lean, had passed far beyond mere leanness now. . . . Yet here he was, -her son, whom she had mourned as slain, sleeping just as he used to -sleep twenty years ago, a boy at Kerdronan, with one hand under his -head--no, not just as he had used to sleep, for this was not of -those days, this evidence, very marked in repose, of the pitiable -victory that weakness had won over vigour. He was alive, would live, -but he looked broken. And achingly it went to her heart, how thin -his wrist was--all she could see, at the moment, of that once -strong, sunburnt hand of his. Involuntarily she looked about for -the other hand. . . . And it was then, and then only, that the full -realisation of what the Bishop had told her came down upon her. -Under that avalanche her fortitude gave way, and sinking down on -the chair by the bedside she hid her face in her hands. - -The slight movement had wakened the sleeper, and he opened his eyes, -and lay a few seconds looking at her, without stirring. He had known -that she was coming. - -"What are you crying for, petite mère?" he said at last, in his -changed voice. "Are you so sorry, then, to see me again?" - -"Oh, my son, my son!" she cried. - - * * * * * - -"You know about this?" he asked abruptly, after a little, indicating -his left arm. - -Mme. de la Vireville nodded, unable, for all her courage, to trust -herself to speak for a moment. - -"I shall have a hook," went on Fortuné, with a faint smile. "Like -old Yves, the ferryman at Coatquen, when I was a boy. . . . Do you -remember? He always said that he could do more with it than with -a hand. . . . I used to envy him that hook. And I should never -have had an elbow again, you know." - -Mme. de la Vireville swallowed something in her throat. "Since -Monseigneur told me," she said, sufficiently firmly, "I have not -ceased to thank God that it is your left arm." - -"I also," replied her son, with an effort. "And for Monseigneur's -charity, and now, for your coming, my heart. . . . Sit close to -the bed, and I shall sleep again." - - - (3) - -Several times during the next two or three weeks did the Grand Vicar -congratulate the Bishop on having sent for Mme. de la Vireville. -There was no room for her in the little house, but she lodged near, -and spent all her days at her son's bedside. That son no longer -looked quite so much like the wreck of his former hardy self, and, -but for the fact that his memory still played him obstinate tricks -over names, he had regained his normal mental condition. But he -seemed to his mother to have something on his mind. One day, half -in jest, she taxed him with it. - -He looked at her from his pillows with a smile. - -"If I had a mind, little mother, there might be something on it. -Even my head is not as hard as I have been accustomed to boast, -for either that confounded bullet last spring, or the rocks of -Houat, have played the deuce with the inside of it." - -"But, my son, you are daily recovering your memory," said Mme. de -la Vireville encouragingly. - -"Yes," agreed Fortuné, "and one thing I remember is this--that I -promised poor René de Flavigny to look after Anne if he were killed. -And I am convinced that he was killed." - -His mother looked at his gaunt visage and hollow eyes. - -"Fortuné, you are scarcely in a fit state to look after anyone at -present, you must admit that. And as to the fate of M. de Flavigny, -surely that could be ascertained by inquiry?" - -"Doubtless, if I had not entirely forgotten his address in London, -and even the name of his father-in-law with whom he lived. I have -tried times without number to remember it," said La Vireville, -frowning. "It was a square, and there was a statue of a general -on horseback in it. . . . Perhaps Monseigneur would know?" - -As the Bishop, however, had not once set foot in London he was not -of much topographical assistance. - -But now, having elicited what her son had on his mind, Mme. de la -Vireville soon perceived what edifices he was ready to build on -the subject of Anne-Hilarion's bereavement. Anne should come and -stay with them in Jersey when his grandfather could spare him; Anne -should do this, that, and the other. . . . She could not doubt the -stimulus it was to Fortuné to feel that Anne would have a real -claim on him, and he on the boy. He had long ago made up his mind -that the Marquis could not have survived, and though his death -caused him real sorrow, so many friends and acquaintances had come -to violent ends since '89 that there was little sensation of shock -about the loss. - -Fortuné did not tell his mother, for fear of wounding her, that, -but for Anne and his own promise to René he might possibly never -have tried to escape that night, but she was not far from guessing -it. It would have needed a miracle to enable her to guess that the -thought of another person had also counted for something in that -episode--and this fact he was still further from revealing to her. - - - (4) - -The required information about M. de Flavigny was supplied, in the -end, from a quite unexpected source. For, walking down High Street -one morning, Mme. de la Vireville saw two British naval officers -in front of her. One of the backs seemed familiar. So, rather -shamefacedly, she hurried after it, and breathed behind it an -apologetic, "De grâce, Monsieur!" - -Mr. Francis Tollemache checked, looked over his shoulder, stopped -altogether, turned round, and saluted. His companion did the same. - -"At your service, Madame," he responded. "Madame de la Vireville, -I believe?" - -"Oui, M. le Lieutenant," said she, a little breathlessly. "Et si -Monsieur voudrait, il pourrait me rendre un grand, un très grand -service!" - -The ready colour suffused M. le Lieutenant's ingenuous countenance. -He turned to his comrade. "Could you take her on, Carleton?" he asked. - -Mr. Carleton shook his head. "Don't know a word of the lingo," he -replied unhelpfully. - -Mme. de la Vireville saw what was wrong. She pulled herself together -for an effort. "You do not speak French, Messieurs, is it not? Eh -bien, it is that my son is very ill, and he want to know if the -little boy Anne de Flavigny--no, if ze fazzer of the little boy -is . . . vivant . . . or kill'. Il le croit mort . . . and he have -forgot"--she touched her forehead--"where he live in Londres. Cela -le tracasse tant! You per'aps know it, Messieurs?" - -"Le petit garçon--oh, hang it! Madame, vous comprendre un peu -anglais, don't you? The little boy lives with his grandfather, -Mr. Elphinstone, in Cavendish Square, but his father--père, isn't -it--ain't killed." Thus Mr. Tollemache, in the same bilingual style. - -"Mais . . . my son, he was sure . . ." - -"I've the best of reasons for knowing that de Flavigny is alive," -said Mr. Tollemache stoutly, casting the French tongue momentarily -to the winds. "I went to see them all last week, and he's getting -on famously--can walk now. Porter bien . . . marcher . . . vous -comprendre, Madame?" - -"Tollemache here saved his life," put in Mr. Carleton. "Pulled him -out of that affair under the very noses of the sans-culottes. A -deuced fine piece of work." But this information was couched in -language too idiomatic for Mme. de la Vireville's comprehension. - -"M. de Flavigny n'est pas mort, alors?" said she, the conversation -being evidently about to end in each party speaking his own tongue. - -"Non, pas mort," responded Mr. Tollemache. "Jolly as a sandboy--at -least he will be. So's the little 'un. And the address is Cavendish -Square. Shall I write it down . . . er . . . écrivez pour vous, -Madame?" - -"Ah, M. le Lieutenant, if you could come to see my son a little -five minute, to tell him about M. de Flavigny! Cela lui ferait tant -de bien!" said Mme. de la Vireville, turning the wistful battery of -her eyes on the young officer. And he capitulated unconditionally. - - - (5) - -La Vireville was sitting that day, wrapped in a flowered dressing-gown, -in the little bow window of the bedroom. It was promotion for him, -yet Mr. Tollemache gave an exclamation when he entered. - -"By gad, you look as if you had been through a good deal!" he said, -and then saw the empty sleeve, and was dumb. - -La Vireville stretched out his hand to him. "You behold in me, M. -le Lieutenant," he observed, with rather a grim smile, "a twice -condemned criminal. I have no right to be anywhere but underground. -But what is the news you have to tell me, Monsieur?" - -Mr. Tollemache sat down beside him and told him. The wounded man -heard him through to the end without comment, his face shielded by -the thin hand on which he leant it. At the end he said under his -breath, "Thank God!" and held out that hand again to the narrator. -"You are a brave man, Mr. Tollemache." - -But the sailor, not a very keen observer, was struck by the added -pallor which had come over the already haggard face during his brief -recital, and which he assigned to the well-known emotional nature -of the French, manifested as readily, apparently, at the hearing -of good news as of bad. Besides, the poor devil looked very weak. -Mr. Tollemache was sorry about that arm. - - * * * * * - -"Well, my son," said little Mme. de la Vireville, coming in with -a smile a few minutes after the visitor had gone. "Did not our -guest bring excellent news, both for you and for the little boy?" - -"Yes, indeed," replied the invalid. "René's escape was nearly -as miraculous as mine. And," he added slowly, "a miracle to more -purpose." - -There was something so unusual in his voice that she stood with -all her gladness--that was mostly for his sake--turning cold. - -"Anne will not come and stay with us in Jersey now," said Fortuné, -looking out of the window. "There will be no need; thank God again -for that." - -Was it as strong as that then? Something that was half-hope, -half-anguish, leapt up in Mme. de la Vireville's heart. She knelt -down beside her son's chair, and looked at his averted profile. - -"Fortuné," she began, in a voice that shook, "if only you could -put that . . . memory . . . away! My dear, my dear, what is the -use of keeping it all these years? You have only to stretch out -your hand to grasp what you want. . . ." - -"What is it that I want?" asked her son, turning his head and -looking at her. He was even paler than Mr. Tollemache had seen -him. "There is nothing left for a cripple and a failure like me -to want, except rest, and you, ma mère. I have both--too much, -God knows, of the first--but of you I can never have too much. -There is nothing else that I need." He bent his head and kissed her. - -But from the day of the good news which Mr. Tollemache had brought -him, he began perceptibly to go downhill again. - -He was always, on the surface, his old jesting, courageous, -disillusioned self, but underneath was a listlessness which Mme. -de la Vireville had never known in him. It terrified her. He had -previously looked forward to walking a little with her in the garden -one day; now it was enough for him to sit apathetically in the -window. Sometimes he seemed to have neither strength nor inclination -even for that. The surgeon talked, as he had talked before, of the -effects of suffering and exposure on an exceptionally strong and -vigorous constitution; the Bishop said to the Grand Vicar that he -thought it was something that came very near to being a broken -heart--broken, like so much else, at Quiberon; and Mme. de la -Vireville, despairing, bewildered, and sometimes even a little -wounded, carried her knowledge of the past like a heap of ashes -amid her slowly dying hopes for the future. Had Fortuné, who had -recked so little of blows and hardships and disappointments, come -through so much to end like this? - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI - - ANNE-HILARION MAKES A PLAN, AND THE BISHOP A REVELATION - - - (1) - -"Always elephants," observed the Comte de Flavigny with interest, -holding up the little brass bowl of Indian workmanship which -contained the sugar. "Always elephants--and monkeys!" - -"The Baba-sahib is spilling it," whispered Lal Khan, bending his -turbaned head to the little boy's level, the while he tendered -the tray with the coffee-cups to his master. - -He had just brought the coffee into the library, and it pleased -the Baba-sahib, who had accompanied him, to offer the sugar to -the two gentlemen. He was, however, dressed for out-of-doors. - -"You are going for a walk, Anne?" asked his father, as he helped -himself. He was lying back in a great chair on one side of the fire. -A wonderful January sun shone in upon Mr. Elphinstone's books. - -"Yes, Papa, with Baptiste. I am going to buy a new money-box, because -since M. de Soucy opened my old one for me in the summer--when I -thought to go to France--it has sometimes come open of itself." - -"Very unsatisfactory for a thrifty bairn," observed Mr. Elphinstone, -who was sitting on the other side of the fire with a pile of -manuscript on his knee. "Then you will transfer your money, I -suppose, from the old to the new box?" - -"What is 'transfer'?" inquired Anne. "Oh, I understand. No, Grandpapa," -and he shook his head mysteriously. "I am going to spend it." - -"Dear me!" said his grandfather. "And on what, pray?" - -"Well, first I thought," said Anne-Hilarion, "that I would give all -the money in my money-box to M. le Lieutenant Tollemache for saving -Papa, for since M. Tollemache is not poor, like M. de Soucy, it is -permitted to offer him money--is it not? But Papa said . . . What -was it you said, Papa?" - -The Marquis smiled at his small and earnest son, and put his arm -round him. "I believe I told you to keep it for yourself, Anne." - -"But _I_ did not save you, Papa!" exclaimed the child, almost -indignantly. - -René de Flavigny's eyes sought the fire. "I would not be too sure -of that," he said. "On whose account, do you suppose, Anne, did -Mr. Tollemache take all that trouble and risk for me?" - -"I suppose," replied the little boy, wrinkling his forehead, "for St. -Michel, because I asked him very particularly to take care of you." - -"Yes," repeated René, "as I say, it was you who saved me, my son. -But not, perhaps, quite in the way you think," he added to himself. - -There was a moment's pause, during which Anne apparently resolved -not to pursue this question, for he went on with a business-like -air: "I have now quite resolved what I will do with my money, which -is now a great sum, with what Grandpapa gave me at Christmas. I -shall not give it to M. le Lieutenant." - -"Well?" queried Mr. Elphinstone, looking at him over his spectacles. -"This suspense is very hard to bear, Anne." - -"I shall spend it on going to Portsmouth to see M. le Chevalier." - -The two men looked at each other at this announcement. "What next?" -asked the Marquis, amused. - -"After that I shall begin to save for the new box," responded his -son, taking the inquiry literally. "For though to go to Portsmouth -will not cost as much as going to France would have done, I expect -it will quite empty the old one." - -"And a very good thing too," remarked his grandfather, "if you -are going to employ your savings to such ends. We have had enough, -in this house, of your jaunts, my bairn." - -"But it was _you_, Grandpapa, that sent me to Canterbury!" said -Anne, turning an accusing gaze on the old gentleman. Mr. Elphinstone -collapsed. - -"True, only too true!" he murmured. "But, child, your father is -going down to Portsmouth to see M. de la Vireville directly he is -able to travel. He has already written to him to that effect." - -"But that will be quite a long time yet, I know," returned the -Comte wisely. "I heard Dr. Collins say so." - -"You could write M. de la Vireville a letter," suggested his -grandfather. - -"But I want to see him!" repeated Anne. "One does not see a person -by writing him a letter." - -"This child's arguments are difficult to controvert," remarked Mr. -Elphinstone to his son-in-law. "I do not see any reply to that." - -"Except perhaps this," suggested the Marquis. "Are you sure, Anne, -that on his side M. de la Vireville wants to see you just now? He -is rather ill, you know." - -Anne-Hilarion gave this due consideration. "But if I were ill, Papa, -I should want to see you and Grandpapa. It would make me feel -better--as when I had whooping-cough last year." - -"And you think that your presence would have a similar good effect -on M. de la Vireville? You are not wanting in assurance, my son!" - -Anne smiled, because he knew that he was being teased, and, the -clock striking at that moment, he slipped out of his father's arm. -"Will you please to think about it, Papa, while I have my walk?" -he said coaxingly. - -After he had gone Mr. Elphinstone turned over his manuscripts for -a minute or two. Then he looked across at his son-in-law, who was -staring again into the fire. - -"I could take the child to Portsmouth, René, if you wish him to -go--and can trust him to me," he said. "I do not know what you feel, -but it seems to me that it might be some slight attempt to repay that -great debt which we owe on Anne's behalf--and M. de la Vireville was -so fond of the child that he might really be glad to see him." - -René de Flavigny looked up and smiled. "How well you read my thoughts, -sir!" - - - (2) - -On that same remarkably sunny day in late January the old Bishop, -in a long black cloak, was walking up and down the little walled -garden at Portsmouth under a sky as blue as May's. The forerunners -of spring had arrived, and the sight of that vanguard evidently gave -him a lively pleasure. He was standing looking at the border when he -heard a step, and observed Mme. de la Vireville approaching him. She -had come to the house earlier in the day, but he had not seen her. - -"It is almost spring already, Madame," he remarked to her. "Look at -that patch of aconites!" - -Mme. de la Vireville did not obey him. She came up, kissed his ring, -and said with the directness of a child, "It is not spring in my -heart, Monseigneur. Your Grandeur knows why." - -The Bishop may have had the eyes of a mystic, but they were by no -means blind to mundane affairs. He looked at her now. "Yes, I know, -my daughter. I have been wishing for some time to speak with you of -this. You will not feel cold if we walk up and down a little in -the sun?" - -She shook her head and turned with him. At their feet the snowdrops -stood smiling and shivering behind little rows of box. "I have just -come down from Fortuné's room, Monseigneur. He is no better, this -morning--not so well, I think." - -They took a turn in silence. "Forgive me if I am impertinent," -said the Bishop, rather suddenly. "I have been wondering of late -why your son has never married. How old is he--forty?" - -Mme. de la Vireville shook her head with a sad little smile. "Only -thirty-five, Monseigneur. As for his marrying, I have long greatly -desired it, but he will not look at a woman. He has good reason, -perhaps." She hesitated, then went on. "There was one, ten years -ago . . . he loved her only too well. She too seemed to love him -dearly, and became his affianced wife. On the very day before their -marriage she fled from her home with another man, whom she had only -known for a week or two. That man was Fortuné's intimate friend." - -"And then?" asked the Bishop. - -"Fortuné called him out--he could hardly do less. The scar which -you may have remarked on his face, Monseigneur, is a memorial of -their encounter. It is where his false friend's bullet wounded -him--he can never look in a glass without seeing that reminder. -They used pistols, not swords--I do not know why--and drew lots -for the order of firing. And though my son, since he fired second, -had this man who had so deeply injured him absolutely at his mercy, -though he was half beside himself with grief and rage, he spared -him, for her sake, and fired in the air." - -"That was well done," said the Bishop. - -Mme. de la Vireville laughed. "Was it not, Monseigneur! It was -not easily done, either, that I know. Can you guess what Fortuné's -reward was? After a year she left this man, to whom she was not -wedded, and married another." - -The Bishop looked very grave. "And your son, Madame, after so -bitter a betrayal, has conceived a hatred of all women?" - -"Hardly that, Monseigneur. It is more hopeless even than that--for -such an aversion might change. No, I am almost sure that against -his will he loves her still. That is the tragedy." - -"She is still living--her husband also?" - -"I believe so." - -"Perhaps M. de la Vireville hopes to marry her in the end, if--as -may so easily happen in these sad days--she should be suddenly -left a widow?" - -"No, Monseigneur, he would never do that. He has never forgiven her. -But he will not look at another woman. I think it would make no -difference to him if he were to hear of her death to-morrow. For -him she has long been dead . . . and yet she is alive. Would God -she were not! Her lover was killed by his side at Quiberon; he told -me the other day." She paused a moment, looking into the distance, -and resumed, with a little gesture: "Do not imagine, Monseigneur, -that Fortuné is always thinking of this. He is not a dreamer; he has -always been a man of action, and a reckless one at that. It is but a -scar now, I think, not a wound--but it is a scar with poison in it. -And over there in Jersey, when I saw him with the little boy . . ." -She stopped, and the tears came into her eyes. "Monseigneur, I -believe that in his heart of hearts Fortuné desires as much to have -a son as I desire to see him with one." - -"But," said the Bishop, "there is nothing to prevent his marrying -some day, if he could cut himself loose from this memory. If he -could so cut himself loose, the rest--you must pardon an old man, -my daughter--the rest would not be difficult, would it?" - -"Monseigneur, a man who will not look at women is always attractive -to them." - -The Bishop smiled. "I suppose that is true. Now would you be astounded -to learn that, before you came, he used sometimes, in sleep or -delirium, to repeat a woman's name? I suppose it was hers who -betrayed him." - -"I do not think that likely, Monseigneur," said Mme. de la Vireville. -"He has not mentioned her name for years. And that it should have -been any other woman's is impossible." - -"Then perhaps my ears deceived me," replied the Bishop, looking as -if he were pretty sure that they had not. "In that case I shall -perhaps not be indiscreet if I tell you the name--admitting frankly -that some of the context puzzled me. It was--'Anne.'" - -It may be seen what bond of error united the old French Bishop and -the middy of the _Pomone_. - -Mme. de la Vireville clasped her little hands together. "But, -Monseigneur, that exactly bears out what I said about his desiring -a son. Anne is the name of the little boy I was referring to just -now--Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny, his friend's son--the friend about -whose fate, as Your Grandeur knows, Fortuné was anxious, but who -proves, after all, to have been saved at Quiberon. Fortuné had -promised the Marquis de Flavigny to look after the child if he--the -Marquis--were killed." - -"But now, as the Marquis escaped, he will not be called upon to -undertake this charge?" - -"No, Monseigneur." - -"That is a pity," said the Bishop, looking down reflectively at the -radiant face of a little beruffed aconite at his feet. "There are -all sorts of doors which only a child's hands can unlock." And, -still looking at the aconite, he went on gently: "Madame, I should -be doing wrong were I to disguise from you that the doctor does -not think well of the lethargy which seems latterly to have taken -possession of your son, and which appears to have so much connection -with his physical condition." - -"I know it," said the poor mother, all the delicate colour gone -from her cheeks. "But what more can I do, Monseigneur? I know that -Fortuné loves me dearly, but I am old, and represent the past to him, -not the future, and it is the past that he needs to forget. . . . He -is ill, it is true--he has been very ill--but never have I seen him -like this. Always, in whatever vicissitudes--and he has been severely -wounded before, and I nursed him in Jersey--always he has been full -of gaiety and courage. Now all that seems to have deserted him, as -if he did not care to live." - -"Madame, is that, after all, so much to be wondered at?" asked the -Bishop gravely. "If you or I had fought at Quiberon, and had seen -nearly all our comrades massacred in cold blood, might we not be -tempted to feel the same? There is much buried on that shore which -engulfed so many hopes. I think M. de la Vireville has left his -there, as others their lives. There is not, I fancy, any great -difference between the two losses. . . . Still, as I said, a child's -hand holds many keys, to shut or to open." He stooped at last, a -little painfully, and picked the aconite, and added to himself, "As -we say to the Child who was Himself the Key . . . _O Clavis David, -qui aperis et nemo claudit; claudis et nemo aperit, veni et educ -vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in umbra mortis_. . . . I wish -your son could have had the care of this child you speak of." - -Mme. de la Vireville could not reply. She had hidden her face in her -hands, and the tears were trickling through them. The little old -man, holding the golden flower in his fingers, stood and looked at -her with a great pity in his eyes. - - * * * * * - -Suddenly, however, something else came into them--a gleam of -recollection. He looked half doubtfully upon the weeping woman -before him, compressed his lips, then appeared to make up his mind. - -"My daughter," he said, "it has only just come back to my memory, -strangely enough, that one night . . . now this, I fear, really is -betraying an involuntary confidence, but for your sake I am going -to do it . . . one night I heard your son murmuring to himself a -name which can only have been a woman's. But perhaps, again, it -was _hers_. . . ." - -Mme. de la Vireville raised her tear-stained face from her hands. -"What was the name, Monseigneur?" - -"'Raymonde,'" said the Bishop. - -It was no coup manqué this time. The little mother gazed at him -thunderstruck, amazement, incredulity, and something that might -almost have been a strangled joy chasing each other over her fragile -countenance. - -"'Raymonde'?" she repeated. "I . . . it cannot be . . . I know no -one of that name!" - -"But evidently your son does, Madame," suggested His Grandeur, unable -to restrain the phantom of a smile. "It was the only time I ever -heard him mention it. He seemed to be beseeching this 'Raymonde' -to come to him." - -Mme. de la Vireville had no words. Nor had she tears now; her -astonishment had dried them. She stared at Monseigneur, who stood -there with the bright aconite flower in his pale old hands, which -were folded across the purple sash showing between the folds of his -cloak, and she said nothing. - -"Your experience of the world, my daughter," went on the Bishop, -"must have taught you that even the most devoted son does not always -confide everything to his mother. In this case, doubtless, the time -was not ripe." - -The time, however, did seem to him ripe to leave this mother to -reflect on the information that he had just given her, and, the -sound of a clock striking noon issuing most appositely at this -moment from the house, he seized the opportunity to add: - -"If you will excuse me, Madame, for a few moments? I must say my -office." - -And pulling out his shabby breviary he went off down the path in -a manner more than diplomatic, for he had said Sext before ever Mme. -de la Vireville came into the garden. However, one can always get -ahead with advantage. - -But when a conviction of ten years' growth--one, moreover, which you -have just been stoutly affirming with your own lips--is as suddenly -felled as was Mme. de la Vireville's about her son, it is natural -to find its collapse somewhat devastating. Fortuné's mother, hardly -aware that Monseigneur had left her, stood beside the snowdrops, -certainly more engrossed than was Monseigneur himself at the other -end of the path--and the antiphon to _her_ Hours was a name she -had never heard before. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII - - THE CHILD UNLOCKS THE DOOR - - - (1) - -The Chevalier de la Vireville was lying, as he had so often lain, -staring at the stuffed trout and the triptych of the Assumption. -The adventurous and disappointed spirit which dwelt in him, that -had always faced with a jest every blow of circumstance--but one--had -indeed ebbed very low. Although the sun which five days ago had -opened the aconites in the garden came streaming into the room in -a way to rejoice the heart of the room's late owner, who had given -it up for that very reason, the present occupant was perfectly -indifferent as to whether the sun shone or no. He was back at -Quiberon in the rain--back at Auray in the little chapel, emptied -of all its victims save him alone--back in front of those levelled -muskets which he alone had escaped. . . . Why, in God's name, had -fate so marked him out for safety? Why had he put himself to the -agony of that derelict voyage to Houat and the long suffering that -came after? Mostly because of his promise to his friend, and because -he thought Anne wanted him . . . or because he wanted Anne. But he -was not needed, neither by the boy nor by anyone. He had built a -foolish dream on the assumption of René's death, which to him had -seemed a certainty. The dream had proved baseless, like everything -else, and all it had done was to plant in his sincere thankfulness -for René's escape a thorn of regret which was horrible to him, and -made him, who had suffered so bitterly from treachery, feel a -traitor himself. - -No, he was not needed any more; he had done his work. Or rather, he -had not even that consolation, for everything to which he had set -his hand at Quiberon had been a failure, even though the fault were -not his. His men, whom he had never once led to victory in the -Morbihan, were dead or disbanded. There was nothing for him to do -henceforward, and even had there been, he was useless--a tool that -had never been of much account, and was now blunted for the rest -of time. - -And further back still. . . . Had he not failed to keep the woman -he loved, the woman who had spurned even the difficult sacrifice he -had made for her sake, when he had spared her lover? He had no daily -perils now to anodyne that ache. But he had another ache to set -against it. . . . - -Yes, for ironically enough, at the very hour, five days ago, when -his mother was protesting in the garden to the Bishop that he could -never think of another woman, he _was_ thinking of one. Equally had -Mme. de la Vireville, almost incredulous, carried about for five days -her half-knowledge, longing for her son to speak that name which -meant nothing to her, yet hinted at so much; studying him at odd -moments, trying not to feel hurt at his reserve, puzzled, hoping, -fearing, and far from guessing that this 'Raymonde,' to Fortuné's -mind, was not a subject of which he could ever speak to anyone. For -the thought of her warred against that perverted faithfulness to -the faithless which had made his torment these ten years. - -Yet day after day the vision of Mme. de Guéfontaine had been dwelling -more and more constantly with him, and her image, by a volition, -so it seemed, of its own, seeking to efface that other. From its -beginning in that night of agony and effort at Quiberon, its renewal -in the drifting boat, the process had gone on gaining vitality -with time. At Houat he had wakened once from fever to fancy that -he was lying with his head pillowed on her arm, as he had done -that evening when he had stumbled exhausted into the old manoir. -That had proved to be but fever also; his aching head had no such -support, and the English corporal of marines who sat by him, -though kind enough, had very little suggestion of Raymonde about -him. Yet the illusion had given the wounded man such extraordinary -pleasure, and so surprising a sense of rest and security, that he -used, in those barren days, to try to repeat it by a conscious act -of the imagination. She _had_ sat by his couch, once, through the -night . . . she had walked by his horse's stirrup on a spring evening -towards the sea . . . and among the nodding sea-holly she had kissed -his hand. It was his last memory of her, almost as startling as -his first. . . . - -And now in England he thought of her too--fitfully at first, then -incessantly. But this had served in no way to lighten his depression. -For he was not in love with her, he told himself--how could he be? -Was not all his heart seared over with a fatal memory? Those shackles -could not be loosed now--and even were they miraculously to be -smitten from him, what had he to offer another woman? A maimed body, -an empty purse, a ruined home. . . . - -And yet oddly, persistently, he would see himself standing with her -under the larches in front of a house like Kerdronan, that was -perished, and with them stood a little boy like Anne, who did not -need him and was gone from him. . . . He was suddenly possessed -now by that foolish and torturing vision, and lay there clenching -and unclenching his hand, as though in physical pain. No, he and -Kerdronan would go into the dust together, and it was no use -reflecting on what might have been. They were both broken and done -with, he and his home--and no great loss, doubtless, after all. - -"Good God!" he exclaimed at last, "what a cowardly fool I am, lying -here and moaning like a sick girl because I am short of an arm!" - -He shut his eyes on that self-condemnation (which had not helped -him), and did not trouble to open them when there came a knock at -the door. Nor, as he still kept them closed when he said "Come in!" -did he see who opened it, and Mr. Elphinstone's face in the doorway -looking at him with a smile that died away to concern. He only heard -the door shut again, and supposed that the visitor, his mother, or -Monseigneur, had decided after all not to disturb him. - - - (2) - -The treble voice, therefore, that said his name suddenly and softly -gave him a violent start. He opened his eyes to see Anne-Hilarion -standing by the closed door, carrying in both his hands a large glass -bowl wherein there swam an enormously magnified goldfish. - -"_Anne!_" he exclaimed, in a voice of utter incredulity. - -And then the sight of him, unchanged, solemn-eyed and engaging as -ever, the touching absurdity of his bringing a goldfish all the way -from London to cheer a sick Chouan, caused La Vireville to break -into a weak laugh that was half something else. - -"Oh, M. le Chevalier!" cried Anne, gazing at him. Then he deposited -his precious burden with haste on the floor, and, running to the bed, -flung himself into the welcome of La Vireville's arm. - -"My cabbage, my little comrade!" murmured the émigré, and he kissed -the cold, fresh cheek again and again. "You are not changed at -all--yes, I suppose you have grown. . . . Then you have not forgotten -me after all? Have you come all this way to see your poor bedridden -uncle--not by yourself, though, I trust?" - -"Oh no," replied Anne-Hilarion, his arms round Fortuné's neck. -"Grandpapa brought me. I wanted to see you so much!" He hugged him -hard, then, drawing back a little, eyed him with a sudden doubt. La -Vireville hastily withdrew his arm and pulled the bedclothes over -his left side. - -"Come and get up on the bed," he suggested, "and we can talk better." - -The Comte de Flavigny, needing no second invitation, incontinently -scrambled up--not without difficulty, for the bed was high. - -"I am not too heavy?" he inquired rather anxiously, as he took a seat -on La Vireville's legs. "Papa says I am getting too heavy for him." - -And, as a matter of fact, he had planted himself exactly on one of -the more painful souvenirs of the Ile de Houat; but La Vireville -would not for worlds have asked him to move. - -"You are a mere featherweight," he assured him. "And is your father -nearly well again, Anne? He has written to me, but he did not say -much about himself." - -"Papa looks much better than you do, M. le Chevalier," said the -little boy critically. "He can walk quite well now. He is coming -to see you when he is quite better. Grandpapa is downstairs, you -know; he will come up soon, I expect." - -La Vireville, in his turn, surveyed the visitor perched on his body. -Anne's legs, in their blue pantaloons, stuck out straight in front -of him on the bed; the shoes at the end of them looked ridiculously -small. His curls, falling on his deep ruffle, seemed heavier and a -little longer than of yore, and the sun was busily employed in -gilding them. For the first time, therefore, La Vireville was really -conscious of the presence of that luminary. - -Anne-Hilarion was the first to break the silence. "Did Papa tell -you in his letter," he inquired, "that a lady came into the garden -to ask for you, M. le Chevalier?" - -"A lady!" exclaimed Fortuné. "What garden, child--here?" - -"Oh no," replied Anne. "The garden in the Square at home. It is a -long time ago now. I was there, and John Simms, and I had leaves -in my cart--dead leaves--and she came in, all in black, and she -asked if you had come back from France, and I said no, and then I -cried, and I think she cried too, and she kissed me, and then -Grandpapa came, and----" - -"Stop a moment!" cried La Vireville, who was not without experience -of the volume of detail Anne could pour forth when once he was -embarked on the tide of narration. "What was the lady like? Was -she young?" - -"She was not so old as Elspeth," pronounced the Comte de Flavigny, -after due thought. - -La Vireville gave a rather shaken laugh. Had this impossible thing -really happened? Anne-Hilarion never lied. But--it must have been -someone else! - -"You did not learn her name, I suppose, child?" he asked, his heart -beginning to thud. - -"Yes," responded Anne. "I asked Grandpapa afterwards, because I -liked her. She was called the Comtesse de Préfontaine--or perhaps -it was Guéfontaine." - -La Vireville's heart missed a couple of beats, then pounded harder -than ever, seeming to shake his whole body--a humiliating experience. -But for his present physical condition, however, no doubt he would -not have gasped for breath as he did, nor would the colour have come -and gone like a woman's in his hollow cheeks. Nevertheless, as both -these things happened, Anne-Hilarion looked at him in a little dismay. - -"You are--do you feel ill, M. le Chevalier?" he asked solicitously. - -"No--yes," stammered Fortuné, lifting himself on his elbow. "No, -child, don't move! It is not that you are . . . too heavy." He drew -a long breath, closed his eyes, and dropped back on his pillows. -"What did you and Grandpapa tell Mme. de Guéfontaine?" he asked, -after a moment. - -"Grandpapa told her, I think, that the Republican soldiers had shot -you at that place--Quiberon. . . . M. le Chevalier," continued Anne, -leaning with very wide-open eyes towards him, and thus still further -contributing to the discomfort of the leg on which he was situated, -"did they really and truly shoot you?" - -"Well," said Fortuné, in a dreamy voice, "they did and they did not. -Anyhow, here I am, you see." He reopened his eyes. - -"Yes," said Anne, in a tone of great contentment, and bestowed on -his friend one of those infrequent smiles of his, sudden and shy, -at the same time sliding his hand into the strong, wasted one lying -idly near it on the coverlet. - -A thrill ran up Fortuné's arm. Ever since he had seen Anne standing -by the door he had been conscious of a strange sensation, as if, -with the advent of the child who had sailed the seas with him on -that wild adventure, there had begun to blow through his hot brain -the first whisper of a clean and joyous breath that came from the -waves themselves. A moment or two ago, those lips had made him an -annunciation the full meaning of which he could hardly grasp. Now, -at the little warm touch, his eyes were suddenly opened, and he saw -the tainted memory in his heart as only a handful of dead dust, not -worth the keeping, fit only to be scattered on that wind of morning. -It was the past, useless and done with, a thing long dead. . . . Here, -close to him, touching him, smiling at him, enshrined in this child -who had no past, shone the future, like something gallant and green -with the dew on it, and, blowing over it, that strong, fresh wind. -The worthless burden he had carried for years fell from him. He too -could have what René de Flavigny had, the air of morning at his -gates--nay, morning's self. . . . - -In the almost physical sense of deliverance he must have gripped -Anne-Hilarion's hand very hard, for the child gave a movement. - -"Little pigeon, have I hurt you?" cried La Vireville, instantly -penitent, releasing the imprisoned hand. "I am so sorry. . . . I -did not know that I was still so strong." At the moment, indeed, he -hardly knew anything--scarcely, even, what he was saying. - -Anne-Hilarion carried the injured member to his mouth for a second -or two, then he put it back in La Vireville's palm. "I am very -glad that you are so strong, M. le Chevalier," he said valiantly. -"Perhaps you will soon be quite well again. I hope so very much. And -then--what are you going to do?" - -"What am I going to do, Anne?" A little while ago, under that cloud -of lassitude and depression, the question would have seemed a -mockery. "Well, you know--or you will soon know--that they had to -cut off my other arm, but I can still hold a sword--and hurt a -small boy's hand, eh? When I get quite better I shall go back to -the heather, and the sea, and perhaps . . ." He broke off and fell -silent, staring at his visitor with an air compound of bewilderment -and meditation. "Meanwhile, am I not to see the new goldfish?" - -Anne-Hilarion slipped promptly from the bed and ran to the corner -by the door. Anon, raising himself from his stooping position, and -carrying it between his hands with even more than his accustomed care, -he came back with his trophy. His eyes were very bright. - -"It is my biggest one of all," he observed, as La Vireville propped -himself on his elbow to view the captive. "I called it after you, M. -le Chevalier . . . you do not mind? And I thought, as you were -ill . . . and I heard Papa and Grandpapa say you could never be -repaid for coming after me to France . . . you might . . . I mean -I brought it to give it to you, if you liked . . . for your own!" - -"Oh, my child," said La Vireville, rather breathlessly, "you have -given me much more than that!" - - - - - BOOK FOUR - - - THE OLDEST ROAD OF ALL - - "Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, - Our ship must sail the faem; - The king's daughter o' Noroway, - 'Tis we must fetch her hame." - - _SIR PATRICK SPENS._ - - - "All quests end here, all voyagings, all ventures: - Is not my white breast haven to your sail?" - - _THE WAVE'S SONG._ - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII - - FLOWER OF THE GORSE - - - (1) - -A brilliant May morning of sun and wind was exulting over the -beautiful harbour of St. Peter Port at Guernsey, and over the old -town rising steeply like an amphitheatre from its blue waters. -But the aged salt who was making his way up one of the narrow -streets with a basket of freshly caught lobsters on his arm was -not particularly responsive to the sunshine; indeed, the air with -which he paused and mopped his red face suggested that an injured -"Very hot for the time of year!" would issue from his bearded mouth -in response to any greeting. - -As he put away his bandana and prepared to resume his ascent of the -cobbles, he observed two persons coming down, one behind the other--a -young man in uniform, and, in front of him, a girl in the old -Guernsey costume of chintz-patterned, quilted gown, opening in -front over the black stuff petticoat into the pocket-holes of which, -after the island fashion, it was tucked. This damsel came tripping -down, despite the steepness of the street, happy no doubt in the -conviction that the officer behind her was admiring her trim feet -and ankles in their blue stockings and buckled black velvet shoes. -Unfortunately the officer could not see her pretty face, framed in -a close mob cap under an ugly bonnet with enormous bows. Only the -ascending fisherman, at the moment, had a sight of that, and yet -his gaze was fixed precisely on the soldier behind her, scenting a -possible purchaser in him rather than in the native maiden. And the -officer, too, seemed to have his eye on the fisherman, and slackened -his pace as he came nearer. So Beauty, casting half a glance on the -writhing lobsters, passed unheeded. - -"I suppose you can't tell me, mon vieux, the name of that vessel -just come into harbour?" asked the officer, stopping. - -The uniform was English, but the wearer did not look quite English, -and he spoke in French. As a native of the Channel Islands the -ancient mariner accosted should have understood that tongue, but -for purposes of his own he affected not to do so. - -"Very fine they are, indeed, sir!" he replied, peering into his -basket. "Comes from the rocks over by L'Etac, they do. You wants to -now the price? Well, this one----" and he held out a freckled ebony -form that slowly waved its spectral antennae at the young officer. - -The latter pushed it aside with an impatient cane. "No, no--I don't -want one of those things to-day. I wish to know what that vessel -down there is--and I am sure you understand me perfectly!" - -Having observed with one eye that the officer's other hand was moving -in the direction of his waistcoat pocket, the seafarer turned both -in the direction of the Frenchman's pointing cane. "Ah, yon, just -about to make fast," he said, pointing, too, with the rejected -lobster. "She'll likely be the Government sloop _Cormorant_, bound -for Jersey, come in here with despatches. Thank you, sir! And you -won't take this beauty home to your good lady?" - -But the young officer shook his head with a smile, and continued -his downward path to the harbour. - -Although to many dwellers in a port, especially in an island port, -the mere arrival and identification of a vessel is in itself a -matter of interest, this young Frenchman had a particular reason -for questioning the fisherman. The major of his regiment was ill; -medicaments had been ordered from England, and Lieutenant Henri du -Coudrais, finding himself unoccupied after an early parade, had -offered, on news of the arrival of a sail, to go down to the harbour, -instead of the major's servant, and ascertain if the drugs in -question had come. - -But the sloop, when he got down to the quayside, had only just -finished making fast. Evidently she had a passenger, for he observed -among the sailors on her deck a tall man in a grey redingote, whose -general appearance seemed, somehow, to be familiar. But he could not -see his face, and thought no more about him till in a few moments -he came over the gang-plank. - -And then, in one and the same instant, Henri du Coudrais saw that -the passenger's left sleeve was pinned to his breast, and recognised -him. A second later, and he had himself been recognised by those -keen eyes. - -"M. du Coudrais!" called out the newcomer. "What good fortune brings -you here? I was just about to ask my way to your lodging." - -The young officer had been stricken dumb for a moment. "M. de la -Vireville!" he exclaimed at last. "Is it possible?" - -"Why not?" asked La Vireville, holding out his hand. "But I suppose -you thought that I was dead?" - -"Indeed we did!" confessed his compatriot, grasping the proffered -hand warmly. "After many inquiries, we were convinced at last. Then -you escaped after all! But I am sorry to see . . ." - -"Oh, I left that at Houat," said Fortuné composedly. "An unnecessary -luxury, two arms, I assure you, mon ami. I cannot think how I ever -found work for both. You are surprised to see me? Well, I am on my -way to Jersey; the sloop sails again this afternoon. I came by her -because she was touching here, and I wished to wait upon you and -Mme. de Guéfontaine." - -"For my part, Chevalier, I am delighted to see you," said du Coudrais, -with much cordiality, "and I hope you will do me the honour of dining -with me; but my sister, I am sorry to say, is not with me for the -moment. She is over in Sark." - -"In Sark?" repeated Fortuné, surprised, looking instinctively over -the intense blue to where, six or seven miles away, the little island -floated like a rock-set jewel. "When will she return?" - -"Not until to-morrow or the day after, I am afraid," answered her -brother. "She has gone over to see a poor émigré family settled in -a farm there--that of an old nurse, in fact. She generally spends a -night or two with them. I need not tell you, Chevalier, how sorry -she will be to miss you. Could you not stay here till her return? -The hospitality that I can offer you is not very sumptuous, but I -should be deeply honoured by your acceptance of it." - -Fortuné bit his lip thoughtfully, still looking over the sea to Sark. -Then he shook his head. "I thank you a thousand times, but I cannot -stay. I am awaited at Jersey. . . . Will you give me a word in -private, M. du Coudrais?--over there, for instance, at the end of -the jetty, would serve." - -"Willingly," said Raymonde's brother, and followed him. - -"You may possibly guess, Monsieur," began La Vireville, still -preoccupied with the sight of Sark, "why I wish to wait upon Mme. -de Guéfontaine?" - -The young officer took on a very discreet air. "You are, perhaps, -in need of an agent de la correspondance over there again?" - -La Vireville smiled. "Of that--and more," he said. "God knows I -have little enough to offer her--probably she won't even look at -me--but I should be glad to know that I had your consent to address -your sister." - -"M. le Chevalier," retorted Henri du Coudrais, "do you suppose -that I have forgotten last April? I have not met any man to whom -I would sooner commit my sister. As for Raymonde--but she must -speak for herself." - -"You are very kind, du Coudrais," said La Vireville, but he sighed. -"I wish I could think your sister would be as easily pleased. . . . It -is only right to point out to you that I have neither money, nor -prospects, nor a home, nor even two arms, to offer her----" - -"But you asserted just now that one was sufficient," observed Henri -du Coudrais, leaning back with a smile against the rail that ran -out to the beacon light. "As for fortune or prospects, which of us -émigrés has those nowadays? And upon my soul, I don't know a woman -on earth who is less set on either than Raymonde." - -"I suppose that I ought not to ask if there is any other man?" - -"There was the Duc de Pontferrand; she refused him last October--just -at the time, Monsieur Augustin, when she was making inquiries about -you in London from the old gentleman whose name I cannot remember, -who lives with a little boy in Cavendish Square." - -"I know she did that, God bless her!" said La Vireville. "I did not, -of course, know about the Duc." He fell silent, fingering the rail -and still gazing out to sea. It occurred to du Coudrais that though -he had the look of one who has weathered a long and trying illness, -he yet seemed in some indefinable way a younger man. - -"Why should I not hire a boat and sail over to Sark?" asked La -Vireville suddenly. "My wooing must in any case be rough and ready. -I could be back before the _Cormorant_ sails, if I went at once." - -"Ma foi, an excellent idea!" said Raymonde's brother heartily. "That -is, of course, the solution. I will procure you a boat, if you wish. -You must be sure to take a native with you, even though the distance -be not great, for sailing hereabouts is dangerous, if only on account -of the hidden rocks--'stones,' as they call them." He looked about -him. "There is Tom Le Pelley; he would serve your purpose." - - - (2) - -A quarter of an hour later La Vireville was sailing over that -laughing expanse towards the gem of rose and emerald and flame, -whose beauty, though his eyes were set upon it all the while, he -hardly marked. The boatman spoke of channels and swift tides, of -the Anfroques, the Longue Pierre, the Goubinière, but names of -reefs and rocks went by La Vireville unheeded. He was going to put -to the test what Anne-Hilarion had shown him. He was liberated at -last from his servitude of mind, and he wanted Raymonde--wanted her -with all his heart. It was very strange to him now that he had not -known this when he was with her more than a year ago. - -Du Coudrais had given him the name of the farm which Mme. de -Guéfontaine had gone to visit, and once landed he found it easily -enough, for there were not many of them on that slender strip of an -isle, pillared on its rocks and magic caves. But Raymonde was not -there, and they told him that she was out on one of the headlands. - -And there, after a space, he found her, among the golden brands of -the gorse, looking out to sea in the direction of the coast of -France. The wind blew against her; she shaded her eyes with her hand -under her little three-cornered hat, as from the lovely land of exile -she gazed intently at a dearer shore. She did not see him, nor, from -the talk of the wind in her ears, hear his footsteps brushing through -the gorse--and Fortuné stopped short, for now that he beheld her -again with his bodily eyes he knew that his desire for her was even -greater than he had thought, and in proportion the fear swelled in -him to conviction that so great a gift could never be meant for him. -So he stood there bareheaded in the sunshine, his heart mingled -flame and water, aching to see her hidden face, and yet afraid to -put his destiny to the touch. But at last, since she was still -unconscious of his presence, he was forced to make it known. - -"Madame!" - -And at that she turned round with a start. Colour swept over her -face and was gone again, and in her eyes there was something that -was almost fear. - -"Monsieur . . . de la Vireville!" she exclaimed, on a sharp catch -of the breath. - -It was the first time, as he instantly realised, that she had ever -called him by his name, that name which was dipped for her in such -painful memories. - -"Me voici!" said he, and casting his hat on to a gorse bush advanced -to kiss her hand. - -"I . . . I am not sure . . . that you are not a ghost!" she said, -not very steadily, as she surrendered it. - -"Indeed I am not!" he unnecessarily assured her, for the kiss he -put on it must have convinced her that he was flesh and blood, -and perhaps the wave of colour which once more dyed her face derived -its temperature from the warmth of that salutation. - -"But you . . . M. le Chevalier, but you _have_ returned from the -dead! They told me you had been shot!" - -"Yes, I _have_ returned from the dead," agreed Fortuné--"for a -purpose." - -She did not ask what the purpose was; she still seemed shaken, -uncertain of herself and of him. But her gaze, swift and compassionate, -swept over everything that the sunlight showed so relentlessly--the -traces of past suffering on his face, the added grey at his temples, -and the pinned-up sleeve. - -"Ah, que vous avez dû souffrir!" she said to herself. Then she put -her hand to her head, as if she still felt herself in a dream. - -"But where have you come from, M. le Chevalier?" she asked. "And -why are you here, in Sark?" - -He looked at her full, and answered bluntly, "To ask you to marry me!" - -But as, giving an exclamation, she turned away, he hastily abandoned -this ground. - -"I have nothing to offer you, Madame," he went on quickly. "Neither -money nor position nor a home, nor even two arms to defend you. The -Republic has taken all those. And--for I am determined to be very -frank with you--I must tell you that for ten years my heart has not -been my own to offer. It was pledged to a memory. It has come back -to me now, thank God, but I fear it has the dust of those years on -it, and I am no longer very young." He paused a moment, and the -sea of Sark, that is for ever booming in its enchanted caverns, -gave a dull echo to his words. "It is because you too, Raymonde, -have greatly loved and hated--I happen, do I not, to know how much?" -he added, with the shadow of a smile--"that I am thus open with you. -But my old love and hate are both over and done with now. I have a -new, a better love--and it is all yours, as long as I shall live." - -Mme. de Guéfontaine was examining a single childish bloom of gorse, -just outgrowing its rough yellow-brown pinafore. And she said nothing. - -"I have no time to wrap this meagre offer in fair phrases," went -on Fortuné. "I doubt if they would improve it, and you are not, I -think, the woman to care for them. I can only say this over and over -again, that I love you and that I want you. It was you--the thought -of you--that saved me at Quiberon; I used to dream of you at Houat. -_Raymonde!_" - -Still she did not answer, and stood with her head averted. - -"Raymonde," said he, coming a little nearer, mingled command and -entreaty in his tone, "for God's sake put down that flower and -answer me!--only do not send me back to France with a refusal! If -you cannot make up your mind to-day--and I must crave your forgiveness -indeed for so blunt and hasty a wooing--at least let me take back -with me a glimmer of hope!" - -At that she looked up. Her face was transfigured, but he dared not -try to interpret its new meaning. - -"You are going back to France, in spite of everything, to that old -life of peril and hardships?" - -"Of course," said he. "But if you would accept it, I should have a -home to offer you in Jersey. And when better days come----" - -She interrupted him. "You misunderstand me, M. le Chevalier. I should -not marry any man who was risking his life over there, to stay behind -myself in safety. A wife's place, if she can help him, is with her -husband." A smile wove itself into the beautiful radiance. "Shall you -not need an agent at Kerdronan?" - -For a second the gorse heaved beneath him. "Do you mean what you are -saying?" cried La Vireville, seizing her wrist. "Will you really -marry a penniless cripple who has nothing but his sword?" - -Her smile was brilliant now, and dazzled Fortuné while she faced him, -captive, as on a certain morning a year ago. "No, M. de la Vireville, -I shall marry a man! As you know, for three years I had hated your -name. But, as you wear it, I have long seen that I could not take -a nobler." - - * * * * * - -So the woman he desired lay at last against Fortuné de la Vireville's -breast, and up from the sea of gorse in which they stood welled the -warm honey-sweet scent that is like no other in the world to steal -away the heart. The wind had dropped to a caress; it caught at -Raymonde's gown no longer, and out over the illimitable wrinkled -blue, from the height on which they stood, the poised gulls looked -like slowly drifting flecks of snow. - -But out over there was also the long purple line of Jersey, and -his pledged word. Time was all too short. As long as he lived the -scent of gorse would always bring this hour to him, but the actual -hour itself was measured with very few sands. - -"Will you come back with me now to Guernsey, to your brother, -Raymonde?" he asked softly, stooping his head. - -"Yes," she answered, without moving. Her voice sounded like a -voice in a dream. - -"And I will return from Jersey, and we will be married at once?" - -"Yes," she said again. - -"My God, I can't believe it!" said Fortuné to himself, and kissed -her once more. - -So they went together to the little farm, itself named from the -gorse, the Clos-ajonc, to tell her pensioners that she was leaving -them immediately. And, no doubt to show that she did not consider -him so maimed as to be incapable of affording her support, Raymonde -leant all the way upon his arm. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX - - FLOWER OF THE FOAM - - -La Vireville did not go into the little Clos-ajonc with his lady. -He waited for her outside, leaning upon its low, whitewashed wall, -over which the tamarisk whispered with its feathery foliage. Breaths -of the gorse came to him even here, and the whole warm air was -vibrating with the lark's ecstasy. And Fortuné could hardly believe -his happiness, so strange a thing to him. Old dreams, long put away, -came back to him, merged in the new. Had he not yearned sometimes, -despite himself, to have, in what remained of this hard and shifting -existence of his, brief enough in its pleasures but endless in its -unceasing fatigue and peril and anxiety--the life that was often no -better than a hunted animal's--to have one place that was home, and -shrine, and star? Well, he had his desire now; he had won that place, -that heart, at last. - -Yet even as he leant there, absorbed in contemplation, his mind was -suddenly pierced with a most evil arrow of a thought. What if Raymonde -had taken him out of pity, as a woman sometimes will . . . or worse, -out of a sense of gratitude? - -The idea assailed him so unexpectedly, and so much from without his -own consciousness, that La Vireville dropped the strand of tamarisk -which he was idly fingering, and started up, straightening himself -as under an actual physical blow. Good God, it was impossible! -"_No,_" said a tiny derisive voice in his heart, "_far from it! It -is very possible. Even as to you yourself she is but a makeshift--you -told her so with your own lips--so to her you are only a man for whom -she is sorry, and to whom she is under an obligation. So much the -better for you! And what else did you expect?_" - -And part of this two-sided onslaught La Vireville instantly and -furiously repelled. No, no, it was a lie--she was not a makeshift! -If he had spilt the best years of his life before another, a barren -altar, he knew better now. He loved Raymonde deeply and sincerely, -with a better love than he had given to that other. But Raymonde's -own motive in accepting him--how should he answer for that? Now that -it had once occurred to him, he saw that it was only too likely--she -had taken him out of pity. - -He leant upon the wall again and covered his eyes with his hand. The -scene of his brief wooing, scarce concluded, passed once more before -him. Again he saw her studying the gorse blossom, weighing what -she should do. Yes, she had taken and returned his kisses--but had -he not read compassion in her very eyes at her first sight of him, -with that hateful empty sleeve? Yes, she had said that she was proud -to bear his name--but that might well be an act of atonement for the -past. She had spoken of helping him, of being by his side. Well, -there was such a thing--curse it!--as gratitude; and she owed him -her freedom, if not her life. But for him she had not stood on Sark -to-day. That he had a claim on her had never, till this moment, come -into his thoughts. Now his past knight-errantry stared at him like -a crime. Her accepted lover . . . from pity and a sense of obligation! -Could it really be so? Alas! who was to answer that it was not? - -Fortuné uncovered his eyes, and, catching at a sprig of tamarisk, -tore at it moodily with his teeth. The lark's song had ceased; even -the sunlight seemed dimmed and unreal, as in time of eclipse. Yes, -now that the exhilaration was over, he saw that he had been a fool. -He glanced at his sleeve, thought of his lean purse, his blackened -home. Of course she had accepted him because she was sorry for him, -and because she thought that she owed him a debt and must pay it -somehow! How could he have come to her expecting anything else, for -what had he in the world--except his love--to lay at her feet? - -And perhaps, after all, that love was not so strong nor so worthy -as he had thought. Fortuné was very little used to introspection, -and the thought shook him how easy it was, evidently, to delude -oneself. Ought he not, at any rate, to put an end to the situation -before it went farther, and, as a man of honour, offer to release -Raymonde from the promise which a moment of compassion had wrung -from her? . . . The idea was agony, but the wound to his pride was -agony too. . . . - -And at that very moment Raymonde came along the pebbled path that -led from the door of the farmhouse. Her cloak was over her arm, a -little basket in her hand; she turned her head and smiled at the -old woman and the two children who watched her from the low doorway. -And at the sight of her, at the movement of her head, her smile, the -thought of releasing her left him as swiftly as it had come to -him. He could not do it; he wanted her too much. If she had taken -him out of pity or gratitude, so be it!--on whatever terms, so only -she were his! - -Something of the sudden conflict that had rent him must have been -visible in his air, for as he held the gate open for her, and she -had thanked him by a smile, she said quickly: - -"Qu'avez-vous, mon ami? Was the sun too hot here?" - -"I have been thinking over my good fortune," said her lover gravely. -"Give me your cloak." - -"I am glad that I have it with me," she remarked, as she complied. -"I think there is a storm coming up." - -La Vireville looked round. She was right; and he, used as he was to -scanning the horizon in sailor fashion, had been too much absorbed -to notice it. A continent of cloud was rising out of the sea to the -north-east. - -"I think it will pass over," pronounced the Chouan, looking at it. -"But in any case we ought to hasten." - -And soon they were making their way over the short turf of the down -that runs to the head of the tiny Baie des Eperqueries, where Fortuné -had left his boat, the only one riding in that small and solitary -harbourage. A rusty culverin of Elizabethan days lay embedded in the -short grass at the top. It was nearly low tide; down beneath the -cove was tapestried with seaweed, green and purple and spotted, -fan-shaped or ribbon-fashioned, and a pair of puffins, from their -breeding-place at the other side of the island, sat solemnly side -by side, like parrots, on a crag. - -"I told the boatman to wait for me here," remarked La Vireville, -as they made their way down the zigzag path. "I do not see him -anywhere; ah, there he is!" - -A jerseyed figure was, in fact, lying on its face about half-way -down the slope. - -"Come, wake up!" said the émigré, bending over him when they reached -him. There being no response to this invitation, he shook the sleeper -vigorously. - -"Ma foi, this is a very sound sleep!" He stooped and picked up -something. "And this is its cause!" He held out to Raymonde an empty -brandy flask. "Cognac from our native land! He is dead drunk. What -are we to do? Sail without him?" - -"Yes," said she, without hesitation. - -La Vireville weighed the thought. It was what he wished. Their time -together was already so brief, that to put to sea together without -a third, even for that short voyage, was a great temptation. "I do -not know the channel," he said reflectively, "but the wind will not -serve us ill for Guernsey." - -"But I have sailed the channel, the Great Russel, several times," -said Raymonde quickly. "The mark for the mid-channel, till you get -within a mile from the islet of Jethou, is St. Martin's Tower in -Guernsey. I can point it out to you. If we put out at once we can -get back before the storm comes up--if it is coming up at all--whereas -if we go round to the other side of the island, to Creux Harbour, to -find a pilot, we shall be indefinitely delayed." - -"You are quite right," said her lover, gazing at her where she stood -a little below him on the sunlit slope. "But I do not like the look -of the weather. Yet I must get back to St. Peter Port and catch the -sloop before she sails--I have given my word. The best is for you -to stay here, and I will go alone." - -"No, no!" she cried vehemently. "That is not safe! You are not -familiar with the sunken rocks. I am, and I know something of -handling a boat. You will have more than you can do alone." - -Yes, he was a one-armed man now! Through his gladness at her decision -to accompany him pierced for a second the point of that assailing -thought of compassion. But it did not stay with him; he beat it -off as one would a vampire, and followed her down the path. - -The gulls were screaming overhead, and the waves lopped half-playfully, -half-menacingly against the sides of the sailing-boat as he pulled -her in from her moorings. As if the two puffins had only waited to -know his decision, they now left their perch, and fluttered off with -their absurd, ineffectual, mothlike flight. - -"I wish you would not come, Raymonde," he said half-heartedly, as -he helped her aboard. - -"Since when have you become a fairweather sailor, Monsieur Augustin?" -she retorted. - -"At any rate we will take a reef in the mainsail before we start," -said Monsieur Augustin, and together they did it. The small mizen -over the stern was still standing, and he left it so. Forward he -set the jib only. And as they moved out of the little spellbound -harbourage, so painted with the hues of the seaweed, they did not, -despite the ruffled, slaty-blue water, appear to be doing anything -very foolhardy. - -Raymonde steered, because she knew the whereabouts of the 'stones,' -and he sat facing her on the thwart, the end of the mainsheet in his -hand. Neither spoke much at first; to him, at least, as he gazed at -her the hour was sacred. Yes, on whatever terms, so only she were his! - -So, almost in silence, they rounded the Pointe de Nez, the extreme -northern corner of Sark, and set the course for Guernsey. - -"And now," said Raymonde de Guéfontaine, "it is time to tell me how -you escaped at Quiberon." - -So, as the little boat held on, with a freshening wind, under a -sky growing overcast, Fortuné told her. He had not foreseen the -exquisite pleasure that it would be to him to make that recital to -this, of all listeners. - -"It is incredible--miraculous!" she exclaimed at the end, drawing -a long breath. "You must have had some talisman, some charm!" - -"On the contrary, I refused one," said her lover, laughing, and he -told her of Grain d'Orge's consecrated cow's tail. The episode led -her to ask news of that unwilling squire of hers, and Fortuné told -her that a few weeks ago he had had the satisfaction of receiving, -by way of Jersey, a grimy and ill-spelt letter from Kerdronan, in -which the veteran campaigner, availing himself of the services of -the most cultivated of the band (for he could not even sign his name -himself) informed his leader, on the chance of the latter's being -alive, that he and various others had escaped to the mainland as -indicated, and had made their way up to the Côtes-du-Nord, and that -he was reorganising the parishes round Kerdronan against such time -as M. Augustin should come back to them. Le Goffic, he added, had -been hidden by some peasants at Quiberon till he was sufficiently -recovered to sail across to Sarzeau, in the peninsula of Rhuis, and -thence he had joined the forces of Charette in Vendée. But since -Charette's capture and execution last March he also, thought Grain -d'Orge, was probably on his way to Kerdronan. - -"But I _had_ a talisman, Raymonde," said the narrator, breaking off. -"I had the thought of you, as I have told you. That very unpleasant -night at Quiberon, had you not been with me, I should certainly have -lain there on the shore till I was found." - -"And you had another also," replied Raymonde, glancing aloft at the -foreleach of the sail. "What of the little boy--the little boy who -cried so for you?" - -"Eh bien, cela n'empêchait pas," asseverated La Vireville.--"Yes, it -would be better to luff a little; the wind is undoubtedly getting up, -and I shall be glad when we make the harbour.--You are right, I had -the thought of Anne too, for I had promised his father to look after -him if necessary--I forget if I told you that--but as, mercifully, M. -de Flavigny was saved, you cannot be _Anne's_ mother, Raymonde." - -"He is a darling child," said Mme. de Guéfontaine softly, putting -the tiller farther over as she was recommended. Her eyes sparkled, -then fell. Perhaps that same thought at which Fortuné had hinted -was in her mind too at that moment. In Fortuné's at any rate shone -that old dream of his of standing under the larches at Kerdronan -with her--and another. Yet now as he gazed at her, sitting, so -unbelievably, at the helm of his boat, he suddenly saw, behind her, -something else. . . . He gave an exclamation and let go the mainsheet. - -"Keep the helm over--hard!" he said. "There is a squall coming; it -will be on us in a moment. We must have this sail down. Don't leave -the tiller!" And without losing a second he began to tug at the -mainsail halyards. - -But, the blocks running stiffly, or the ropes being swollen, before -the sail was more than half-way down the squall struck them, with a -howling blast that seemed to issue from some stupendous bellows, -and rain that fell like steel rods. Over, over went the little boat, -staggering under the onset, while Fortuné fought desperately both -to get the sail completely down and to prevent it, as it came, from -flapping into the angry water and pulling them under. It came back -to him, like a demon's laughter, as he wrestled with it one-handed, -how a few short hours ago he had said that two arms were unnecessary. -What a lie! - -Yet one terrible question only occupied his mind as he got the -sail under control, and as the struggling boat, preserved from -overturning only by the way which she had on her, began to right -herself--Raymonde! Had she been swept out--for they had been at a -fearful angle? No, she was still at her post, clinging to the tiller, -gasping, and white as death. But she had not lost her head, and that -had saved them. She knew as well as her lover that to keep the helm -down was their one chance of avoiding being swamped by the great -green seas that were all setting in fury towards the island, and -bearing them, half full of water as they were, at each plunge a -little nearer to the rocks. Without a word, except her name, uttered -in something between a sob and a curse, La Vireville threw himself -too on the groaning tiller, and for a few minutes they stood there -side by side, staggering with the oscillations of the maddened craft, -with the strength of both their bodies bent to one end--to keep -that bar of wood, and with it the rudder, as it should be, against -the malignant will of the storm. This was their true betrothal, -handfasted by the tempest, and, as they would never have known it -on the golden and enchanted island, among the gorse, they knew without -the interchange of a word, in the howling wind, the pelting, stinging -rain, with the water they had shipped swirling about their feet, that -they were one indeed. - - * * * * * - -And presently the boat began to drive forward more violently. They -were abreast of Les Autelets by this time, those fantastic pinnacles -that on a sunset evening were things of wonder, now black and sullen -amid the flying spray. Above them, too near for safety, frowned the -rocky walls of the island, magical no longer (save with an evil -magic), but sinister beyond belief. And soon they would come to -Brechou, the satellite islet, between which and Sark runs a race so -strong that no boat can live in it. And there were the sunken rocks, -impossible to avoid now. At any moment they might be dashed on to one -of them. Moreover, the boat was so full of water that there seemed -almost as much danger of her sinking under them as of her being -swamped or overturned. - -"One of us must bale!" shouted Fortune in Raymonde's ear. "You, -I think." - -She obeyed him instantly, and abandoning the tiller and his side, -crawled forward through the water, found a baling tin and set to -work. And the man who saw that fine and unquestioning obedience knew -for a moment the most bitter regret that the human heart can hold. -Why had he been so mad as to come, as to bring her? He had risked -his treasure, so newly found, so inexpressibly dear--risked it (and -that was the worst) without need, and was now to lose it. For all -this effort seemed but postponing the inevitable end. . . . But at -least the salt water and the rain had washed him clean of the traces -of that long infatuation--yes, and of the light loves of his youth. -Now he was hers only, and he and no other man would go down with her -under the greedy, hissing waves and share her sleep. . . . - -Meanwhile she toiled there, crouched in the bottom of the boat, her -wet hair blown in streaks across her face, while he kept the boat's -head as much to the seas as he dared, only easing the helm on the -approach of a wave that seemed heavy enough to drive her bows under. -But immediately afterwards he would luff right into the crest of the -wave, and then as their labouring progress was thereby checked, must -put the helm up again for a second, to get the sails full once more, -lest the boat should roll over into the trough. It was a task calling -for a stout heart and the nicest judgment, and never by a word, nor -even by a look, did Raymonde de Guéfontaine, unceasingly working -also, distract him or show a sign of fear. - -In such tension time scarcely exists, and it would have been hard -for Fortuné to say how long he had battled with the immense hostility -so suddenly arrayed against them, nor how much water Raymonde's -aching arms had, with almost mechanical action, thrown overboard, -before it began to seem to him that the smoother sea which followed -every three vehement waves or so was of longer duration. Was it -possible that the wind was abating? Only then, with the dawn of the -first real ray of hope in his heart, did Fortuné become conscious -too that with the lessening of the squall the island on their lee -had disappeared, blotted out by the pall of mingled mist and rain -which enshrouded them also. Perhaps they were still near it for all -that? But since the roar of the breaking surf was no longer audible, -it struck him that they must be drifting away from Sark, borne by -one of those currents, perhaps, of which the boatman had spoken. - -"The worst is over, I think," he shouted to Raymonde. She nodded, -stopping her baling for a moment to put back her dripping hair, and -smiled--it was like a star coming out in a wet sky. - -And even as Fortuné shouted he realised that an ordinary tone would -have carried to her ear. The uproar had ceased--nay, the wind had -dropped almost dead; he could hardly get the jib to draw. They seemed -to be motionless in a white silence, though doubtless they were -moving faster than they knew. For an instant he thought of hoisting -the mainsail again, then decided against it. Of what use advancing -when they could see nothing and had no idea of direction? The sea -was still agitated, lifting up countless plucking hands in uneasy -bravado, but there was no danger in that. So he left the tiller -and stooped over Raymonde. - -"That is enough. You have the better of it now, brave heart! My -darling, my darling, how wet you are, and how cold!" He pulled her -to him, and opening the breast of his soaked redingote made her -pillow her head there. She shivered a little and clung to him, and -a strange, cold, remote happiness descended upon them both as they -drifted on, physically and mentally spent, in a sort of limbo between -death and life--neither ghosts nor yet fully sentient, floating in a -dream that was not a dream, and a reality that counterfeited illusion. - -All at once the pall of mist was rent in front of them with dramatic -suddenness, and Fortuné had a momentary glimpse of something that -looked like a great white wing. - -"Was that a sail?" asked Raymonde quietly, who had seen it too. - -"The sloop, as I live!" cried her lover, starting up. "Pray God she -does not run us down!" He shouted lustily, then threw himself again -on the tiller. - -But the damp white veil enclosed them once more. His shouts seemed -to return upon themselves. Raymonde sat, her chin on her hand, on -a thwart. He had never seen anyone so calm. - -And then, gradually, the curtain of mist began to part a little on -their left, and to draw upwards like the curtain of a theatre. And -slowly, as on a stage, there came into sight the rock front of -Guernsey, with its fall to sea-level, the sun catching the windows -of St. Peter Port, and the white sails of the _Cormorant_, close -reefed, about half a mile away. - -Steadying the tiller against his body, Fortuné pulled out a sodden -handkerchief and waved vigorously. Raymonde watched, not the plunging -progress of the sloop, but her lover. And, as the mist melted in all -directions from about them, the lovely, treacherous, baffled sea -of the Channel Islands began to be blue again with the beguiling -laughter that hides a hundred graves. - -"She is putting about--she has seen us!" said La Vireville, lowering -his arm. - -Then, and then only, did Raymonde de Guéfontaine show the whole of -her heart. For she cast herself sobbing on her lover's breast, -clinging to him as she had not clung during all the stress of their -hour of anguish. - -"Fortuné, Fortuné, God is good! I could not have borne to die -to-day--to lose you so soon! I love you better than my soul. . . . I -have always loved you--always, always. . . ." - -He strained her closer to him, seeing nothing but her wet eyes that -looked into his at last. - -"You are the woman I have waited for all my life! I knew it before, -but now . . . a thousand times more clearly!" - -And as the sloop, shaking out her canvas, bore gallantly towards -them, his lips, salt with the brine of the just-weathered death, -sealed on hers the knowledge of a happiness whose full security -those very waves had taught them, never to be in question again. - - - THE END - - - - - PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBS LTD., EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND - - - - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES - - -Printing errors have been corrected as follows: "rythmical" changed -to "rhythmical" on p. 69; "everyone brought conviction" changed to -"every one brought conviction" on p. 164; inverted commas added -after "fivepence" on p. 279 and after "to sleep a little" on p. 289. -Otherwise, inconsistencies and possible errors have been preserved. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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K. Broster—A Project Gutenberg eBook</title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg"/> - <meta name="cover" content="images/cover.jpg" /> - <meta name="DC.Title" content="Sir Isumbras at the Ford"/> - <meta name="DC.Creator" content="Dorothy Kathleen Broster"/> - <meta name="DC.Language" content="en"/> - <meta name="DC.Created" content="1918"/> - <meta name="DC.Subject" content="Fiction"/> - <meta name="Pubdate" content="1918"/> - <meta name="Tags" content="Fiction"/> - <style type="text/css"> - body - { - margin-left:9%; - margin-right:9% - } - - .smcap - { - font-variant:small-caps; - } - - p - { - margin-top:0.75em; - text-align:justify; - text-indent:1.5em; - } - .noindent - { - text-indent:0; - } - - h1 - { - text-align:center; - font-weight:normal; - font-size:2em; - margin:2em auto 1em auto; - } - h2 - { - text-align:center; - font-weight:normal; - font-size:1.5em; - margin:1em auto 0.5em auto; - margin-top:2em; - page-break-before:always; - } - h3 - { - text-align:center; - font-weight:normal; - font-size:1.2em; - margin:1em auto 0.5em auto; - margin-top:1.5em; - page-break-before:always; - } - h4 - { - text-align:center; - font-weight:normal; - font-size:1.0em; - margin:1em auto 0.5em auto; - margin-top:1.5em; - } - em - { - font-style:italic; - font-weight:normal; - } - i.name - { - font-style:italic; - } - - .poetry-container - { - text-align:center; - } - - .poetry - { - display:inline-block; - text-align:left; - } - - .x-ebookmaker .poetry - { - display:block; - margin-left: 1.5em; - } - - .poetry .stanza - { - margin-top:0.75em; - } - - .poetry .verse - { - text-indent:-3em; - padding-left:3em; - } - - .poetry .indent2 - { - text-indent:-2em; - } - - .letter - { - margin-left:1.5em; - margin-right:1.5em; - } - .rightalign - { - text-align:right; - margin-right:1.5em; - } - .centre - { - text-align:center; - } - .spaceabove - { - margin-top:3em; - } - .halftitle - { - text-align:center; - margin-top:3em; - font-size:large; - } - - hr.tbk - { - border:none; - border-bottom:1px solid black; - width:30%; - margin-left:35%; - margin-right:35%; - } - hr.pbk - { - border:none; - border-bottom:1px solid silver; - width:100%; - margin-top:2em; - margin-bottom:2em; - page-break-after:always; - } - - .toc - { - margin:auto; - } - - .toc th - { - text-align:right; - font-weight:normal; - font-size:small; - } - - .toc td - { - padding-top:0.75em; - vertical-align:top; - } - .toc td.chapnum - { - text-align:right; - padding-right:0.5em; - } - .toc td.right - { - text-align:right; - padding-left:3em; - vertical-align:bottom; - } - - #advert - { - border:1px solid black; - max-width:24em; - margin:2em auto; - } - - .image-centre - { - text-align:center; - margin:2em auto; - } - - #coverpage - { - border:1px solid silver; - } - </style> - </head> - <body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sir Isumbras at the Ford, by D. K. Broster</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Sir Isumbras at the Ford</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: D. K. Broster</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 10, 2021 [eBook #65039]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD ***</div> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<div class="image-centre"> - <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover" /> -</div> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<p class="halftitle">SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD</p> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<div id="advert"> -<p class="centre"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i><br /> -<small>IN COLLABORATION WITH</small><br /> -G. W. TAYLOR</p> - -<p>CHANTEMERLE</p> - -<p>THE VISION SPLENDID</p> -</div> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<h1>SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD</h1> - -<p class="centre spaceabove smcap">By D. K. BROSTER</p> - -<p class="centre spaceabove">LONDON:<br /> -JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.<br /> -1918</p> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<p class="centre spaceabove"><small>TO</small><br /> -BARBARA AND HER SON PHILIP</p> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<div class="poetry-container spaceabove" lang="enm" xml:lang="enm"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"And als he wente by a woodë schawe,</div> -<div class="verse">Thare mette he with a lytille knave</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Came rynnande him agayne—</div> -<div class="verse">'Gramercy, faire Syr Isumbras,</div> -<div class="verse">Have pitie on us in this case,</div> -<div class="verse">And lifte us uppe for Marie's grace!'</div> -<div class="verse indent2">N'as never childe so fayne.</div> -<div class="verse">Theretoe of a mayden he was ware,</div> -<div class="verse">That over floude ne mighte not fare,</div> -<div class="verse">Sir Ysumbras stoopède him thare</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And uppe ahent hem twayne."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap"><cite>Metrical Romance of Sir Ysumbras.</cite></p> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<p class="centre spaceabove"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<p class="centre">BOOK ONE</p> - -<p class="centre">THE ROAD TO FRANCE</p> - -<table class="toc"> - <tr> - <th>CHAP.</th> - <th> </th> - <th><small>PAGE</small></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">I.</td> - <td class="smcap">Anne-Hilarion gets out of Bed</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c1">3</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">II.</td> - <td class="smcap">And is put back again</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c2">10</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">III.</td> - <td class="smcap">Purchase of a Goldfish, and other Important Matters</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c3">19</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">IV.</td> - <td class="smcap">Visit to Two Fairy Godmothers</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c4">26</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">V.</td> - <td class="smcap">Thomas the Rhymer</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c5">37</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">VI.</td> - <td class="smcap">"A Little Boy Lost"</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c6">45</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">VII.</td> - <td class="smcap">The Chevalier de la Vireville meets "Monsieur Augustin"</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c7">54</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="centre">BOOK TWO</p> - -<p class="centre">THE ROAD TO ENGLAND</p> - -<table class="toc"> - <tr> - <th>CHAP.</th> - <th> </th> - <th><small>PAGE</small></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">VIII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Some Results of Listening to Poetry</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c8">69</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">IX.</td> - <td class="smcap">The <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> of Caen</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c9">82</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">X.</td> - <td class="smcap">Happenings in a Postchaise</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c10">90</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XI.</td> - <td class="smcap">"Fifty Fathoms deep"</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c11">103</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Introducing Grain d'Orge</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c12">115</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XIII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Far in the Forest</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c13">124</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XIV.</td> - <td class="smcap">Cæsarea the Green</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c14">134</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XV.</td> - <td class="smcap">Cavendish Square once more</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c15">145</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XVI.</td> - <td class="smcap">The <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Agent de la Correspondance</span></td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c16">151</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XVII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Strange Conduct of the Agent</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c17">160</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XVIII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Equally surprising Conduct of "Monsieur Augustin"</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c18">168</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XIX.</td> - <td class="smcap" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La Porte du Manoir</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c19">179</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XX.</td> - <td class="smcap">Sea-Holly</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c20">188</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXI.</td> - <td class="smcap">How Anne-Hilarion fed the Ducks</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c21">203</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="centre">BOOK THREE</p> - -<p class="centre">THE ROAD THAT FEW RETURNED ON</p> - -<table class="toc"> - <tr> - <th>CHAP.</th> - <th> </th> - <th><small>PAGE</small></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXII.</td> - <td class="smcap">"To Noroway, to Noroway"</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c22">217</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXIII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Displeasure of "Monsieur Augustin"</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c23">226</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXIV.</td> - <td class="smcap">Creeping Fate</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c24">231</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXV.</td> - <td class="smcap">History of a Scar</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c25">242</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXVI.</td> - <td class="smcap">Ste. Barbe—and Afterwards</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c26">250</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXVII.</td> - <td class="smcap">La Vireville breaks his Sword</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c27">261</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXVIII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Mr. Tollemache as an Archangel</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c28">272</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXIX.</td> - <td class="smcap" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Væ Victis!</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c29">286</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXX.</td> - <td class="smcap">Atropos</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c30">294</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXI.</td> - <td class="smcap">The Paying of the Score</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c31">302</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Dead Leaves</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c32">309</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXIII.</td> - <td class="smcap">The Man she would have Married</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c33">318</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXIV.</td> - <td class="smcap">Monseigneur's Guest</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c34">324</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXV.</td> - <td class="smcap">Mr. Tollemache as a Linguist</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c35">335</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXVI.</td> - <td class="smcap">Anne-Hilarion makes a Plan, and the Bishop a Revelation</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c36">345</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXVII.</td> - <td class="smcap">The Child unlocks the Door</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c37">354</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="centre">BOOK FOUR</p> - -<p class="centre">THE OLDEST ROAD OF ALL</p> - -<table class="toc"> - <tr> - <th>CHAP.</th> - <th> </th> - <th><small>PAGE</small></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXVIII.</td> - <td class="smcap">Flower of the Gorse</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c38">365</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="chapnum">XXXIX.</td> - <td class="smcap">Flower of the Foam</td> - <td class="rightalign"><a href="#c39">375</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="pbk" /> - -<h2 id="b1">BOOK ONE<br /> - -<small>THE ROAD TO FRANCE</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"But, Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Whatever ye may hear or see;</div> -<div class="verse">For speak ye word in Elflyn-land,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap"><cite>Thomas the Rhymer.</cite></p> - -<h3 id="c1">CHAPTER I<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Anne-Hilarion gets out of Bed</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent"><span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">"And well ye ken, Maister Anne, ye should hae been asleep lang syne!"</span> -said Elspeth severely.</p> - -<p>Master Anne—M. le Comte Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny—gave a little sigh -from the bed. "I <em>have</em> tried . . . if you would say 'Noroway,' -perhaps? . . . Say 'Noroway-over-the-foam,' Elspeth, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">je vous en prie!"</span></p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Dinna be using ony of yer French havers tae me, wean!</span>" exclaimed the -elderly woman thus addressed, still more threateningly. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Aweel -then. . . . Ye're no' for 'True Thomas' the nicht?</span>"</p> - -<p>The silky brown head on the pillow was shaken. "No, please. I like -well enough the Queen of Elfland, but best of all 'Noroway-over-the-foam' -and the shoes with cork heels."</p> - -<p>Elspeth Saunders grunted, for there was something highly congenial to -her Calvinistic soul in that verse of 'Thomas the Rhymer' which deals -with the Path of Wickedness—'<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Yon braid, braid road that lies across -the lily leven,</span>' and she was accustomed to render it with unction. -However, she sat down, took up her knitting, and began:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'The king sat in Dunfermline toun</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Drinking the blude-red wine,'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">and the little Franco-Scottish boy in the curtained bed closed his eyes, -that he might seem to be composing himself to slumber. In reality he -was seeing the pictures which are set in that most vivid of all -ballads—Sir Patrick Spens receiving the King's letter as he walked -on the seashore, the sailor telling of the new moon with the old in -her arms (a phenomenon never quite clear to the Comte de Flavigny), -the storm and shipwreck, and the ladies with their fans, the maidens -with their golden combs, waiting for those who would never come back -again.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Wi' the Scots lords at his feet,'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">finished Elspeth. The knitting needles proceeded a little with their -tale, then they too stopped.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Losh! the bairn's asleep already!</span>" thought Mrs. Saunders, looking -over her spectacles. She tiptoed from the room.</p> - -<p>Yet although Anne-Hilarion's long lashes lay quietly on his cheeks he -was not by any means asleep, and under those dark curtains he watched, -not without a certain drowsiness, the gigantic shadow of his attendant -vanish from the wall. The night-light shed a very faint gleam on the -vast mahogany wardrobe, whose polished doors reflected darkly much -that passed without, and suggested, to a lively imagination, all kinds -of secret happenings within. It also illumined Anne's minute garments, -neatly folded on a chair, his high-waisted blue kerseymere pantaloons -on the top of the pile, and the small coat, into which Elspeth had -been sewing a fresh ruffle, over the back. This much of his apartment -could Anne see between the chintz curtains, figured with many a -long-tailed tropic bird, which hung tent-like from the short pole -fixed in the wall above his pillow. But he could not see Mme. d'Aulnoy's -fairy-tales, in their original French, which were lying face downwards -on the floor not very far away (and which he would be scolded for -having left about, when they were found to-morrow); nor the figure of -Notre Dame de Pontmain, in her star-decked robe of blue and her long -black veil, holding in her hands not her Son but a crucifix—the -figure which M. l'Abbé, being of Laval, her country, had given to the -little boy. For this image had a knack of disappearing entirely when -Anne's father the Marquis was away, since, as may readily be supposed, -it found no favour in the eyes of Mrs. Saunders, and was an even more -violent irritant than all 'the bairn's Popish exercises,' to which she -would so much have liked to put an end. That she might see as little -as possible of the heathen idol she had banished it, with its bracket, -to an obscure corner of the room, over the discarded high nursery-chair -in which Anne, at six years old, no longer took his meals. The fact of -the image's being in the room at all just now showed that the Marquis -was at home . . . for to him, as to his small son, in this April of -the year 1795, the solid Cavendish Square house was home, though it -belonged to neither of them. Anne-Hilarion, for his part, could -remember no other.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>The unusual presence of a statue of the Virgin, and of Mme. d'Aulnoy's -<cite lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Contes de fées</cite> on the second floor this London house, was, naturally, -but a consequence of that same series of events which had brought -thither their small owner. Seven years before, the only daughter of -James Elphinstone of Glenauchtie, a retired official of high standing -in the service of John Company, had lost her heart to a young Frenchman, -the Marquis René de Flavigny, whom she had met on a visit to Paris. -Although the necessary separation from his daughter was very bitter -to him, Mr. Elphinstone could find no real objection to the match, -and so the Scotch girl and the Frenchman were married, lived happily -on de Flavigny's estate in the Nivernais, and were joined there in -due time by a son.</p> - -<p>But Anne-Hilarion had not chosen well the date of his entry into this -world. On the very July day that René and Janet de Flavigny and all -their tenants were celebrating the admirable prowess displayed by M. -le Comte in attaining, without accident or illness—without flying back -to heaven, as his nurse had it—the age of one year, the people of Paris -also were keeping a festival, the first anniversary of the day when the -bloody head of the governor of the Bastille had swung along the streets -at the end of a pike. Before that summer was out the Marquis de -Flavigny, urged by his father-in-law, had decided to place his wife and -child in safety, and so, bidding the most reluctant of good-byes to the -tourelles and the swans which had witnessed their two short years of -happiness, they left France for England. Perhaps they would have -fared no worse had they remained there. For Janet de Flavigny caught -on the journey a chill from which she never recovered, and died, after -a few months, leaving to her little son not even a memory, and to -these two men who had passionately loved her a remembrance only too -poignant.</p> - -<p>Her death forced both their lives into fresh channels. Mr. Elphinstone -left Scotland and settled in London, where, to distract himself from -his grief, he began to write those long-planned memoirs of his Indian -career which, after more than four years, still absorbed him. As for -the Marquis de Flavigny, having once emigrated, he could not now -return to France even had he wished it. He therefore threw himself -heart and soul into the schemes of French Royalism, at first for the -rescue of the Royal Family from their quasi-imprisonment in their -own palace, and—now that King and Queen alike were done to death, -their children captives and a Republic in being—into all the hopes -that centred round the stubborn loyalists of Brittany, Maine, and -Vendée, round du Boisguy or Stofflet or Charette. And though the -rightful little King might be close prisoner in the Temple, his -uncles—the Comte de Provence (Regent in name of France) and the -Comte d'Artois—were still at large, as exiles, in Europe, and it -was to one or other of these princes that Royalist <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span> looked, -and under their ægis that they plotted and fought. Not many of them, -impoverished as they were by the Revolution, had the good fortune -to possess, like René de Flavigny, a British father-in-law who put -money and house at his son-in-law's disposal, welcomed his friends, -and strove to bear his absences on Royalist business with equanimity.</p> - -<p>The fact was that the young Frenchman had become very dear to Mr. -Elphinstone, not only for Janet's sake but also for his own. He had -liked de Flavigny from the first moment that he met him; it was only -during the shock of finding that Janet wished to marry him that his -feelings had temporarily cooled. Indeed, René de Flavigny's character -and disposition were not ill summed up in the word 'lovable.' He -had little of the traditional French gaiety—and still less after -his wife's death—just as Mr. Elphinstone had little of the traditional -Scotch dourness. And the old man knew how happy his daughter was with -him. Afterwards, their common bereavement drew the two more than ever -together. Mr. Elphinstone discovered in his son-in-law tastes and -sympathies more akin to his own than he had imagined, and sometimes, -though he would not have had him settle down, at thirty-two, into a -bookworm like himself, he regretted the political activities in which -the Marquis was immersed, for he knew him to be of too fine a temper -to take pleasure in the plottings and intrigues which almost of -necessity accompany the attempts to reinstate a dispossessed dynasty. -And while not, perhaps, taking those plottings over-seriously, he -realised that his son-in-law's tact and ability made him a very useful -person to his own party and a person proportionately obnoxious to the -other. The game he was engaged in playing against the French Republic -was not without danger; that adversary across the Channel was known to -have hidden agents in England, and if these had the opportunity as -well as the orders, it was not scruples that would hold them back from -actual violence. Still, that was a contingency sufficiently remote, -although the thought of it sometimes caused Mr. Elphinstone to feel, -during his son-in-law's absences, a certain uneasiness for his safety -as well as regret at the loss of his society.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion was quite aware, in a general way, of his father's -occupations. In fact, as he lay now in his bed, looking through the -curtains at the wardrobe doors, he was meditating on the important -meeting which Papa was having with his friends this very evening in -the dining-room. He did not know exactly what they were discussing, -but from something which Papa had said in his hearing he believed -that there was some question of going over to France—in ships, of -course, since there was sea (he did not know how much) between -England and that country. And because his mind was full of Sir -Patrick Spens and his shipwreck, this undertaking seemed to him -terribly dangerous, and he much wished that Papa were not thinking -of it.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"To Noroway, to Noroway,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">To Noroway o'er the faem,"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">the words lilted in his head like the rocking of a boat. They would -be going over the foam to that land which he did not remember:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"Half owre, half owre, to Aberdour,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">'Tis fifty fathoms deep. . . ."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Anne had no idea what fifty fathoms might mean, but it sounded -terrifying. Suppose Papa were to be drowned like that—suppose he -too were obliged to stuff 'silken cloth' into the hole of the ship -to keep out the water which would not be kept out! . . .</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion sat up suddenly in bed and threw back the clothes. -A very strong impulse, and by no means a righteous, was upon him, -but he was ridden by an agonising fear, and there was nothing for -it save to go down and ascertain the truth. He slipped out of bed -and pattered on to the landing.</p> - -<p>The stairs were steep, there was little light upon the road, the -balusters looked like rows of brown, square-faced soldiers. Not now, -however, was there room for thoughts of Barbe Bleue, that French -ogre, who was possibly hanging the last but one of his wives at that -moment in the linen-press, nor of the terrible Kelpie of the Flow, -which might that evening have left its Scottish loch and be looking -in, with its horse face, at the staircase window. No, the chief -terror was really Elspeth, who would certainly snatch him swiftly -back to bed, not comprehending (nor he either, for that matter) how -it was she who had started him on the path of this fear. So he went -down as quickly as one foot at a time permitted, knowing that -Grandpapa would be safe and busy in his study, and that Baptiste, -his father's old body-servant, was, if met, more likely to forward -him in his journey than to hinder him. He would, in fact, have been -rather glad to encounter that elderly slave of his as he made his -solitary way down to the dining-room, past the descending row of -antlers and dirks and lairds of Glenauchtie in their wigs and tartan.</p> - -<h3 id="c2">CHAPTER II<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">And is put back again</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">But on the dining-room wall it was Janet Elphinstone, a fair-haired -child of ten, in a long white dress girt with a blue sash, her arm -over the neck of a deerhound, who looked down at the guests assembled -round her father's table. Not one was of her own nationality, for Mr. -Elphinstone himself had withdrawn after supper, following his custom on -similar occasions, and was by now very tolerably engrossed, as usual, -with his memoirs. His national shrewdness made him perfectly aware -that some of his friends, and probably all of his domestics except -Baptiste, esteemed that in his unfailing hospitality to his son-in-law's -unfortunate compatriots he was allowing himself to be victimised by -a pack of starveling adventurers, as he had once heard them called; -but he considered that his conduct in this regard was no one's affair -but his own, and for several of the Marquis's friends he had a great -respect—they bore misfortune so gallantly. So he scratched away -contentedly in the library, while in the dining-room René talked to -his companions.</p> - -<p>For though it was not primarily the personal attraction of the Marquis -de Flavigny which bound together this evening's visitors, but rather -devotion to a common cause, they were all his friends, from the old -Abbé with the kindly, humorous mouth and the snuffy rabat to the tall, -lean man with a scar on his cheek who, at the end of the table, was -lazily drawing devices on a map spread before him on the mahogany, -among the empty glasses. They were talking of the intrigues and -counter-intrigues which ate like a canker into the heart of the -Royalist cause, dividing that never very stable house against itself, -setting the party of the Comte de Provence against that of his younger -brother, the Comte d'Artois, and filling the clear-minded or the -generous with mingled sorrow and disgust.</p> - -<p>"I declare," said the gentleman with the scar at the end of the -table, without lifting his eyes from his occupation, "that the behaviour -of the Abbé Brottier, when I think of it, renders me the prey of -indigestion. So I try not to think of it."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you remember, my son," interposed the old priest, "what -Cardinal Maury is reported to have said of him—that he would bring -disunion into the very host of heaven. And we <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span>, alas, are not -angels."</p> - -<p>"M. de la Vireville's disgust is natural," observed a middle-aged, -thin-featured man on the other side of the Abbé. "I have no doubt he -finds the atmosphere of London stifling, and is longing to be back in -the broom of Brittany with his Chouans."</p> - -<p>"It is my desire, de Soucy," confessed he with the map, briefly. -"But even there one is not safe from the meddling of that intriguer -and the agence de Paris. However, this does seem a chance of moving, -for once, without it, for I understand you to say, René, that Mr. -Windham seriously suggests your going personally to Verona to see -the Regent?"</p> - -<p>"He thinks it advisable," answered de Flavigny. "For my part, I would -much rather not put my finger between the trunk and the bark, but it -has been quite clear since last November that the agence de Paris is -trying to get Spanish help instead of accepting that of England, and -therefore someone not under the Abbé Brottier's influence ought to lay -before the Comte de Provence what the English Government is inclined -to do for us—and lay it before him directly, without the intervention -of the Duc de la Vauguyon, who, as you know, is also a partisan of -Madrid. Let me read to you, if I may, the notes of my conversation with -Mr. Windham this morning."</p> - -<p>He began to read out what had passed between him and that cultured, -high-minded English gentleman, now Secretary for War, to whom the -French <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span> in general owed so much. But he had not proceeded very -far before the Chevalier de la Vireville, his bright, bold eyes fixed -attentively on him, gave an exclamation:</p> - -<p>"Messieurs, a new recruit! Welcome, small conspirator! Come in—but -shut the door!"</p> - -<p>And all the rest turned on the instant to look at the little figure, -clad only in a nightshirt, which was visible in the doorway, behind -René de Flavigny's back.</p> - -<p>"Anne!" exclaimed the latter. "Whatever are you doing here—and in -that costume!"</p> - -<p>A trifle daunted, the child hung back, clutching the door handle, -though he knew all the company, and one of them—he who had hailed -him—had his especial favour. Then he made a dash for his father.</p> - -<p>"Papa," he burst out, clinging to him, "do not go to Noroway-over-the-foam! -You know what it says, how the feather-beds floated about in the -waves, and they lost their shoes, and the sea came in, and they were -all drowned fifty fathoms deep!"</p> - -<p>"My child," said the young man gently, putting his arm round him, -"what on earth are you talking about? I think you must be walking -in your sleep. Nobody is going to Noroway, so nobody will be drowned. -And you must not interrupt these gentlemen. You see, we are busy. -You must go back to bed, my little one. La Vireville, have the -goodness to ring the bell, will you?"</p> - -<p>The tall Chouan leader rose at once from his place, but, instead of -obeying, he snatched the cloth off a neighbouring table, and in a -moment had picked up the intruder and enveloped him in it. "Bed is -not recommended, I think, René, for this parishioner. We cannot, -however, have such a sans-culotte amongst us. That lack being remedied, -I fancy we shall sleep more comfortably here, don't you, Anne?" And -he was back in his place, the boy, wrapped in the red and black -tablecloth, on his knee, before even paternal authority could object.</p> - -<p>"I am sure that is the best solution," said the old Abbé, smiling -at the child over his glasses. "Pray proceed, Marquis."</p> - -<p>So René de Flavigny finished his notes, and looked round for opinions, -while his son whispered to the Chevalier de la Vireville, "Where -is Verona? Could it be fifty fathoms deep there?" And the Chouan -said softly, "No, foolish one, for it is nowhere near the sea, and -all this talk only means that Papa is going to Italy to see the Regent, -who is a stout, middle-aged gentleman, and not a king's daughter, -so you need not be frightened."</p> - -<p>"I am of Mr. Windham's opinion," the Vicomte de Soucy was meanwhile -saying; "and I verily believe that he has our interests at heart, -probably more than Mr. Pitt, certainly more than Mr. Dundas. If the -British Government really means seriously to support an expedition to -France, the Regent should be sounded."</p> - -<p>"How much does the Duc d'Harcourt know of the Government's dispositions?" -asked someone, referring to the Regent's accredited representative -in London.</p> - -<p>De Flavigny shook his head. "I do not know."</p> - -<p>"In any case you must disregard him—go behind him, in fact," observed -the Chevalier de la Vireville, settling Anne-Hilarion in his arms.</p> - -<p>"I suppose so," said de Flavigny, with an expression of distaste, -for he did not like the task, as he had said.</p> - -<p>"And Monseigneur le Comte d'Artois?" asked the Abbé.</p> - -<p>"Of course the Government will acquaint him in good time. Almost -certainly His Royal Highness will wish to lead the expedition. But -since he is so near, at Bremen or thereabouts, there will be little -difficulty in personal communication with him later, if this project -of the Government comes to anything."</p> - -<p>"As no doubt it will not," observed La Vireville sceptically.</p> - -<p>"If ever it did, <em>Monsieur Augustin</em>," remarked M. de Soucy, with an -emphasis on the name, "it would concern you very much, I imagine. For -if, as seems natural, it took place in the West, you could join it -with your Chouans, while we, though we should bring our swords, could -bring nothing else."</p> - -<p>La Vireville nodded.</p> - -<p>"It goes without question," said a voice, "that any expeditionary -force should be landed in the West; the question is, Where?"</p> - -<p>"A port would be needed, of course," said de Flavigny, "and the port -would be best as near M. de Charette as possible, if not actually in -Vendée."</p> - -<p>"If the country south of the Loire is suggested," objected La Vireville, -"the expedition will not have any support to speak of from the Chouans. -I know the Breton; he will not willingly leave his province, even -his corner of it. It will be as much as we can do to induce those of -Northern Brittany to go to South Brittany, supposing, for instance, a -landing were effected in the Morbihan, as being near Vendée."</p> - -<p>"It was the Morbihan that Mr. Windham had in his mind, I think," -said the Marquis de Flavigny. "He had even thought of a place, but -he said that if it was finally decided upon, it would have, of course, -to be kept secret till the last moment."</p> - -<p>"And what was the place?"</p> - -<p>René de Flavigny lowered his voice. "Quiberon Bay."</p> - -<p>"Not a name of good omen to a Frenchman," observed the Abbé, thinking -of Hawke's victory of nearly half a century ago.</p> - -<p>"Where exactly is Quiberon Bay?" inquired M. de Soucy, who was of -Lorraine.</p> - -<p>The Chevalier de la Vireville pushed the map of Brittany towards him, -putting his finger on a long, thin tongue of land at the bottom. -"Permit me to observe, Messieurs," he said, "that we are wandering -from the immediate question, which is, Verona or not Verona? I -cannot see that to approach the Regent can do harm, and so long -as I myself," he smiled, "am not required to undertake diplomatic -service, I am more than willing to push a friend into it. If it be -conceded that one of us should go, then I think that de Flavigny is -the person. He has rank, something of diplomatic training in the -past, and—though I say it to his face—an address likely to commend -itself to Monseigneur. Then, too, René, you were in his household -in old days, were you not?"</p> - -<p>"I was one of his pages," assented the Marquis. "Well, gentlemen, -if you wish it, I will go to Verona, and, I suppose, the sooner the -better. Will you drink a glass of wine to my mission? Surely, Fortuné, -that child is a nuisance, and must be asleep by now?"</p> - -<p>For Anne-Hilarion, huddled in the tablecloth, was lying as still as a -dormouse, and no longer sitting upright against his friend's breast, -trying to follow the conversation.</p> - -<p>"I will take him to bed," announced the émigré, without giving an -opinion on the Comte de Flavigny's condition. "You permit, René?"</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>But as the Chouan was replacing him under the parrots and humming-birds, -Anne-Hilarion murmured sleepily, "I am glad that Papa is not going -to fetch the King's daughter; but if he is going to this place—Ver . . . -Verona, will you not come and see me, M. le Chevalier, while he is away?"</p> - -<p>"But I am going away too, in a few days," replied his friend. "To -Jersey, and then to France."</p> - -<p>"Then will you come and say good-bye to me?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I will do that," assented the émigré. "Now go to sleep. Good-night, -my little cabbage."</p> - -<p>Then he too went quickly and quietly out of the room, for neither -had he any desire that the justly scandalised and incensed Elspeth -should fall upon him. But, alas, the dragon was standing outside -the door.</p> - -<p>"Eh, sirs!" she ejaculated at sight of him. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">'Tis easy tae see ye hae -nae childer o' yer ain! Tae tak' yon bairn oot o' his bed at sic a -time o' nicht!</span>"</p> - -<p>M. de la Vireville might have retorted that not only was he innocent -of this crime, but that he had, on the contrary, restored the -wanderer—though not instantly—to that refuge. Also, had he but -known, it was Elspeth, with her rendering of a too-suggestive tale, -who had been at the bottom of Anne's exploit, and was therefore, -partly at least, responsible for the consequences which were to -follow it. But, being French and not Scotch, he had never heard -of Sir Patrick Spens, and could not claim second-sight. He set up -a weak defence by observing that the Marquis knew of the occurrence.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Indeed, it's a verra gude thing for the bairn that his father <em>is</em> -gaein' awa,</span>" retorted Elspeth instantly. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">'Tis bad eno' wi' Glenauchtie -himsel'</span>" (thus she preferred to speak of Mr. Elphinstone), "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">but when -there's twa puir misguidit bodies tae——</span>"</p> - -<p>La Vireville, who was already a step or two down the staircase, -stopped suddenly.</p> - -<p>"How do you know that the Marquis is going away?"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">And hoo should we not ken it, sir?</span>" demanded she, stiffening. -"'<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Tis common news amangst us in the hoose.</span>"</p> - -<p>"Indeed? Then, as M. de Flavigny himself has only known it for the -last quarter of an hour or so, I should recommend you, Mrs. Saunders, -to quell this gift of prophecy in your fellow-servants. Above all, -see that it is confined to the house. Do you understand?"</p> - -<p>And the Frenchman ran downstairs again, a little frown on his forehead, -leaving Elspeth petrified with indignation on the landing.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>Down in the hall de Flavigny was speeding the last of his guests. -The Chouan went back into the deserted dining-room to wait for him. -Standing in front of Janet de Flavigny's picture he looked up at -her. He had never seen her in life, for his friendship with her husband -was only some two years old, and owed its rapid growth partly, no -doubt, to just the right amount of dissimilarity of character between -them. Of tougher fibre than his friend, and of a disposition less -openly sensitive, Fortuné de la Vireville, who had known more than -his share of knocking about the world, had something of an elder -brother's protective attitude towards him, though de Flavigny was -only three years younger than himself. It was this which was causing -him to wait for the Marquis now.</p> - -<p>"Shut the door a moment, René, will you," he said, as his friend -came back. "How is it that the domestics seem to know so much about -your future movements? Mrs. Saunders has just considerably surprised -me by telling me that you are going away."</p> - -<p>The Marquis looked at him and bit his lip. "I suppose," he said, -after a moment, "that I must have said something to Baptiste about -preparing my valise in case I went. But Baptiste, of course, is -above suspicion."</p> - -<p>"Granted. But he repeated that order, not unnaturally perhaps, to -the other servants."</p> - -<p>"There is no great harm in that," replied de Flavigny, with a smile. -"It is not a piece of information of much interest to anyone outside -the house, and is not therefore likely to be conveyed elsewhere."</p> - -<p>"Ah, pardon me, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon ami</span>," interposed the Chevalier de la Vireville -quickly, "you underrate your importance. There are people who would -find it quite interesting if they knew of it—our dear compatriots -of the Committee of Public Safety in Paris, for instance. And they -have spies in the most unlikely places."</p> - -<p>"But not in this house," said René, throwing himself into a chair.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps not," agreed his friend. "I should certainly not suspect -Elspeth or that Indian of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">M. votre beau-père</span> of selling information. -As to the others, I do not know."</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>M. de Flavigny was perfectly right; there was no spy in Mr. -Elphinstone's house at the moment. He did not know that the -unsatisfactoriness of the destitute French lad, whom Mr. Elphinstone -(out of the kindness of his heart and on Baptiste's suggestion) had -seen fit to engage for some obscure minor office in the kitchen regions, -had that day reached such a culminating point as to lead to his summary -dismissal, and that he was at that very moment preparing to carry his -unsatisfactoriness and other useful possessions—including a torn-up -letter in de Flavigny's handwriting—to some destination unknown.</p> - -<h3 id="c3">CHAPTER III<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Purchase of a Goldfish, and other Important Matters</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Four days later Mr. Elphinstone and his grandson were breakfasting -alone in the room where Anne-Hilarion had remained, so unsuitably -attired, to hear matters not primarily intended for the ears of -little boys. And now the Comte de Flavigny was seated again at that -very table, his legs dangling, eating his porridge, not with any great -appetite, but because it was commanded him.</p> - -<p>And Mr. Elphinstone did the same, glancing across now and again with -his kind blue eyes to observe his grandson's progress. The suns of -India, where so much of his life had been passed, had done little -more than fade his apple cheeks to a complexion somewhat less sanguine -than would have been theirs under Scottish skies. His very precise -British attire bore no traces of his long sojourn in the East, save -that the brooch in the lace at his throat was of Oriental workmanship, -and that the pigeon's-blood ruby on his finger had an exotic look—and -an equally exotic history. Anne-Hilarion knew that it had been given -by a rajah to his grandfather, instead of an elephant, and never -ceased to regret so disastrous a preference.</p> - -<p>If James Elphinstone had known, when he left India, that in years to -come an elephant would be so fervently desired in Cavendish Square, -it is possible that he might have considered the bringing of one -with him, such was his attitude (justly condemned by Mrs. Saunders) -towards Janet's child. At this moment, in fact, he was meditating -some extra little pleasure for Anne-Hilarion, to make up for his -father's departure of two days ago. M. le Comte, though he had a -certain philosophical turn of mind of his own, fretted a good deal -after M. le Marquis, and his grandfather was wondering whether to -assign to that cause the very slow rate at which his porridge was -disappearing this morning.</p> - -<p>"Come, child, I shall be finished long before you," he observed at last.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion sighed, and, addressing himself once more to the fray, -made great play with his spoon, finally announcing, in true Scots -phrase, that he had finished 'them.'</p> - -<p>"That's right," said the old gentleman. "Some more milk, my bairn? -Bring your cup."</p> - -<p>Anne slipped down and presented his mug. "I think we were going out -this morning, Grandpapa," he observed, with his little engaging air, -watching the filling of the receptacle.</p> - -<p>"So we were, my lamb. And we were going to buy something. What was it?"</p> - -<p>"A goldfish," whispered the little boy. "A goldfish!" He gave his -grandfather's arm a sudden ecstatic squeeze, and climbed back to -his place.</p> - -<p>"To be sure, a goldfish," was beginning Mr. Elphinstone, when at -that moment in came a letter, brought by Lal Khan, the dusky, turbaned -bearer—source, once, of much infantile terror to M. le Comte, but now -one of his greatest friends. On him Anne-Hilarion bestowed, ere he -salaamed himself out again, one of his sudden smiles. Mr. Elphinstone, -after hunting vainly for his spectacles, opened the letter. It drew -from him an exclamation.</p> - -<p>"Here's actually a letter from your father already, Anne. He has written -from Canterbury, on his way to Dover."</p> - -<p>Above the milk he was drinking, Anne-Hilarion's dark, rather solemn eyes -were fixed on his grandfather.</p> - -<p>"Dear me, this is very curious," said Mr. Elphinstone, looking up -from the perusal of the letter. "Your father finds, he says, that -some old friends of his family are living there—at Canterbury, that -is—two old French ladies. What's the name? . . . de Chaulnes—Madame -and Mademoiselle de Chaulnes. He came across them quite by chance, it -appears. And—I wonder what you will say to this, Anne—he wants you -to go and stay with them for a few days."</p> - -<p>"Now?" asked the little boy.</p> - -<p>"Yes, quite soon. They are very anxious to see you, having known your -grandparents in France. There is a letter from them enclosed in your -Papa's. I am to send you with Elspeth. See, I will read you Madame de -Chaulnes' letter."</p> - -<p>And he read it out to his grandson, in its original French, a tongue -which he spoke well, though with a Scottish flavouring.</p> - -<p class="letter">"'MONSIEUR,—It has been, as you may well imagine, a pleasure as -great as it was unexpected to encounter, in his passage through -Canterbury to-day—on his way to a destination as to which prudence -invites silence—the son of my old friend Mme. de Flavigny. From -his lips I have learnt of his marriage—of so short a duration, -alas!—with your beautiful daughter, in whose untimely grave one -sees that so much of his heart is buried; and also of the existence -of the dear little boy who remains to him as a pledge of their love.</p> - -<p class="letter">"'I do not know, Monsieur, if René—I can scarcely bring myself to -call him anything else—has ever spoken to you of my sister-in-law -and myself, and our old friendship with his family.'"—"I do seem -to remember his mentioning the name," observed Mr. Elphinstone, -fingering his chin.—"'It is possible that he has done so, and -that this fact, joined to the letter which he was good enough to -write to accompany this, may move you to a favourable reception -of my request, which is, that some day, before the weather becomes -unpleasantly hot for travel, you should allow the little boy and -his nurse, Mrs. Saunders, to pay us a few days' visit here at -Canterbury. Perhaps, indeed, if I might suggest such a thing, this -would serve to distract him during his father's absence. Our -modest dwelling boasts a garden of fair size, and my sister and -myself are both devoted to children. You, Monsieur, from what we -hear of your charities to us unfortunate exiles, will well -understand what the sight of the grandchild of our departed -friends would mean to two old women, and it is this conviction -which emboldens me to make a request which I know to be no -light one.</p> - -<p class="letter">"'I have the honour to remain, Monsieur, your obedient servant,</p> - -<p class="rightalign">"'BARONNE DE CHAULNES.'"</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone reflected. "I shall not like parting with you, child," -he murmured, half to himself. "Not at all, not at all. But I suppose -if René wishes it, as he obviously does . . . And it is not far to -Canterbury. Shall you like to go and visit these old French ladies, -Anne?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know," replied the Comte de Flavigny, considering. "You are -not coming too, Grandpapa?"</p> - -<p>"No, no. But Elspeth will be with you."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I shall like it. Have they a dog, ces dames, des chats?"</p> - -<p>"Cats, very probably. But I do not know. I think you will find it -interesting, Anne, for a few days. You will be able to play in the -garden there. These old ladies"—he referred once more to the -letter—"Mme. de Chaulnes and her sister-in-law, can tell you, I -expect, all about your father when he was a little boy like you."</p> - -<p>"Yes," assented the prospective visitor in tones of resignation rather -than of anticipation. "But——" He looked mournful.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my bairn?"</p> - -<p>"The goldfish!"</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone laughed. "Oh, the goldfish! That is easily arranged. -We will go out directly after breakfast and buy it, while Elspeth is -packing."</p> - -<p>"I could take it with me?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't know. . . . Yes, I suppose you could."</p> - -<p>Anne fell into meditation on the goldfish. He evidently saw it swimming -before him, and the idea of parting so soon from this treasure, not yet -even acquired, was clearly distressing.</p> - -<p>"Then, if I could take it, Grandpapa, perhaps I would not mind very -much, as Papa wishes it."</p> - -<p>"That's a good child!" exclaimed Mr. Elphinstone, relieved. Not that -Anne-Hilarion was, as a rule, anything else but good, yet, as he was -very sensitive and his grandfather ridiculously tender-hearted, the -old man dreaded even the remotest shadow of a difference of opinion. -"It will only be for a few days," he went on, "and I think you had -better go at once, this afternoon, in fact, so that you will get back -all the earlier, in case Papa should return from Italy sooner than we -expect."</p> - -<p>This he said with a view of heartening his grandson, well knowing that -the term of 'a few days,' elastic as it was, could hardly see René -back from Verona.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>But if Anne-Hilarion was resigned, Mrs. Saunders received the news of -the proposed expedition in a manner indicative of the highest disapproval. -Such a plan was, she declared, against sense and nature; she could -not imagine what the Marquis was thinking of. He must be clean daft. -No one but a man would have conceived of such a scheme. She supposed -that was the way they did things in France. Fifty odd miles to -Canterbury—seven hours at the very least; the bairn would take his -death of fatigue; and here was Glenauchtie proposing that they should -start that very afternoon! She was a little mollified, but not greatly, -on hearing that they were only to go as far as Rochester that day, -and sleep there, continuing their journey next morning.</p> - -<p>But 'Glenauchtie,' for all his gentleness, was always obeyed, and -Elspeth packed her charge's 'duds' and her own that morning with -considerable promptitude in spite of her protestations.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Mr. Elphinstone, after writing a letter to Anne's hostesses, -which he dispatched direct to Canterbury, and sending a servant to -take two places in the afternoon stage-coach to Rochester, set out -with his grandson to buy the promised goldfish. It proved to be a -transaction which took time, because Anne found it difficult to make -up his mind between two similarly priced fishes, one of which, though -larger than the other, was not of so good a colour. As he remarked, -in a tone of puzzled reproach, the gold was coming off, and this -disillusioning fact caused him to put to the shopman, in his clear, -precise, and oddly stressed English, many searching questions on what -further sorrowful transformations of the sort might be expected in any -fish he bought. Finally the smaller and more perfect fish was selected, -and they left the little shop, Anne carrying his purchase very carefully -by a piece of string tied round the top of its glass bowl.</p> - -<p>"Will it be lonely, Grandpapa? Do you think we ought to have bought -two?" he suggested, as he trotted along by Mr. Elphinstone's side, -all his energies directed to keeping the water steady.</p> - -<p>"There would hardly be room for two in there, child. Perhaps when you -come back from Canterbury we might get another, and have them both in -a larger bowl. But the present is best for travelling purposes."</p> - -<p>"Yes, perhaps it is best to have only one goldfish. Last year, when -I had tadpoles, they ate one another—you remember, Grandpapa? This -goldfish could not eat <em>itself</em>, could it, Grandpapa?"</p> - -<p>"I should hardly think it possible," replied Mr. Elphinstone gravely.</p> - -<p>"I shall be able to show it to M. le Chevalier," observed the little -boy happily, holding up the bowl and surveying the swinging captive. -"—Oh, Grandpapa, but perhaps I shall not see him! He promised to come -and say good-bye to me, but when he comes I shall be gone to Canterbury, -and when I return from those ladies he will have gone away to Jersey. -Oh, Grandpapa, isn't that sad!"</p> - -<h3 id="c4">CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Visit to two Fairy Godmothers</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">The coach ride to Rochester, the night's stay there, and the journey -on to Canterbury through the fine April weather had been all delight -to Anne-Hilarion. And now he was being helped down at the gate of the -dearest little garden, surrounding the dearest little house, and walking, -with his hand in Elspeth's, up a cobbled path between wallflowers and -forget-me-nots to a little green-painted door with shining handle, -under a portico with fluted pillars. This door opened, and inside, -in a small panelled entrance hall that was also a room, stood a -veritable fairy godmother of an old lady, leaning, as a fairy godmother -should, on a black and silver stick with a crooked handle. She had, -moreover, black lace mittens on her hands, a cap of fine lace on her -silver hair, and, under the cap, just such a face as a fairy godmother -might have, even to the delicately-cut hooked nose and bright blue eyes.</p> - -<p>"Welcome, welcome, my child," said she in French, stooping—but not -much, for she was little herself—and kissing the boy. A faint, -delicious scent came out of her grey silk dress. "I hope you are not -tired, my dear? And this is your attendant. What is your name, if you -please?—no, I know it; Mrs. Saunders, is it not?"</p> - -<p>The dragon curtsied—Elspeth's curtsy, which could express many things, -but seldom what a curtsy is supposed to indicate.</p> - -<p>"Doubtless you have some baggage," said Mme. de Chaulnes—if this were -she. "Ask the driver to set it down by the gate, and presently we will -find some passer-by to bring it in, for we are only women here. Now, -my child—Anne, that is your name, is it not?—here is my sister-in-law, -Mademoiselle Angèle de Chaulnes, waiting to make your acquaintance."</p> - -<p>Anne then perceived that it was a second fairy godmother who had -opened the door to them. She too was small and exquisitely dressed, -in lavender silk, but she held no stick, seemed younger than the other -(but for all that, to a child's eye, phenomenally aged), and had a -face which, lacking Mme. de Chaulnes' fine aquiline features, was, -to Anne's mind, more 'comfortable.'</p> - -<p>"The little darling!" she murmured as she kissed him. "And what have -you there—a goldfish?" For all the time Anne-Hilarion was carefully -holding his glass bowl by the string.</p> - -<p>After that, Elspeth having arranged about the baggage, they went -upstairs into a spotless little bedroom smelling of lavender.</p> - -<p>"I am very sorry," said the elder of the old ladies, addressing herself -to Elspeth, "that there is not a bed for you in the house. You see, -our establishment is very small. But we have arranged for you to sleep -at a house a few minutes away, where there is a good woman who will -make you very comfortable. You can put the little boy to bed before -retiring there, and, of course, come and dress him in the morning, -if he requires it."</p> - -<p>Elspeth looked mutinous, and her mouth took on a line which Anne-Hilarion -knew very well.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">A'm thinkin', Mem,</span>" she replied, "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">it wad be best for me tae hae a -wee bit bed in here.</span>"</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes shook her head. "I am afraid," she said, with equal -pleasantness and firmness, "that that arrangement would not suit us -at all." And there was nothing for it but acquiescence.</p> - -<p>"See, here is a good place to put your goldfish," said Mlle. Angèle -meanwhile to Anne-Hilarion. "And then, when she has washed your face -and hands for you, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon chéri</span>, your nurse will bring you downstairs, -and you shall have something to eat, for I am sure you must be hungry -after your journey."</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Dwellers in Canterbury were well accustomed to the two old French -ladies who lived so retired and so refined a life in the little -brick house with the portico; indeed the dames of that ancient city -took a sympathetic interest in the exiles. Those who were on -visiting terms with them spoke many a laudatory word of the interior -of Rose Cottage—of its exquisite neatness and elegance, of the -superior china and the spotless napery. But the number of ladies in -a position to pronounce these encomiums was limited, for Mme. and -Mlle. de Chaulnes entertained not at all in the regular sense of the -word. Yet, for all their modest manner of life, they were not penurious; -rather was it noised abroad that they gave largely of their substance -to their needy fellow-countrymen of their own convictions—for, of -course, they were Royalists themselves and of noble birth. Hence, -if any émigré were stranded on the Dover road in the neighbourhood -of Canterbury it was usual—if the speaker's command of French were -sufficient—to direct him to these charitable compatriots. Often, -indeed, refugees were to be found staying for a few days at Rose -Cottage.</p> - -<p>Rumour had endowed the French ladies with a moving and tragic past. -Over Mme. de Chaulnes' mantelpiece hung a small portrait in oils of -a gentleman in uniform—to be precise, that of a Garde Française -of the fifties, but nobody knew that—and the story went that this -was her husband, the brother of Mlle. Angèle, who had either been -(1) guillotined, or (2) slain in the defence of the Tuileries on the -10th of August 1792, or (3) killed in the prison massacres in the -September of the same year. No one, not even the boldest canon's wife, -had dared to ask Mme. de Chaulnes which of these theories might claim -authentic circulation; no one, in fact, had even ventured to inquire -if the gentleman in uniform <em>was</em> her husband. For, though so small -and gentle, she 'had an air about her' which was far from displeasing -the ladies of the Close and elsewhere; they were, on the contrary, -rather proud of knowing the possessor of it.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>Not many hours later, Anne-Hilarion, fed and reposed (for, as each old -lady said to the other, he must not be overtired), was seated on a -small chair in front of a cheerful little fire in the hall, chattering -gaily to the two fairy godmothers who knitted on either side of the -hearth. He was never inordinately shy with strangers, and, the first -encounter over, he was probably much happier than was Elspeth in the -company of the old Frenchwoman in the kitchen. He related to them -every detail of his journey, while the old grey cat on the rug, with -tucked-in paws, blinked her eyes sleepily at the unfamiliar treble. -And Mme. de Chaulnes told him about the cat, and how she had once -brought up a family of orphaned kittens, and Mlle. Angèle was much -interested in his goldfish, though as yet there was hardly any history -to relate of that acquisition.</p> - -<p>"Your Papa has not seen it yet, then?" inquired Mme. de Chaulnes, -having listened to the whole narrative of its purchase.</p> - -<p>"No," replied Anne-Hilarion. "It is to be a surprise for him when he -comes back." He pulled himself suddenly higher in the chair, which was -a trifle slippery. "Did you know my Papa when he was little, like me, -Madame? Grandpapa said so."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes laid down her knitting. "Cher petit, yes. I saw your -Papa first when he was about your age, playing in the garden of the -château in France where you were afterwards born, Anne. He was playing -with a ball near a stone basin full of water, and—is not this -curious?—there were goldfish like yours swimming about in the water. -I remember it after all these years." And Mme. de Chaulnes' keen old -eyes grew dreamy.</p> - -<p>"Sister," said Mlle. Angèle, "tell the child how René was lost."</p> - -<p>"Ah yes," said Mme. de Chaulnes. "Only I hope Anne will never imitate -such conduct. Your father, as he grew older, Anne, was very fond of -reading. One day his father—your grandfather, Anne, your French -grandfather, that is—had given him a new book (I forget what it was), -and your father was so delighted with it that he wandered off and -took it to read in an old quarry. You know what that is, Anne—a place -where they get stone from. So René—your father—scrambled down into -this quarry, and sat there to read, and he was so much interested in -the book that he forgot about dinner. And at the château they were -very anxious because they did not know where he had got to, and the -afternoon went on and still he did not come, and then at last they -sent out to look for him. And how do you think they found him, Anne?"</p> - -<p>But Anne could not guess.</p> - -<p>"They took a big dog that belonged to the Marquis, your grandfather, -and gave him a coat of your father's to smell, and told him to find -your father. So the big dog trotted off, smelling the ground all the -way, and at last he led them to the stone quarry, and there was -René at the bottom of it. He could not climb up again!"</p> - -<p>"He must have been frightened, Papa," said Anne reflectively. "I could -not have read so long as that. When the words have many letters it is -tiring, especially if the book is English. Do you speak English, -Mesdames?" For all their converse hitherto had naturally been conducted -in French, and Anne had forgotten that Elspeth had been addressed -in her native tongue.</p> - -<p>"A little," said Mme. de Chaulnes, smiling. "But you, child, speak -it as easily as French, no doubt."</p> - -<p>"I speak English to Grandpapa, and French to Papa," replied the -linguist. "Did my Papa have a pony when he was little?" he next -inquired.</p> - -<p>"I do not remember," said the old lady. "Have you one, Anne?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet," responded Anne-Hilarion. "Grandpapa has promised me one -when I shall be seven."</p> - -<p>"Your Grandpapa is very good to you, I think," commented Mlle. Angèle.</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed," agreed the child. "Papa says that he spoils me."</p> - -<p>"I expect he does," said Mme. de Chaulnes, smiling at him over the -top of her tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles.</p> - -<p>A little silence fell. The two old ladies knitted on; the grey cat -stretched herself. There hung over the mantelpiece a head of the -late Louis XVI., an engraving of no particular merit, having the -similitude of a bust, and Mlle. Angèle, looking up, found their -visitor studying that full, petulant profile.</p> - -<p>"You know who that is, of course, mon petit? The King—the late King, -whose head they cut off."</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion nodded. "M. le Chevalier has a picture of the Queen too, -on a snuff-box. He showed it to me one day."</p> - -<p>Mlle. Angèle rose and took something from the mantelpiece. It was a -miniature of a little boy in general appearance not unlike Anne -himself, but fairer, with falling curls and a deep ruffle. "Do you -know who that is, child?" she asked, in a voice gone suddenly sad.</p> - -<p>Anne did know.</p> - -<p>"He is in prison, the little King, and can't get out," he replied -gravely. "'<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Domine, salvum fac regem!</i>' M. l'Abbé taught me to say -that—it is Latin," he added, not without pride.</p> - -<p>"You have learned friends, little one," observed Mme. de Chaulnes -kindly.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied the child, with interest. "M. l'Abbé knows a great -many things. He teaches French also—but that is because he has not -much money, I think. And M. le Vicomte de Soucy, he is very poor; -Grandpapa thinks that he often goes without his dinner. But he is -very proud too; he will not dine at our house often."</p> - -<p>"He might make some money by selling his snuff-box with the picture -of the Queen," suggested Mme. de Chaulnes, with rather a sad smile. -"But I dare say he would sooner starve than do that."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but it is not <em>he</em> who has the snuff-box," corrected -Anne-Hilarion. "It is M. le Chevalier de la Vireville."</p> - -<p>"But no doubt M. le Chevalier is poor too—like all the rest of us," -said the old lady, sighing.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion considered this supposition about M. le Chevalier. -Having no definite standard of wealth except the seldom seen contents -of his own money-box, he only knew that M. de Soucy and the Abbé and -the rest were poor because he had heard Mr. Elphinstone and his father -say so. He had never seriously weighed M. le Chevalier's financial -condition, yet, remembering now that on several occasions M. de la -Vireville had contributed to the money-box in question, he was inclined -to dispute this judgment.</p> - -<p>"I do not know about M. le Chevalier," he said at length. "You see, -he does not live in London; he is only there sometimes. It is more -interesting for him, because he is a great deal in Brittany, and he -fights, and goes to Jersey. He is going there soon. That is more -amusing than teaching French like M. l'Abbé, or music, which I think -is what M. le Vicomte teaches."</p> - -<p>"Much more amusing," agreed Mme. de Chaulnes. "Why then does not M. le -Vicomte do something of the same sort as M. le Chevalier? If I were a -man, Anne, instead of an old woman, I am sure I should set off to -Brittany to fight for the little King."</p> - -<p>"I think the reason why M. de Soucy does not go to fight is because -he is lame. It is a pity. It is from a wound."</p> - -<p>"Then he might do the same sort of thing as your Papa," suggested -Mlle. de Chaulnes, "and go abroad to see the Princes, and so on."</p> - -<p>"Indeed," said Anne rather wistfully, "I wish M. le Vicomte could have -gone to Verona instead of Papa. But they all wanted Papa to go."</p> - -<p>"They had a meeting to settle it, of course," said Mme. de Chaulnes, -as one stating a fact rather than asking a question.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Anne, nodding. "In our house."</p> - -<p>"Your Papa told you all about it afterwards, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"No," replied the Comte de Flavigny sedately; "I was there."</p> - -<p>"You, child!" exclaimed Mme. de Chaulnes incredulously. "Nonsense!"</p> - -<p>"But yes!" persisted Anne, wriggling on his chair. "You see, it was -in the dining-room, and I got out of bed and went down, because I -thought they were going to Noroway-over-the-foam, as it says in the -poem, and M. le Chevalier wrapped me up in the tablecloth and took -me on his knee, and I heard all about it. Elspeth was dreadfully -angry next morning," he concluded.</p> - -<p>"I don't wonder!" was Mme. de Chaulnes' comment. "Fancy a boy of your -age up at that time of night. You know, Anne," she went on seriously, -"you must be careful how you talk about what you heard at that -meeting—if you were really awake and heard anything. You must not -speak of such things except to your father's friends. But I expect -you know that, my child, don't you?"</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion had flushed up. "But yes, Madame," he replied earnestly. -"Papa has told me that often, not to be a chatterbox. But I did not -really understand what they were talking about, except that Papa -was to go to see the Regent—I do not know why—and that there was -soon to be an expedition to France."</p> - -<p>One of Mlle. Angèle's knitting-needles here dropped with a clatter -on to the polished floor.</p> - -<p>"Oh, there is no harm in talking about that," said Mme. de Chaulnes -placidly. "That is common property—the news of the coming expedition. -(Yes, sit upon the rug, child, by the cat, if you are tired of the -chair.) You see, all we Royalists are interested in the expedition, -and know about it, even the place where it is going to land. Angèle, -if it is your knitting-needle that you are looking for, it has rolled -just by your foot."</p> - -<p>"I heard where the expedition was going to land," said Anne, with -some excitement, as he slipped down beside the cat. "But I have -forgotten it again."</p> - -<p>He looked inquiringly up at the old lady. Mme. de Chaulnes threw him -a quizzical glance.</p> - -<p>"A very good thing too," she said, knitting rapidly. "I am not going -to revive your memory, child. It is a mercy that children have short -ones, if they are going to make a practice of attending consultations -that should be secret," she remarked across the hearth to her sister.</p> - -<p>"I do not know that they are so short," said Mlle. Angèle, recapturing -her needle. "I will wager you a crown, sister, that before he -leaves us Anne remembers the name of the place where the expedition -is to land."</p> - -<p>"Very good," said her sister-in-law. "But I do not think that he will."</p> - -<p>"Or better still," went on the younger fairy godmother, "let us wager -with Anne himself that he does not remember it, and is not able to -tell us before he leaves us. Then, if he does, he will have the crown -to put into his money-box—for I expect he has a money-box of his own."</p> - -<p>"Oh yes, indeed I have," said the little boy. He suddenly became silent, -gently stroking the grey fur to his hand. Mme. de Chaulnes finished -turning the heel of her stocking.</p> - -<p>"Well, what are you thinking of, child?" she asked at length, resuming -her fourth needle.</p> - -<p>"I was remembering that there was something I wanted to ask M. le -Chevalier when he came to say good-bye to me before going to Jersey; -but now when he comes to our house for that, he will find that I came -away here first, so I cannot ask him."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes put down her knitting. "So he was going to say -good-bye to you before leaving for Jersey, was he? He is a great -friend of yours, then, this M. de la Vireville?"</p> - -<p>"I like him very much," responded the Comte de Flavigny with -precision.</p> - -<p>"Well, what did you want to ask him? Perhaps I can tell you the -answer."</p> - -<p>"I wanted very much to know," said Anne slowly, "why he has two -names?"</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes raised her eyebrows. "Has he then two?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes," exclaimed the child. "At the meeting I heard them call -him 'Monsieur Augustin,' and I wondered why, because I know it is -not one of his noms de baptême."</p> - -<p>Mlle. Angèle made a strange gesture with her little mittened hands. -Mme. de Chaulnes frowned at her.</p> - -<p>"That is quite simple, mon petit; at least, I think so," she said, -looking down at Anne's upturned visage, rather flushed by the proximity -of the fire. "'Monsieur Augustin' is a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">nom de guerre</span>, and it is the -name of one of the Chouan leaders—you know who the Chouans are, -who fight for the King in Brittany? So that your M. de la Vireville -and 'Monsieur Augustin' must be one and the same person. He is tall -and dark, and has a scar on his cheek, has he not, M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Anne. "Yes, there is a mark there. Oh, do you know him?"</p> - -<p>"No," said Mme. de Chaulnes, "but I have heard of him. And your -Chevalier will be 'Monsieur Augustin.' Well, that is the answer to -your question, and you see it is quite simple. Now, do you not think -it is time for you to go to bed, Anne? First, however, I think you -should write a little letter to Grandpapa—quite a short letter, to -say that you have arrived safely. Do you not think that would please -him?"</p> - -<p>And Anne, assenting, was shortly installed at an escritoire, where, -perched upon a chair heightened by a cushion, he slowly and laboriously -penned a brief epistle to Mr. Elphinstone. And at the table in the -middle of the little hall Mme. de Chaulnes was writing too.</p> - -<h3 id="c5">CHAPTER V<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Thomas the Rhymer</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Elspeth was very glum as she put the little boy to bed in the delightful -room where there was no place for her.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">At ony rate</span>," she remarked, when the operation was concluded, "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">A'll -no leave ye till A please, and gif ane of these madams comes A'll -e'en gar her turn me oot.</span>"</p> - -<p>"They are very kind ladies," said Anne-Hilarion, who was excited. -"I think Mme. de Chaulnes is a beautiful old lady like a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fée -marraine</span>—yes, like the Queen of Elfland. Elspeth, say the 'Queen -of Elfland'!" he added coaxingly.</p> - -<p>And, much more because she thought it would enable her to stay longer -in her charge's room than to please him, Elspeth embarked on the tale -of 'True Thomas,' which she had proffered in vain in London a few -nights ago. Her favourite passage was rendered with even more emphasis -than usual:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'O see ye not yon narrow road,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?</div> -<div class="verse">That is the Path of Righteousness,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Though after it but few enquires.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">'And see ye not yon braid braid road,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">That lies across the lily leven?</div> -<div class="verse">That is the Path of Wickedness,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Though some call it the Road to Heaven.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">'And see ye not yon bonny road,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">That winds about the fernie brae?</div> -<div class="verse">That is the road to fair Elfland,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Where thou and I this night maun gae.'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"This is Elfland, then," put in Anne-Hilarion contentedly.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'But, Thomas, ye sall haud yer tongue</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Whatever ye may hear or see;</div> -<div class="verse">For speak ye word in Elflyn-land,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Ye'l ne'er win back to your ain countrie.'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>She paused a second. "Go on!" commanded Anne-Hilarion.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'Syne they came to a garden green,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And she pu'd an apple——'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"You have missed some out!" exclaimed the listener. "Do not miss -any, Elspeth! Say about the rivers abune the knee and all the blood -that's shed on the earth——"</p> - -<p>"Fie, Maister Anne!" said Mrs. Saunders reprovingly. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Yon verses -are no' fittin' for a bairn, and A did wrang ever tae tell them tae -ye.</span>" However, to get them over as quickly as possible, she went back -and repeated them.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'O they rade on and farther on,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And they waded rivers abune the knee;</div> -<div class="verse">And they saw neither sun nor moon,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">But they heard the roaring of the sea.'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"I like that!" murmured the Comte de Flavigny, with a shudder.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">They waded through red blude to the knee;</div> -<div class="verse">For a' the blude that's shed on the earth</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Rins through the springs o' that countrie.'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"But what does that mean?" asked the child, captured by a delicious -horror. "How could——"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">It's a' silly havers, child—it's poetry, and nae sense in it,</span>" -replied Elspeth crossly. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Noo harken aboot the apple.</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">'Syne they came to a garden green——'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">But at the second attempt to pluck the apple the door opened and -Mlle. Angèle came in.</p> - -<p>"My sister desires that you will go now," she said to Elspeth. -"Mrs. Barnes is waiting to take you to her house. We shall expect -you to-morrow morning at seven o'clock."</p> - -<p>Though she had a pleasant smile on her face there was no resisting -the quiet authority of her tone. Mrs. Saunders rose with much -reluctance, bent over her charge and gave him a kiss—by no means the -ritual of every night—and with a very high head left the room. -Mlle. de Chaulnes came over to the bed.</p> - -<p>"Are you comfortable, little one?" she asked kindly. "You will not be -frightened? My sister sleeps next door, and if you want anything, you -have only to call her."</p> - -<p>"Yes, thank you, Madame," said Anne-Hilarion a little shyly, and she -too kissed him and went away.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>But the mere absence of alarm is not in itself sufficient to induce -sleep. M. le Comte de Flavigny had seen too much that day for ready -slumber, and now he began to see it all over again: the busy road from -Rochester, the stage-coach and its passengers—the fat traveller in -a shawl, the thin one who had, to Elspeth's intense indignation, -offered him a sip of rum—and everything in Rose Cottage, down to the -grey cat. The last object of which he thought was his goldfish, on the -dressing-table, for just as he was making up his mind to get up and -look at it, he fell fast asleep.</p> - -<p>In his sleep he had a curious dream. He was in a little boat on the -sea, he and a lady with a crown on her head. By that he knew that -she was the Queen of Elfland, though she had not, as the ballad said, -a skirt of grass-green silk and a velvet mantle, and he wondered why -she was in a boat, and what she had done with her horse and all its -silver bells. Then suddenly she changed to Mme. de Chaulnes, and, -bending over him where he lay in the boat, shook him slightly and -said, "Anne, Anne, do you remember now the name of the place at which -the expedition was to land?" And he tried hard to remember it, while -the boat rocked under him and the water was full of goldfish, but -all that he could recall was the name of the shop where the goldfish -had been bought yesterday—Hardman. "Think!" said the Queen. "Are -you sure you cannot remember it?" Then the sea began to get very -rough and dark, and Anne saw that on it were floating feather-beds -and shoes with cork heels, as it said in 'Noroway-over-the-foam,' -and so he looked over the side of the boat, and down, very far down -at the bottom, he could see Sir Patrick Spens lying drowned on the -seaweed, with a great many other people . . . and somehow Sir -Patrick Spens was also M. le Chevalier de la Vireville. And as he -looked he became aware that in some way it was his, Anne-Hilarion's, -fault that they were all drowned—or at least that it would be his -fault if he did something or other, but the dreadful thing was that -he could not find out what that something was which he must avoid. -And the Queen—or Mme. de Chaulnes—who was still in the boat, -said, laughing:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'Speak ye word in Elflyn-land</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie,'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">and then he understood—he <em>had</em> spoken, and that was why M. le -Chevalier and all the rest were down at the bottom of the sea. And -he began to cry bitterly, begging M. le Chevalier not to be drowned; -and because he was so unhappy and so sorry he said boldly to the -lady, "No, I cannot remember the name of the place, and if I could I -would not tell you!" But with that he woke, and found himself, not in -a boat, but in his own bed.</p> - -<p>It was still dark, and the light was burning, and there was no one -in the room. But as he looked anxiously to be sure that this was the -case,—anxiously and a little dimly, for there were real tears in -his eyes,—he heard the door very gently close.</p> - -<p>And that, joined to his dream, really terrified Anne-Hilarion, so -that he took instinctively to the natural refuge of those of tender -years oppressed with terrors in the night, and burying his head -under the clothes, lay there quaking with fear, his heart thudding -like a live thing in his small body. Who had gone out—or who . . . -what . . . had come in? What was in the room with him? . . .</p> - -<p>A long, long time passed; it was difficult to breathe under the -clothes, and he was hot and cold alternately with fear. But nothing -happened; no animal leapt on to the bed, no spectral hand shook -him by the shoulder. He remembered how Papa had told him that he -need never be frightened of anything unless he were doing wrong; -that the angels were there to take care of him, though he could not -see them. So, a little wondering whether it would penetrate through -the bedclothes, he put up a small prayer for protection to his own -guardian angel, and, finding some solace in this effort, ventured -after a while cautiously to remove some blanket and peep out. And -he found, to his inexpressible joy, that while he had been thus -concealed a miracle had happened—doubtless due to his orisons—and -that shafts of the dawn were making their way round the window-curtains. -So night was nearly over, and it would soon be the blessed day.</p> - -<p>The next thing that happened was the sun peering in and waking him. -Anne-Hilarion got up immediately to look at his goldfish, and wondered -if it had been swimming round and round tirelessly all the time in -the dark. In these speculations he forgot the terrors of the night -and was comforted, though when Elspeth came to dress him he looked -rather pale and tired, and did not trouble her, as he sometimes did, -by skipping about during his toilet. It was against Mrs. Saunders' -principles to 'cocker' him by asking him, even on an unusual occasion, -if he had had a good night, and so she made no inquiries. Perhaps -it was as well, for already the memory of the actual dream was -beginning to fade.</p> - -<p>The Comte de Flavigny breakfasted downstairs with the old ladies, -who had conformed in this respect to English custom, then he played -for a while in the garden with the fat grey cat, who would not, -indeed, play in the proper sense of the word, looking without any -interest at a piece of string when it was dangled before her, but -who was very willing to be stroked, and followed him round, purring -and rubbing herself against his legs. But he was uneasy in his mind -because of the goldfish, whose bowl he had caused Elspeth to hang on -the branch of a tree, tormenting her with inquiries as to whether the -cat could jump so high, or crawl out so far, till Elspeth at last -crossly said, "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Why didna ye leave the fush bide in yer bedroom, -child?</span>" To which Anne-Hilarion responded, with a sudden little -dignity that he had at times, "Because I do not wish to, and because -I mean always to have it with me, <em>always</em>, Elspeth!" But then -there came a sudden April shower, and he and his 'fush' had to be -conveyed indoors again.</p> - -<p>When Anne got into the house, he found a gentleman talking in the -hall to the two old ladies. They all turned round at his entrance.</p> - -<p>"Etienne, this is our little visitor," said Mme. de Chaulnes. -"Anne, this is an old friend of ours, M. du Châtel, who is an -émigré, like your father."</p> - -<p>Anne put his hand into M. du Châtel's, thinking that he could -hardly be an old friend of the fairy godmothers; he looked so -much younger than they. M. du Châtel was neatly dressed in black, -and he had also very black hair; there was about him nothing -remarkable save his particularly light eyes, which, besides looking -strange under so dark a thatch, reminded Anne of a goat he had -once seen.</p> - -<p>It soon appeared that the émigré had come on a visit and was staying -the night.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Then A'd like fine tae ken,</span>" said Elspeth indignantly, when she -had gathered this piece of information, "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">hoo it comes that these -madams hae a room for him in their hoose and nane for me!</span>" And she -brushed Anne-Hilarion's hair as though he were responsible for -it, while he, wincing, assured her that he did not know why.</p> - -<p>"Mebbe," communed Mrs. Saunders, "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">they kenned he was comin', and -keepit the room for him. Aweel, it's nane o' ma business, nae doot, -and A canna get a worrd oot o' that auld witch in the kitchen, but -A'll see yon room, or ma name's no' Elspeth Saunders.</span>"</p> - -<p>And see it she did, at three o'clock that afternoon, when the inmates -of Rose Cottage and their visitors were at dinner. She was in no -wise rewarded for her investigation of the small apartment—so small, -indeed, as hardly to be more than a cupboard—except by the fact, -which puzzled her, that the guest who had already occupied it for -some hours had made not the least attempt to unpack his little -valise. It stood untouched on a chair by the bed, and if Elspeth -had pursued her researches a little further she would have made a -discovery of real interest—that the bed prepared by those very -particular old ladies for M. du Châtel's repose had no sheets on it.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>Downstairs, at the same time, the newcomer was being most friendly -and agreeable to Anne-Hilarion over the roast lamb and salad, -and suggesting that his little compatriot might like to see something -of Canterbury if ces dames would permit, and that, with their -approval, he would take him that afternoon to see the great Cathedral, -in whose crypt French people—though, to be sure, Huguenots—had -worshipped for over a hundred years. Anne replied, politely as -ever, but without enthusiasm, that he should be very pleased to -accompany him. He was not drawn to M. du Châtel of the goat's eyes. -Nor, as he wandered with him later in that lofty nave, was he at -all communicative, as he had been to the old ladies on the previous -evening, for, after all, M. du Châtel was no friend of his father's, -and though his dream was now so dim that he could hardly remember it -at all, it had left behind a vague discomfort. He was sorry, somehow, -that the émigré had come to Rose Cottage, and when a rather earlier -bedtime than usual was suggested to him by Mme. de Chaulnes, who -said that he looked tired, he had no objections to offer.</p> - -<p>And, being really sleepy, he had no apprehensions as to the night, -and did not want the hot posset which Mlle. Angèle was kind enough -to bring up to him after he was in bed and Elspeth had left him, -though for politeness' sake he sat up and sipped it, while Mlle. -Angèle waited and smiled at him, encouraging him to finish it to -the last drop. It had a flavour which Anne did not much relish, but -having been taught that it was rude to make remarks on the food which -was put before him, he said nothing on this point. Yet he was glad -when he had finished, and when Mlle. Angèle, kissing him, went away -and left him, with only the night-light and his goldfish for company, -to that very sound sleep which was stretching out inviting arms to -him.</p> - -<h3 id="c6">CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">"A Little Boy Lost"</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">In a cheap little room, not much more than a garret, at the top of a -house off Tottenham Court Road, the Chevalier de la Vireville was -shaving himself before a cracked mirror. As he did so he hummed, -experimentally, the 'Marseillaise,' which it amused him at times -to render, fitting to it, however, when he actually sang it, the -burlesque words of Royalist invention, '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le jour de boire est arrivé,' -'c'est pour nous que le boudin grille,</span>' and the rest. The light -filtered through the dirty, uncurtained window on to his strong, -aquiline features, the bold chin with a cleft in it, the mouth with -its lines of recklessness and humour; and threw up too the marks -of stress of some kind—it was difficult to tell of what kind—which -had bitten into it too deeply for it to be altogether a handsome -or an attractive countenance. Even as it was, when Fortuné de la -Vireville's smile was merely devil-may-care and not cynical, it had -its charm. Yet something had marred his expression, though neither -women nor wine held any attraction for him. He followed danger, -a commerce which no doubt has purifying effects on some characters, -but which in others is apt to breed consequences not altogether -commendable; and he followed it intemperately, as though life had -very little value for him. With life indeed he possessed only one -enduring tie—his mother in Jersey—and, so his friends whispered, -the remembrance of another, most untimely snapped. Yet for all -this he certainly seemed to find a relish in an existence of the -most constant and varied peril, and envisaged his hazards with an -unfailing and sometimes inconvenient humour.</p> - -<p>The ways in which he 'lived dangerously' were these: He was, first -and foremost, a Chouan chief, leading, in a ceaseless guerrilla -warfare of sudden attacks and ambushes, among the broom and hedgerows -of Brittany, those stubborn little long-haired men of an elder -race whose devotion to their religion and their King was almost -fanaticism. Secondly, he was intermittently an '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">agent de la -correspondance</span>'—that is to say, he was in constant personal -communication with Jersey, the centre whence set forth all the -small Royalist descents on the coast of Brittany and Normandy. Here -Captain Philip d'Auvergne, the Jerseyman, titular Prince de Bouillon -and captain in His Britannic Majesty's Navy, watched over the -interests of the French <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span> and directed the various gun-running -expeditions to France. When, therefore, as at the present time, La -Vireville was not risking his life amongst Republican bullets, he -was venturing it in a little boat, crossing to and fro from Jersey -to the Breton coast, liable to be shot at sight by a patrol as he -landed, liable to be wrecked on his passage, because secrecy demanded -so small a vessel. It was true that the 'Jersey correspondence' had -three luggers and a brig of its own, but these were generally used -for transporting whole parties of returning <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span>, and in any case -they never came right in to shore.</p> - -<p>And always, in whatever capacity La Vireville trod his native soil, -his head was forfeit, since he was an émigré, and in his own person, -as the Chevalier Charles-Marie-Thérèse-Fortuné de la Vireville, -liable to summary execution. It really needed not that a couple -of months ago the Convention had also issued the large reward of -five thousand francs for the body, dead or alive, of 'Augustin, -ci-devant noble, chef de Chouans'; for 'Augustin' and he had but -one body between them. Like most of the Chouan leaders, La Vireville -had a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">nom de guerre</span>, and many even of his followers knew him by no -other. Little, however, did the reward for his person trouble him, -since he knew his Bretons incapable of betraying him for money, and -was very sensibly persuaded that, his head being forfeit in any case, -it did not concern him whether, when he had parted with it, any other -person were to reap pecuniary benefit by the separation. Only, as -a sacrifice to prudence—about the only one he ever made, and that -more for the sake of the cause he served than for his own—he strove -to keep apart as much as he could these two selves, and, so far, he -had reason to believe the Republican Government ignorant of their -identity.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>When he had finished his shaving operations, La Vireville, still -humming, looked round the scantily appointed dressing-table for -something upon which to wipe his razor. On the threadbare dimity -lay, in tempting proximity, a folded paper with worn and soiled -edges, but this he refrained from using. It was, in fact, the -proclamation in question for the person of 'Monsieur Augustin,' -and, as it possessed the merit of being very inaccurate in its -description of that person, he had the habit of carrying it upon -him—partly, he declared, as an amulet. The Republic one and -indivisible had not, he averred, the wits to conceive that a man -would voluntarily carry about with him his own death-warrant.</p> - -<p>"Head of a ci-devant!" he observed now, wiping the razor upon a -piece of newspaper, and making a grimace at his image in the glass. -"No, Augustin, my friend, you will get a bullet through your heart -before ever that ornament rolls into the basket and is shown to an -admiring crowd." And indeed this was highly probable.</p> - -<p>He was about to put down the razor when the tarnished mirror suddenly -revealed to him a tiny trickle of blood on his left cheek, just -below the short furrowed scar that ran across it. He had cut himself -in shaving—the most infinitesimal injury, yet, after standing a -moment staring at the glass, he gave a violent exclamation, dabbed -at the place with a hasty handkerchief, and threw the scarcely -flecked linen from him as though it were a thing accursed. For a -Chouan, of all men, the action, with its suggestion of repugnance, -was strange.</p> - -<p>However, in another minute his brow cleared and he proceeded with -his toilet. Then once more humming the 'Marseillaise,' he sat down -upon the bed and looked over the contents of a letter-case which he -drew from his pocket. A missive in a fine large flourishing hand -signed "Bouillon" informed him that the writer was eagerly expecting -his arrival to confer with him as to the landing of a cargo of arms -and ammunition near Cap Fréhel on the Breton coast. And, in fact, -it was M. de la Vireville's intention to set out this morning for -Southampton, thence to Jersey, on this matter. Another letter was -there, from Jersey also, in a feminine hand. The smile which was -not cynical came about the émigré's lips as he re-read it, and, being -a Frenchman, he lifted and kissed his mother's letter. A third was -the several days' old note from the Marquis de Flavigny, telling -him of the time of the conference which he had already attended -in Mr. Elphinstone's house.</p> - -<p>"Tudieu!" exclaimed M. de la Vireville as he came upon this. "And -I promised to say good-bye to the baby. I wonder have I the time?"</p> - -<p>He sprang up to put together his few effects, and in a very short -space was making his way westwards.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone got up from his memoirs when the Chevalier de la -Vireville was shown in to him in the library.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid that I am interrupting you, sir," said the émigré. -"If so, it shall only be for a moment."</p> - -<p>"You are not interrupting me at all," returned the old gentleman -pleasantly. "I am very glad to see you, M. de la Vireville; pray -sit down. But I thought you had started for Jersey."</p> - -<p>"I am just about to do so, sir," said La Vireville, obeying him. -"I came to take my leave of you and of Anne."</p> - -<p>"The child will indeed be sorry to miss you," observed his grandfather. -"He was afraid that he might. He has gone away, quite unexpectedly, -upon a visit."</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Tiens!</span>" said La Vireville, surprised; "Anne on a visit! That is -something new. May one ask where he is gone?"</p> - -<p>"He has gone to compatriots—some old friends of his father's at -Canterbury. I am glad that the child should have a change of air, -for he has been looking a trifle pale lately, so when my son-in-law's -letter came I was glad to pack him off—under Elspeth's charge, -of course."</p> - -<p>But the Frenchman did not seem to be sharing Mr. Elphinstone's -pleasure at the change of air. "<em>Canterbury!</em>" he reiterated sharply. -"<em>Canterbury!</em> I did not know that René had friends at Canterbury."</p> - -<p>"Nor did I, to tell the truth," confessed Mr. Elphinstone. "I do not -think, in fact, that he was aware of it himself till he came across -them on his way through Canterbury to Dover the other day."</p> - -<p>"On his way to Dover!" repeated the émigré. "But, Mr. Elphinstone, -René did not go to Dover! He crossed from Harwich to Germany, -of course."</p> - -<p>"I think you must be mistaken, sir," replied the old gentleman -mildly. "His letter came from Canterbury, at all events. It bears -the postmark. But what is wrong then?"</p> - -<p>For La Vireville was on his feet, looking very grave. "Have you -the letter here?"</p> - -<p>Considerably astonished, Mr. Elphinstone took it out of his pocket. -"This is what he says: 'I have just met, by chance, two very old -friends of my family, who have been living here, it appears, for -a couple of years or so—Mme. and Mlle. de Chaulnes. They are very -anxious to make Anne's acquaintance, and I have promised them that -they should do so as soon as possible. If, therefore, you would send -him to Canterbury with Elspeth for a few days on receipt of this, -I should be greatly obliged. He would be well looked after.' And -enclosed was an invitation from the French lady herself."</p> - -<p>La Vireville gave a cry. "It wanted only this! Good God, sir, what -have you done? Mme. de Chaulnes—the poor child!" He almost snatched -the letter from the old man's astonished hand and took it to the -window. "Yes, a very good imitation, though—pardon me—you ought -to know your son-in-law's handwriting better . . . Mon Dieu, what -a disaster! When did the boy go?"</p> - -<p>"Last Wednesday," answered Mr. Elphinstone, looking dazed. "But -what in God's name do you mean, M. de la Vireville? He got there -safely. I have even had a letter from him to-day in which he speaks -of the two kind ladies—see, 'The two old ladies who are very gentle -to me'—he means kind, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gentil</i>; he often uses that expression—'and -their grey cat.' So it is all true, and he is there. . . . I do not -understand you."</p> - -<p>"Of course he got there safely—would to God he had not!" exclaimed -La Vireville in a sort of desperation. "But, all the same, those -two kind old ladies are spies in the pay of the Convention. We have -only recently discovered it, to our cost. And clever! . . . How -did they get their information—know that René was leaving England -just at this time, even know the name of Anne's nurse?"</p> - -<p>"It must be all right," reiterated Mr. Elphinstone piteously. "No -one could have told them but René himself."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Elphinstone, I repeat, René never went to Canterbury! I myself -set him a mile or two on his way to Harwich. That is the one -mistake these women have made, or, it may be, a risk that they -deliberately ran, trusting that you would not know the route your -son-in-law took—as you did not. As for the rest, there has been -treachery somewhere—in the house, almost certainly. . . . I warned -René. . . . However, time is too valuable to spend in finding out -who sold them information. The more pressing matter is to get the -child back before it is too late."</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone put his hand to his head. "Too late! . . . I still -do not understand. What could they do to him?"</p> - -<p>"Anne knows a good many things it were better he did not know, sir. -I fear that I am responsible for some of his knowledge. That is no -doubt why they wanted him."</p> - -<p>"You mean they——"</p> - -<p>"They will try to get information out of him. Oh, they will not do -him any bodily harm; it would not advantage them; but they may -frighten him, le pauvre petit! He will come back to you, sir, -never fear"—for the old man had sunk into a chair and had hidden -his face—"but I am very much afraid he will leave something behind. -They will wheedle secrets out of him, for he knows things—he cannot -help but know them."</p> - -<p>"What is to be done?" asked Mr. Elphinstone hoarsely, his head still -between his hands.</p> - -<p>"I think I had best post off to Canterbury instantly. Give me your -written authority to bring the child back at once."</p> - -<p>"But you—you were going to Jersey . . . and ought you, M. de la -Vireville, of all people, to run your head into a nest of spies, -as you say they are?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville gave a shrug. "That cannot be helped," said he. "Believe -me, it will be much more difficult if you send an Englishman. -Moreover, it is very necessary that I should discover, if I can, -how much they have got out of Anne. Do not set the law in motion -unless I neither return to-morrow nor send you news. And—you must -pardon me—but I shall want money, possibly a good deal of money."</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone pulled himself out of his chair and, going to a -safe, began with trembling hands to unlock it.</p> - -<p>"I cannot believe that you are right," he said brokenly. "And he -had Elspeth—he even took his new goldfish with him."</p> - -<p>"Neither Elspeth nor a goldfish, I fear, will serve as a talisman," -returned the Frenchman rather grimly, pocketing the notes and gold -that the old man pushed into his hands. "These two years that Mme. -and Mlle. de Chaulnes, as they call themselves, have lived on the -Dover road, professedly as sympathisers with the Royalist cause, -they have been the reason of more of our plans miscarrying, more -of our agents being betrayed, than any half-dozen of the Convention's -male spies put together. You see, they are really of noble birth."</p> - -<p>"René says in his letter that they are old friends—but I forget, -you say his letter is a forgery."</p> - -<p>"As to their having known his family in the past I cannot say," -replied La Vireville. "It is possible, since they are renegades. -The mischief is, that we have only just found out their treachery. -This, I suppose, is a last effort before giving up their trade—in -Canterbury at least. Now a line, sir, to authorise me to bring the -child back."</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone wrote it, scarcely able to control his pen. "God -grant you are successful!" he said, as he gave it to the Chouan.</p> - -<p>"I will do my best, sir," returned the latter. "I do not want to -alarm you unduly, and, on my soul, I think they only wanted Anne -for what they could get out of him in the way of information. <em>We</em> -shall be the losers by that, not you; and so I hope to bring him -back safely in a couple of days at most. In any case, I will write -to you from Canterbury to-night. Au revoir!"</p> - -<p>He wrung the old man's hand and departed.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>If there were any room in any house in London which held at that -hour more anguish of soul than Mr. Elphinstone's study, it would -have been hard to find it.</p> - -<h3 id="c7">CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">The Chevalier de la Vireville meets "Monsieur Augustin"</span></small></h3> - -<p class="noindent">When the Chevalier de la Vireville, wet and draggled from his long -ride, flung himself off his horse at the gate, and knocked on -the door of the little house at Canterbury, that door was not very -speedily opened. Yet the occupants of Rose Cottage were not engaged -in anything visibly nefarious: Mme. de Chaulnes was merely copying -a paper, in her regular pointed writing, at the table in the little -hall, and, after exchanging a glance with her sister-in-law, she -quite unhurriedly sanded over what she had written and, putting it -away in a drawer, took up some embroidery. Mlle. Angèle, equally -unhurried, rose and opened.</p> - -<p>So La Vireville saw, through the frame of the door, an idyllic picture -of a beautiful and serene old age bent over fine needlework. His -mouth tightened a little as he took off his dripping hat to Mlle. -de Chaulnes.</p> - -<p>"Mesdames will permit that I enter?" he asked in his own tongue.</p> - -<p>"If you have business with us, certainly, Monsieur," replied Mlle. -Angèle, standing back, and the very steadiness of her tone, its -absence of surprise, seemed to hint that she knew what he had come -about. He threw a look down the path at his horse, standing, too -spent to move, at the gate, and stepped in, uttering apologies for -his wet and muddy condition.</p> - -<p>"Monsieur appears indeed to have ridden far, and in haste," remarked -Mme. de Chaulnes, responding to his salute with an inclination of -the head, but still continuing her embroidery. "Pray give yourself -the trouble to hang your cloak by the fire. Angèle, perhaps Monsieur -will partake of some refreshment?"</p> - -<p>But Monsieur declined. "I am in haste, Mesdames. I think you can -guess why. I have come, on the part of his grandfather, to take away -the little boy whom you have with you—Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes raised her still beautifully-marked eyebrows. "What -a singular hour to arrive, Monsieur! But you are forestalled. The -little boy went back with his nurse this afternoon—no, not by the -stage-coach, in a postchaise. They must be at Rochester by now; you -will have passed them on the road."</p> - -<p>The émigré's face grew dark. "Madame, would not truth be better? I -am not a very credulous person. It will be quite easy for me to -procure a magistrate's warrant against you. I have the written -authority of the boy's grandfather."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes looked at him with a very finished composure. "I am -afraid that I do not quite follow you, Monsieur. I have already had -the honour to tell you that the child was sent back this afternoon. -. . . Ah, I see—you do not believe me! Well, it will no doubt be -quite easy to procure a warrant; we are only two women in a strange -country; but I think it would advantage you very little, since no -amount of search warrants—if that is what you are threatening—will -produce what is not there. Pray examine our poor house yourself, -if that will give you satisfaction; you are at perfect liberty to -do so. Angèle, light a candle and conduct Monsieur."</p> - -<p>It was on the tip of La Vireville's tongue to refuse, for he was -convinced that the offer would never have been made if the boy were -still there. In that respect at least the truth had probably been -spoken. But the operation would give him time for thought. "Yes, -if you please, I will do so," he said, and while the younger lady -lighted a candle, stood silent, looking at the elder, as she calmly -threaded a needle. Of how many lives like his had not those fragile -old fingers lately held and twisted the thread!</p> - -<p>Mlle. Angèle preceded him up the stairs.</p> - -<p>"See," she said, throwing open a door, "here is my sister's bedroom; -pray do not hesitate to enter! There is a cupboard on that side; -he might be hidden there, might he not? Here is my own room; let -me light the candles for you. There is no cupboard in this room—one -of its disadvantages. And this is the room the child had; as you -see, it could hardly be emptier."</p> - -<p>The exquisitely-ordered room certainly bore no sign of recent -occupation nor of hurried flight. The spotless bed, new clothed, -looked as if no one had ever slept therein; every chair was in -its place, and the dimity-hung dressing-table, whose glass had -reflected—how short a time ago?—Anne's childish countenance, -seemed primly to reproach the intruder for his suspicions. Yet -a chill despair invaded the Frenchman's heart. All had been indeed -well planned!</p> - -<p>Mlle. Angèle stood regarding him with a curious smile on her round, -comfortable face as he walked mechanically to the bow-window in -which, with a little space round it, stood the dressing-table. And -La Vireville was there almost a score of seconds, looking down at -the polished boards at something half hidden by the folds of dimity, -before he realised at what he was staring—at a goldfish slowly -swimming round and round in a glass bowl.</p> - -<p>He stooped and picked it up, and, without speaking, faced Mlle. -de Chaulnes, holding it out a little towards her. Then, still -silent, he went past her and downstairs, the glass dangling from -his hand, and water and fish swinging violently in their prison. -Mme. de Chaulnes was still bent over her needlework as he set his -discovery down in front of her.</p> - -<p>"A sign of a somewhat hurried departure, Madame, I think," he said -quietly. "I conceive the child would hardly be likely to leave this -willingly behind, nor would there be any reason why he should—if -he were returning to his grandfather's house, as you allege."</p> - -<p>"You should be in the secret service, Monsieur,' was all that Mme. -de Chaulnes vouchsafed, but she looked at the little captive and -compressed her lips.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Madame," retorted the émigré, seating himself at a -little distance. "I leave that trade henceforward to your sex. It -is only recently that one has become aware of your talents in that -direction—talents rather unusual in one of your birth."</p> - -<p>The old lady was quite unruffled. "If it is your intention, Monsieur, -to remain here to insult us, of course you can do so with impunity. -We cannot eject you. Otherwise I would suggest your returning -to London, if you wish to see the little boy . . . or else continuing -your interrupted journey to Jersey, and relieving the impatience of -the Prince de Bouillon."</p> - -<p>La Vireville, though he received this stroke with a steady bearing, -had nevertheless a somewhat numb sensation, for of course her -knowledge of his destination almost certainly meant that Anne -had been talking.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you know me?" he asked carelessly.</p> - -<p>"You could not expect our little visitor to be tongue-tied, especially -on a subject so interesting to him as M. le Chevalier de la Vireville."</p> - -<p>Probably the worst was coming now. But, at all events, it was -something that she should let him see how much she knew.</p> - -<p>"Yes," went on Mme. de Chaulnes, "he gave us a very agreeable and -lifelike picture of his doings in Cavendish Square, and of his many -French friends, so that it was not hard to recognise you, Monsieur -. . . <em>Augustin</em>!"</p> - -<p>The name was merely breathed. La Vireville was only just able to -check an exclamation. Anne had indeed, poor innocent, betrayed him! -But how did he know his <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">nom de guerre</span>? Then he remembered that -it had been used in the child's presence when he sat on his lap -that night in Mr. Elphinstone's dining-room. . . . Well, it was -his own doing, for it was he who had retained him there. Perhaps -it did not very much matter after all; it was quite conceivable -that these old plotters, with the sources of information which -had in the past been only too open to them, had found out his -identity by other means. But, remembering that meeting, a very -disquieting fear suddenly came over him. How much of another matter -had Anne heard and understood?</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes looked at his face and openly laughed.</p> - -<p>"You are wondering. M. le Chevalier . . . M. Augustin—which do -you prefer?—how much the child remembered of the conversation -you held about the proposed Government expedition? But, you see, -we know all about that—from other sources. Only the place—the -suggested place of landing. . . . Unfortunately, Anne was not -able at first to recall the name."</p> - -<p>"Why do you say 'at first'?" broke in La Vireville.</p> - -<p>"Because it is the truth. By now he may have remembered."</p> - -<p>"Where is he?" demanded the Chouan, who was holding himself in -with difficulty.</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes shrugged her shoulders. "I have told you. Somewhere -between here and Rochester."</p> - -<p>"Madame, you are lying!" said La Vireville. "Between here and -Paris would be nearer the mark. You have sent him over to France -because you think he knows a thing which, if he did know it, is -not of the slightest importance."</p> - -<p>"Your assurance on that point, Monsieur, is naturally most valuable! -What he told us about yourself, for instance, was of so little -moment, was it not?"</p> - -<p>"Of very little," returned La Vireville hardily. "You probably -knew it already. . . . Come, Madame, let us play with our cards -on the table. I know yours, even if you do not display them, and -you, I fancy, know mine now. Do not think to keep up any longer -this farce of having sent the child home. You have shipped him -over to France. God knows of what use the revelations of a child -of five or six can be to the Committee of Public Safety, even if -he do reveal anything to them, and that I am certain he would -never do unless he were tricked into it, as you tricked him."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Monsieur," said the old lady, smiling, "you speak as a man, -and a strong man. It is not so difficult to make a small boy -speak—or remember!"</p> - -<p>A thrill of fear and abhorrence ran down La Vireville's spine, -and he drew back from the table on which he was leaning.</p> - -<p>"No, no!" said Mme. de Chaulnes, putting up a delicate mittened -hand. "No, nothing of that sort was necessary. Angèle here can -testify to that. We were old friends of his father's, devoted -Royalists—what need for more? But if he were obstinate, I could -not answer . . ."</p> - -<p>The mask was off now. They <em>had</em> sent him to France, then.</p> - -<p>"Madame, where is he?" asked La Vireville sternly. "It is I who -can put force in motion here, remember!"</p> - -<p>"You threaten us with those same repugnant methods, then, Monsieur?"</p> - -<p>"God forbid! I merely want to come to terms. If the child has -already reached France——"</p> - -<p>"Then neither you, Monsieur, whatever power you may command here, -nor his grandfather, nor all the magistrates' warrants in England -will get him out again—no, not the whole British Army!"</p> - -<p>La Vireville made no reply to this unpleasant truth. "What I cannot -understand," he said, "is your motive for sending him there—unless -it be sheer cruelty. You cannot seriously regard him as a source -of information; moreover, you have, apparently, already pumped -him dry."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes smiled a little. "He is an intelligent child, -and an attractive. His father no doubt adores him—motherless -only son as he is."</p> - -<p>And on that, in a flash, La Vireville saw the whole thing. They -were going to use Anne as a bait. They hoped his father, that -adversary of parts, would follow him into the jaws of destruction.</p> - -<p>"As you are no doubt aware," he said slowly, "the Marquis de -Flavigny is little likely to hear of his son's kidnapping for -some time to come. Your acquaintance, however procured, with the -family affairs will tell you that he is not in England at present."</p> - -<p>"Measures will be taken to inform him during the course of his -travels on the Continent," replied Mme. de Chaulnes with calm. -"If the information does not reach him, well——"</p> - -<p>She left the sentence unfinished, her needle pursuing its unfaltering -course. La Vireville watched it, his brain busy with all sorts -of desperate schemes.</p> - -<p>"I have almost the feelings of a father for Anne myself," he -remarked at length.</p> - -<p>"That is most creditable to you, Monsieur."</p> - -<p>"Would it not be possible for <em>me</em> to play the part designed for -the Marquis de Flavigny, or is he irreplaceable?"</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes put down her needle and looked her compatriot in -the face. In those old clear eyes, wells of falsehood, he could -read nothing save an implacable will.</p> - -<p>"You would do . . . better," she said.</p> - -<p>"Faith, I am flattered!" cried La Vireville gaily, though, to tell -the truth, he felt a little cold. "Will you instruct me how to -play the part?"</p> - -<p>"It is simple. Fired with this quasi-paternal anxiety, you go to -France after the child and attempt to recover him."</p> - -<p>The Chevalier de la Vireville laughed. "A fine 'attempt'! Do you -think, Madame, that I am fool enough to venture my head for no -better a chance than that? After all, I am <em>not</em> his father."</p> - -<p>"No," said Mme. de Chaulnes cooly, "naturally you could never -recover him that way. But, of course, there is another method."</p> - -<p>"You mean . . . exchange?"</p> - -<p>"Precisely."</p> - -<p>There was a pregnant silence. The goldfish suddenly ceased swimming, -and gaped at the Frenchman through its prison walls.</p> - -<p>"But you are not his father, one sees," resumed the old lady, and -took up her embroidery again. "So why consider it? He will forget -England and his surroundings—in time. I do not suppose he will -be unkindly used; someone will probably adopt him and bring him -up to a useful trade."</p> - -<p>"Some foster-father like Simon, no doubt," commented the émigré -bitterly. In his mind was the little prisoner of the Temple, so -soon, had La Vireville known it, to be free of his captivity for -ever. The thought of that martyred innocence pierced him as nothing -else could have done, and he went straight to the point. "How could -I possible have any guarantee that, if I gave myself up, the bargain -would be respected, and the boy sent back unharmed?"</p> - -<p>For the second time the old lady looked at him long and steadily. -Then she opened a drawer in the table and took out a paper which -she laid before him.</p> - -<p>"That has been arranged for," said she. "Here is the child's passport -out of France all ready. You have only to convey it to him."</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Parbleu!</span>" exclaimed the émigré, "this has all been very prettily -planned! I can scarcely flatter myself that it was entirely for -my benefit, since it was by mere chance that I came upon this -errand."</p> - -<p>Again Mme. de Chaulnes smiled that wintry smile. "Do not seek to -probe too deeply, Monsieur. Yet, since you spoke of playing with -the cards on the table, the Convention would, perhaps, rather see -your band of Chouans leaderless, Monsieur Augustin, than possess -themselves of the person of M. de Flavigny, who, after all, has -no such forces at his disposal. '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Tout étant fait pour une fin, tout -est nécessairement pour la meilleure fin.</span>' You know your <cite>Candide</cite>, -no doubt. . . . But to return to business. Does this safe-conduct -convince you?"</p> - -<p>"Only tolerably," answered La Vireville, as he examined it. "It -would convey to me much more conviction if there were ever any -chance of its reaching the child. You know as well as I, Madame, -that I should be apprehended as an émigré the moment I set foot -at Calais or Boulogne. No doubt that would suit the Convention -just as well—better, in fact—but you can scarce expect it to -make much appeal to me. I shall never have a second head; I do not -propose to make those gentlemen a present of it for nothing. I -also must have some kind of a safe-conduct, to protect me till -my business is done."</p> - -<p>"Really, Monsieur Augustin, you are very exacting," observed Mme. -de Chaulnes. "Yet there is sense in what you say."</p> - -<p>"I dare say that you, in your providence, have already such a -safe-conduct made out for me?" hazarded he.</p> - -<p>"Not altogether fully," said his adversary, and again she put her -hand into the drawer. "It is blank, for we did not know who might -be fired by the idea of rescue—though, to tell the truth, from -what the boy said of your relations with him, we began to hope -that we might have the pleasure of seeing you. . . . Shall we -fill it in?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville looked at her steadily as she faced him, the embroidery -still in one frail, blue-veined hand, mockery round her mouth. It -was sheer insanity. He had no right to do it, for he knew his life -to be a hundred times more valuable than a child's happiness. He -could be very ill-spared in Northern Brittany, in Jersey. . . . And -though his real intention was not merely to cross the Channel and -deliver himself up as a hostage, but by hook or by crook to get -Anne out of France and himself into the bargain, the chances were -quite fifty to one against his succeeding, and he knew it. It was -just the knowledge that he was acting against all the canons of -common sense and perhaps even of duty that decided La Vireville—that, -and an intolerable picture of a little boy who had never known an -unkind word being "brought up to some useful trade."</p> - -<p>He nodded. "Yes, if you please."</p> - -<p>"Angèle, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ma chérie</span>," said Mme. de Chaulnes, putting down the -embroidery, "you can pen M. le Chevalier's description better than -I. Have the goodness, Monsieur, to tell my sister your height and -your age; the rest she can see for herself."</p> - -<p>Mlle Angèle got pen and ink, while La Vireville, not unamused, gave -her the required information. Then, looking up at him from time to -time as he sat there, she wrote much more, and he knew that such -a description of his personal appearance, drawn from the life, -must almost inevitably, in the end, be his ruin, for in sitting -for his own portrait he was also sitting for that of 'Monsieur -Augustin.' And he wondered whether the picture now taking shape -under her pen were flattering or the reverse. Some of the Government -'signalements' which he had seen posted up in Brittany were remarkable -for their fidelity to detail. . . . At any rate, he was not forced -to reveal to this artist, now accumulating unimpeachable material, -what other scars he carried besides that, only too obvious, on -his cheek.</p> - -<p>"It will be best, Angèle," said Mme. de Chaulnes as the writer -finished, "to put, not Monsieur's name, which for this purpose he -might find inconvenient, but 'the person recommended by' and then -the cypher signature. It will be best also to fill in the route to -be taken, lest a fancy should seize Monsieur Augustin to go by -way of Brittany, for example."</p> - -<p>The émigré was about to protest, when it occurred to him that she -might conceivably indicate the same route as that taken by Anne -and his escort, which it would be a great convenience to know, -since his mind was entirely set on overtaking them before they -got to Paris. It need hardly be said that he had no intention of -putting foot in that city if he could possibly avoid it.</p> - -<p>Mlle. de Chaulnes passed the document to her sister-in-law, who -read it through carefully.</p> - -<p>"Excellent," she said. "I fear, M. Augustin, that you will not -henceforward derive much immunity from the inaccuracy of the -Convention's previous description of your person. You have taken -a copy, Angèle?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the younger lady.</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes folded the passport, and gave it, together with -Anne-Hilarion's safe-conduct back to England, to the prospective -rescuer. "Voilà, Monsieur!" she said. "Take that to the Committee -of Public Safety and you will find that it will do what you wish -for the child. You need have no fear that it will not, for the -Committee is something in our debt. But I take leave to doubt if -your intentions are quite as heroic as they appear."</p> - -<p>"I lay claim to no heroism of any kind," said La Vireville shortly, -and, putting the papers in his breast, he took up his wet cloak.</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes meanwhile had, for the first time, got to her -feet, and stood leaning upon her stick. "Of course, M. le Chevalier, -you do not think we are so blind as not to know what you mean to -do. But, believe me, you will never be able to do it. For one -thing, you will not be able to overtake them before Paris. They -have twenty-four hours' start of you."</p> - -<p>"Madame," retorted Fortuné de la Vireville, his hand on the latch -of the door, "some have thought that children are peculiarly the -objects of angelic protection. We shall see about that twenty-four -hours' start!"</p> - -<p>As he shut the door he was aware of a little laugh, and the words, -in a voice of mock surprise, "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Monsieur est donc dévot?</span>"</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p><span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Dévot</span> indeed La Vireville was not, and no real confidence in -celestial intervention, but wrath and dismay filled his heart as -he rode off in the rain and the darkness. But it was not in him -to show other than a bold front to an enemy, whatever his secret -apprehensions. It was not very likely that he would be able to get -the boy out of the hands of his captors without, himself, paying -the ultimate penalty. Still, there was a chance, and he meant to -stake everything upon it. Only, as he hastened to the <i class="name">Rose and -Crown</i> to change his horse, it occurred to him most unpleasantly -that perhaps he was being utterly duped; that Anne-Hilarion had, -perhaps, never been taken to France after all, and that he was -going to put his head into the lion's mouth for nothing. And he -cursed the maddening uncertainty of the whole affair, where the -only fact that stood out with real clearness was the jeopardy -in which he was about to place his own neck.</p> - -<p>In the midst of the business of hiring another horse, he suddenly -remembered Elspeth, and wondered that he had not thought of her -before. She must know something. But where was she? Had they shipped -her off too? It seemed unlikely—yet equally unlikely was it that -they had either left her free to hurry back to London with her -tale, or had made away with her. They had probably arranged for -a temporary disappearance. If he looked for her he would waste -the time on which so much depended, and even if he found her she -would not, probably, be able to tell him a great deal. And so La -Vireville, whose life of late years had taught him the faculty of -quick decision, resolved not to pursue that trail.</p> - -<p>He wrote at the inn a letter to Mr. Elphinstone, explaining what -he was about to do, made arrangements for it to be taken by special -messenger to London, and, in a quarter of an hour or so, on a fresh -horse, was galloping through the rainy night along the Dover road.</p> - -<h2>BOOK TWO<br /> - -<small>THE ROAD TO ENGLAND</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"O they rade on, and farther on,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And they waded rivers abune the knee;</div> -<div class="verse">And they saw neither sun nor moon,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">But they heard the roaring of the sea."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap"><cite>Thomas the Rhymer.</cite></p> - -<h3 id="c8">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Some Results of listening to Poetry</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Mathieu Pourcelles had now definitely become a nuisance to the -habitués of that old-established house of entertainment, the <i class="name">Hôtel -du Faisan et de la Constitution</i> at Abbeville. To the patron indeed -he was more than a nuisance; he was a source of frenzy. But since -Mathieu's elder brother, the notary, was the patron's creditor to -the extent of some two thousand francs, the patron had to suffer him, -and all the clients of the <i class="name">Faisan</i> had to suffer him too—unless -they removed their custom to another hostelry. And this, to be exact, -was what they were gradually doing, for there are limits even to the -patience of a decent citizen who has for years played his nightly -little game of draughts at the same tavern and does not favour -changes.</p> - -<p>It shall briefly be revealed what was the matter with Mathieu -Pourcelles. He was a poet. Nor was he a good poet; nay, not even -an indifferent poet. But his muse was both prolific and patriotic, -giving birth to some abortion at almost every public event, and -though all good citizens of Abbeville were properly interested in -such occurrences as, say, the repeal of the Law of the Maximum, -they preferred a plain newspaper account of it to Mathieu's rhythmical -rendering. Yet if they showed undue restiveness under the poet's -outpourings it was just conceivable that, seeing the subject of his -verse, they might be suspected of 'incivisme.' And thus there -was little help for them.</p> - -<p>On a certain evening, then, in April 1795, Mathieu entered the -<i class="name">Faisan</i> a little earlier than usual. In his hand was a fresh, -untumbled manuscript. Several citizens incontinently rose, paid -their scores, and went out. The patron cast an agonised look at -their retreating backs, and one full of venom at Mathieu's. The -poet, a lanky personage, sat down, gave the smallest possible order -for refreshments, and, after scandalously few preliminaries and a -marked absence of any kind of encouragement, unrolled his manuscript.</p> - -<p>"I have here, fellow-citizens, some verses which I should like to -submit to your valued judgment." Such was Mathieu's formula to-night. -"These verses deal with the present situation of the arms of our -beloved country, being, in fact, an 'Ode on the Peace recently -concluded between the glorious Republic and Prussia.'"</p> - -<p>All present resigned themselves, except one man who ostentatiously -buried himself in a news-sheet. Mathieu, than whom was no happier -mortal at that moment between the English Channel and the Pyrenees, -began joyfully to roll forth his periods and his execrable rhymes. -And, weedy though he was of aspect, his own outpourings soon began -increasingly to inflate his not inconsiderable voice, so that -presently the room rang with his bellowings, and the table before -him jumped as he pounded it.</p> - -<p>Among all his unwilling listeners he had none a tenth part as -interested as a small, tired-looking boy who sat, a spoon in his -hand, at a table some distance away. With him was a neat man of -forty who, in the midst of his own repast, attended to his small -companion's wants. Since the opening of Mathieu's performance the -child had more or less neglected his meal to listen with an attention -distinctly strained, his eyes anxiously fixed on the orator. Nor -did Mathieu fail, after a while, to observe the flattering behaviour -of his youngest auditor, and at last broke off and apostrophised -him, trusting, he said, that his young friend would profit by -these lessons, and remember them in years to come.</p> - -<p>The young friend, on whom all eyes were immediately turned, shrank -back, looking terrified. But Mathieu lost no time in continuing -his reading. He was approaching a favourite passage, a purple -patch directed against "crowned tyrants," "perfidious Albion," -and "those vipers, the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span>," and so he unleashed fully the -voice which was so much at variance with his physique. A man yawned, -another banged approval—and the small boy, overcome by emotion or -fatigue, hid his face in his hands and burst into tears. His -companion tried to quiet him, but the child drew away from him, -and the man, evidently annoyed, and muttering, "He is overtired; -excuse him, my friends!" picked him up, and carried him out of -the room.</p> - -<p>Mathieu was not unaccustomed to exits during his performances, but -this retreat was rather flattering than otherwise, since it could -only be attributed to his power of moving the heart. He paused a -moment, smirked, and proceeded.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Half an hour later, however, he had succeeded in clearing the room -in earnest. Yet did he not himself depart, having regard to the -possible advent of other guests, but remained awhile, running his -hand through his dank hair, and casting up his eyes to the ceiling -whenever the patron, scowling, looked in at the door.</p> - -<p>His patience was duly rewarded when, at about five minutes to eight, -the host ushered in a tall man in a cloak, evidently a traveller. -The newcomer ordered a meal, and went to sit at a table in a far -corner. Mathieu took stock of him, and finally arose and approached -him.</p> - -<p>"You are travelling, citizen?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville looked carefully at the speaker. He himself desired -rather to ask than to answer questions, but the poet appeared -harmless. Moreover, having traced Anne-Hilarion and his companion -as far as Abbeville, and having already drawn blank at two inns -in that town, he was glad of the chance of information. So he -said quietly, "Yes, citizen. And you?"</p> - -<p>"Ah no; I inhabit Abbeville. You will not have heard of me, -citizen, but I am not quite unknown, even in Paris. My name is -Pourcelles—Mathieu Pourcelles. I write a little—verse. I wonder -if I might presume? . . . You have the look of a lover of letters" -(the phrase with which Mathieu was wont to approach any victim not -absolutely bucolic). "I may?" And out came the manuscript of the Ode.</p> - -<p>La Vireville endured it, eating his omelette, and thinking fast. -He was beginning to feel a little baffled. Anne and his escort had -certainly come to Abbeville; the point was, had they already left -it? It appeared, from the cautious inquiries which he had made -along the road from Calais, that the travellers were but little -ahead of him—a fact which, in spite of the nearly incredible haste -which he had made, seemed almost too good to be true, and which, -considering their twenty-four hours' start, he found it difficult -to account for. It was risky to ask direct questions, yet he would -shortly be driven to that course. But he had not reckoned for the -vanity of an author.</p> - -<p>"I now come," said the gifted poet, simpering, "to a passage which, -as recently as three-quarters of an hour ago, inspired tears in a -member of my little audience. It is true that he was very young, -but who shall say whether the pure heart of childhood——"</p> - -<p>"A child, eh?" interrupted his hearer, continuing to eat, but -fixing Mathieu with a very keen gaze. "An infant prodigy, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"No; just a little boy with his father or uncle. But he was overcome, -and had to be taken away. His companion has indeed left his own -meal unfinished, no doubt in order to soothe the terror which my -description of tyranny had awaked in the childish breast."</p> - -<p>"Is this susceptible infant staying in the inn?" inquired La -Vireville carelessly.</p> - -<p>"I believe so," replied the poet, who had already lost interest -in his young hearer, and was itching to declaim the purple passage -in question, of which he again stood on the brink. La Vireville -made a gesture to intimate that he should do so, and diplomatically -neglected his meal to listen.</p> - -<p>"Bravo!" he exclaimed at the end. "Magnificent, citizen! You have -the foes of our beloved country on the hip, indeed. Those lines -about the émigrés, now!"</p> - -<p>Mathieu smirked. Then he glowed. "I declare to you, citizen, that -if I were to meet one of those scorpions—those vipers, as I have -termed them—I would not hesitate a moment to——"</p> - -<p>"To denounce him, of course," said La Vireville, helping himself -to wine.</p> - -<p>"No, citizen, to kill him with these hands!"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ma foi,</span>" said La Vireville gravely, "if you ply the sword, citizen, -as ably as the pen, France may well be proud of you."</p> - -<p>Mathieu, much flattered, was beginning an answer, when the door -opened and the little boy's guardian reappeared. The poet turned -round.</p> - -<p>"I trust your charge is recovered!" said he ingratiatingly. "A -most interesting child!"</p> - -<p>"Thank you," replied the other rather coldly, as he returned to -his place; "my nephew was merely overtired." And he ordered coffee, -while La Vireville secretly studied him. He looked, thought the -Chouan, a person who could neither be bullied nor flustered, a man -in whose veins ran some unusually cold liquid. How was he to get -him out of the way? Besides, was it certain that the little boy -with him was Anne-Hilarion? That he <em>must</em> know.</p> - -<p>Absorbed in these speculations he paid scant attention to the -conclusion of the Ode, which its author had the obligingness to -read again for his benefit and for that of the returned guest, -who drank his coffee very slowly, but appeared to be interested -in neither of his companions. And before very long the Citizen -Pourcelles, seeing no fresh worlds to conquer, drifted out, followed, -after a moment's hesitation, by La Vireville, who buttonholed him -at the door of the hostelry, to say that he could not let him go -without thanking him for the pleasure which he had afforded him.</p> - -<p>A very little of this balm, dexterously applied, sufficed to get -out of the poet a description of the little boy upstairs sufficiently -detailed to satisfy La Vireville that he was indeed Anne-Hilarion.</p> - -<p>And then, Mathieu having at last taken his departure, La Vireville -was left at the door of the inn, revolving plans. It was tempting -to go upstairs now, while the man was below, and (if he could find -the right room) slip out of the place with the child. But he would -be tracked at once. No plan was sound which did not provide, somehow, -for the disposal of Anne's captor. La Vireville was not in the least -inclined to boggle at the idea of putting a knife into that gentleman -if an opportunity occurred; the difficulty was less to provide that -opportunity than to get rid of the ensuing corpse. To go in and -quarrel with the man would only lead to tumult and imprisonment. -Yet if he delayed and followed the two to-morrow, waiting for -fortune to smile upon him, they would all three, with every hour, -be nearing Paris and leaving the coast farther behind them, and -adding thereby to the length and risk of the return journey.</p> - -<p>At any rate he would, he decided, stay at the inn for the night, -that is, unless Anne and his 'uncle' were proceeding.</p> - -<p>"I want a quiet room," he said to the patron. "You can give me -one at the back if you choose." And, the apartment in question -being shown to him, he further expressed a hope that there was no -one near who would come late to bed and disturb him.</p> - -<p>"There is no other guest in the <i class="name">Hôtel du Faisan</i>," replied the -landlord, "but the citizen downstairs and his little nephew, and -they sleep in Number Nine, which is at the other end of the corridor, -as you see. And probably the citizen will retire to bed early, -because of the child."</p> - -<p>"Tiresome," commented the émigré, "to share a room with a child, -and to have to regulate your hours of repose accordingly."</p> - -<p>"That," said the landlord, with a slightly offended air, "is not -really necessary in this case. Number Nine has an inner room opening -out of it."</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>The fruits of the reflections to which, after this colloquy, the -Chevalier de la Vireville abandoned himself in his bedroom were -manifested between one and two in the morning, when he stood outside -the door which the patron had pointed out at the end of the passage. -He had groped his way thither in the darkness, not venturing to -bring a candle. At this door he now knocked with extreme gentleness, -then again a little louder, and, still receiving no answer, he -tried the handle. To his surprise it turned, and the door opened.</p> - -<p>"Odd!" thought the intruder. "Mme. de Chaulnes' emissary is of a -singularly trustful nature." And he slipped in with great caution.</p> - -<p>The room was absolutely dark, but not silent. A heavy snoring -proceeded from the bed, and was, indeed, the only evidence of its -whereabouts. "I had not somehow thought him a snorer," reflected -La Vireville. "At any rate one knows that he sleeps. Now I wonder -whereabouts is that inner room?" Very softly he breathed Anne's -name in the close darkness. Nothing but snores answered him.</p> - -<p>It was obvious that by feeling round the walls he would arrive in -time at the door, shut or open, of the other room, for whose presence -the landlord had vouched. La Vireville began this circumnavigation -(so he discovered) in the neighbourhood of the washstand; proceeded -a little—going very slowly and quietly, and feeling carefully with -his hands—passed a hanging press, the fireplace, and began to be -conscious that he was approaching the bed. He stopped, not wishing -to collide with it, and at that moment found his hands resting on -something thrown over the back of a chair. And that something -was—yes, there could be no doubt—a pair of corsets.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ciel!</span>" exclaimed the petrified émigré below his breath. Wild ideas -scurried instantly through his brain, as that Anne's companion was -really of the corset-wearing sex, or that he had a woman with him, -or—— Then a simpler explanation visited him; he had, in the -darkness without, mistaken the room, and his present business was -to get out of this apartment, whoever were its tenant, as quickly -and as quietly as possible. If the snoring fair one should wake! -. . . It was a very long minute before he found himself outside -the door again.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>He set forth the second time with a candle, and found that he had, -indeed, mistaken the number. Number Nine was two doors farther on. -He could only hope that the snorer would continue the sound sleep -in which he had left her, since what he contemplated doing in -Number Nine might cause some noise.</p> - -<p>He knocked gently at the door of that apartment.</p> - -<p>There was instantly a movement within, followed by a sound as of -someone getting out of or off the bed. He knocked again, and then -the door was unlocked, and opened a foot or two by the man whom -La Vireville sought. He was half-dressed, and had a pistol in his -hand. There was a lamp burning in the room.</p> - -<p>"May I come in, citizen?" asked La Vireville mildly, facing the -barrel with all the appearance of innocent intent. "I wish to speak -with you on important business."</p> - -<p>The occupant of Number Nine looked at him straight and searchingly -with his strange light eyes. Then, still keeping his visitor covered, -he moved aside for him to enter, and closed the door behind him, -locking it.</p> - -<p>La Vireville's immediate dread, on entering, was of finding -Anne-Hilarion there, or at least awake in the inner room,—whose -door he saw ajar in front of him,—to recognise him, as he surely -would, with a cry, and spoil everything. "Shall I close this door?" -he suggested, and, turning his back on the pistol, he shut the door -which faced him. "We do not want to wake the boy, and it is about -him that I have come to speak to you."</p> - -<p>"You choose a very strange time for the errand, citizen," observed -M. Duchâtel, but he lowered the pistol.</p> - -<p>"Yet you were expecting me, were you not?" queried La Vireville, -glancing at the bed and the book lying open on it. "<em>She</em> told you, -of course, that she might send me? On the whole it seemed best, -though to be sure he—you know whom I mean—will suffer by it." -Anne's gaoler was, he trusted, gravelled by this pronouncement, -which was devoid of meaning even to himself; but it was impossible -to tell. The man with the goat's eyes merely said curtly:</p> - -<p>"I saw you downstairs with that fool of a versifier. Why did you -not speak to me then?"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Juste ciel!</span>" exclaimed the émigré, putting down his candle. "What -imprudence! You know her recommendation!"</p> - -<p>"I don't know your business—or your credentials!" snapped the other.</p> - -<p>"I will show you both," quoth La Vireville sweetly; and, opening -his coat, he pulled out the thin leather case in which he had put -the passports. From this he carefully drew forth Anne-Hilarion's, -and spread enough of it before his adversary's vision to show him -the boy's name.</p> - -<p>"Why, what have you there?" exclaimed M. Duchâtel, shaken out of -his self-possession. And he added something under his breath about -a trick and an old vixen, while, eager for a fuller sight or complete -possession of the document, he hastily laid down the pistol on -the mantelpiece.</p> - -<p>It was the moment for which the Chouan had been waiting. He gave -the passport bodily into those incautious hands, and a second -later smote their owner with exceeding force on the point of the -jaw. M. Duchâtel staggered back, his arms going wide, and the -passport flew half across the room as La Vireville followed up -with a smashing blow over the heart. The tall mahogany bedpost, -which the kidnapper's head next violently encountered, finished -La Vireville's work for him with much completeness, but before the -inanimate body could slide to the floor La Vireville had grabbed at -it and pulled it on to the bed.</p> - -<p>"If I have killed him!" he thought, as he bent over his victim, for -it looked rather like it. "No; that kind does not die of a good -honest blow." With luck, however, he might be unconscious for hours, -but it was as well to be on the safe side; so, since it repelled -him to cut the throat of a senseless man, he tied his feet with -the bell-pull, which he hacked down for the purpose, his hands -with the curtain cords. Then he stuffed a towel into his mouth, -tied it in position with another, and flung the quilt entirely -over him.</p> - -<p>He had already possessed himself of M. Duchâtel's papers, reserving -their perusal, however, for a more favourable opportunity, and -now, picking up Anne-Hilarion's passport, he tiptoed to the door -of the inner room, and listened for a moment. Singularly little -noise, on the whole, had attended his assault on Anne's guardian, -and there was complete silence the other side of the door, yet -La Vireville's heart was nearer his mouth than it had yet been, -for a child's shrill scream either of joy or terror—and Anne must -be thoroughly unnerved by this time—might bring the house about -them. However, the possibility had to be faced, so he opened the -door a little and called the boy's name softly. There was no answer, -and as the room was in darkness the rescuer had perforce to take -the lamp from the larger apartment, and to enter, shading it with -one hand.</p> - -<p>The Comte de Flavigny was fast asleep in the wide bed, which looked -large in the little room, and in which he himself appeared very -small, lonely, and pathetic, with one hand under a flushed cheek -and the other clutching fast the edge of the patchwork quilt. -"The poor baby!" thought La Vireville, but had no time to spend -upon sentiment. The main thing, for both their sakes, was to wake -him without startling him.</p> - -<p>"If I were really the nurse whose duties I now seem to be taking -upon myself," thought the Chouan, "I should know better what to do."</p> - -<p>He put down the lamp and stooped over the child, shaking the small -shoulder very gently, and calling him by name, a hand ready to -clap over his mouth if he should scream. At the third or fourth -repetition of his name Anne-Hilarion stirred.</p> - -<p>"It is not time, Elspeth," he murmured rather crossly, and buried -his face in the pillow. "It is not time to get up, I tell you!"</p> - -<p>"But it is," asserted La Vireville; "high time. Anne, my little -one. . . ." He put his arms under him and lifted him up a trifle.</p> - -<p>Anne gave a great sigh and opened his eyes. "Is it thou, Papa? -I dreamed—I had such a horrible dream. . . ." Then he returned -more fully to waking life. "Who is it?" he said shrilly, beginning -to struggle in the strong arms like a captured bird.</p> - -<p>"It is I, my child—your friend the Chevalier," said La Vireville, -kissing him. "Don't make a noise, little cabbage! See, I am going -to take you back to England. But you must be quiet, above all things!"</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion looked up into his face, the fear in his eyes changed -to an almost incredulous joy. "Oh, M. le Chevalier!" he exclaimed. -Then he threw his arms round his friend's neck and held him very -tight. "Oh, how glad I am! how good of you to come!" he whispered -fervently. "But the—that other man in there?"</p> - -<p>"He will not trouble us—not, at least, if we are quick. Get into -your clothes, Anne, faster than you have ever done in your life. -<em>Can</em> you get into them?" asked the Chouan a little doubtfully, -setting the half-clothed figure down upon the bed, and looking -round in the lamplight for more garments.</p> - -<p>"Already it is many weeks since I can dress myself," announced -the Comte de Flavigny proudly. "But this is my shirt that I have -on. I have no nightshirt. He said it did not matter, but I have -never before gone to bed in——"</p> - -<p>"Never mind," said La Vireville, pitching a few garments on to the -bed. They seemed to him ridiculously minute. "How does this go on?"</p> - -<p>"That is the wrong way round!" observed Anne, so hilariously that -the émigré glanced at the open door and put his finger to his -lip. Evidently Anne's faith in him was so great that his mere -presence was to him the equivalent of safety.</p> - -<p>"Now wait here a moment in the dark," said La Vireville when, -between them, a rapid toilet had been effected. "It is only for -an instant." He returned with the lamp to the outer room, satisfied -himself that Mme. de Chaulnes's emissary was still soundly unconscious -under the counterpane, and, unlocking the door, stole out into the -passage and listened. There was neither sound nor light anywhere. -He went back to Anne-Hilarion.</p> - -<p>And, five minutes later, by the simple expedient of letting themselves -out of its back door, the Chevalier de la Vireville and his small -charge found themselves free of the <i class="name">Hôtel du Faisan et de la -Constitution</i>, and standing, under the April stars, between high -walls in an unsavoury back lane of Abbeville. It was not, indeed, -a propitious hour for the walks abroad of a reputable citizen, -still less for those of a boy of tender years, but there was now -excellent reason why the open air should appeal strongly to them -both. Wherefore La Vireville prayed that fate and the darkness -should so favour him, that by six or seven o'clock he should find -himself at the little port of St. Valéry-sur-Somme, thirteen miles -or so down the river, and that there a still further indulgence of -the gods would enable him to hire a boat to return across the -Channel. For to go back to Boulogne or Calais would be madness, and -the chief recommendation of St. Valéry, besides the fact of its -being a harbour, was that it lay off all the main roads between -those greater ports and Paris. Even then it would be hard enough -to get a boat without exciting suspicion. But the Fates had been -hitherto so kind that he must go on trusting them.</p> - -<p>"I shall have to carry you most of the way, child, so I had best -begin now," he whispered, and picked up his half-sleepy, half-excited -charge.</p> - -<h3 id="c9">CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">The <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> of Caen</span></small></h3> - -<p class="noindent">But Fortune, after whom Fortuné de la Vireville had been somewhat -ironically named, had all his life taken away with one hand what -she had given him with the other. So now she granted to him to -get clear of the town of Abbeville, to find unmolested the way -to St. Valéry, to meet thereon none to question or stay him, to -arrive there a little before six, when the life of the small port -was already bustling, to perceive, lounging on the quayside, a -seafaring individual whose countenance seemed to promise accessibility -to a bribe . . . and to overhear, at that very moment, a piece -of news which made all attempt at bribing him useless. For it was -quite clear, from a conversation going on, within easy earshot, -between two master mariners, one of whom had evidently just come -into harbour, that the greater part of the Brest squadron had come -up in the night, and was even now cruising between Dieppe and -Boulogne.</p> - -<p>"Nine sail of the line, and I don't know how many frigates." Was -ever such ill-luck! The fugitives were clean cut off, that way, -from the shores of England, while on the road behind them were -hastening, or would shortly hasten, the justly-incensed officials -of the town of Abbeville. La Vireville knew an instant's real -despair, and his fingers tightened involuntarily on the small hand -in his. They <em>must</em> get back to England. But they could not—at -least not by the way of his choice, the most direct and obvious -way, the Channel. That path was barred before them. Of course -there was another road. If they could only reach that outpost of -England, Jersey! But it was the deuce of a long journey, and since -the sea was now denied them, they must go by land till they reached -the coast of the Cotentin, a far more hazardous route, armed though -La Vireville now was with the fairly extensive powers conveyed to -him by M. Duchâtel's papers. . . . Well, they must make the best -of a bad business, and the first step was to remove themselves -from the harbour, where curious glances were already beginning -to be cast at him and his small companion. He must leave as few -traces as possible for the inquirers from Abbeville when they came.</p> - -<p>La Vireville was, in fact, actually turning away from the shed by -which they were standing, when his eyes fell on a vessel at the -quayside which he had not previously noticed, a schooner-rigged -barque of some three hundred tons burthen, on whose broad stern, -surrounded by flourishes, could be read her name and port of -origin—the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> of Caen. It was this legend which caused -him suddenly to stay his steps and to give vent to a murmured -exclamation. What if the fleet of the Republic <em>were</em> cruising -along the coast from Dieppe to Boulogne! With his face set, not -for England, but for a more westerly French port, and the tricolour -floating over him, he could pass unscathed through that fleet even -if it were encountered. They would go to Caen—if the barque were -shortly putting to sea and if the captain would take them. And from -Caen, ten or twelve hours' posting would bring them to the shore -of the Cotentin, to Granville, or to Carteret, the nearest port of -all France to Jersey. It was an excellent scheme, could it be put -in practice, and one possessing an advantage of its own, that by -taking to the water at once they would have a very good chance of -breaking the scent.</p> - -<p>La Vireville looked carefully at what he could see of the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois -Frères</i>. A certain subdued bustle among her small crew seemed to -indicate an early departure, which was good. The next problem was -the mind of the captain. If that were he, red-faced, blue-eyed, -standing near the rail with a pipe in his mouth and occasionally -issuing an order, he looked as if he might be open to persuasion. -At least the attempt should be made.</p> - -<p>All this while Anne-Hilarion had stood patiently, his hand in his -rescuer's, asking no questions, and evidently little disposed, -after his unwonted night, to take an interest even in the shipping. -The émigré bent down to him.</p> - -<p>"Anne," he said in a low voice, "I am going to ask the man on that -ship to take us to Caen. We cannot go straight to England, as I had -hoped. Now you must be sure to bear me out in what you hear me say, -even if it is not exactly true. I shall have, I think, to pretend -that you are my nephew, so you must remember to call me uncle—never -anything else. Very likely I shall pretend also that we live at Caen. -You must not say anything about England. You understand, little one?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Anne-Hilarion, lifting a rather grimy and pallid -face. Then he gave a little sigh, as one who makes a reluctant -sacrifice of truth to necessity. And indeed he was a very truthful -child; yet La Vireville more correctly interpreted his emotion.</p> - -<p>"You want your breakfast, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon petit</span>, do you not? Never mind, you -shall soon have it. Only help me to soften the heart of this -sea-captain."</p> - -<p>And, approaching the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i>, the émigré hailed the smoker.</p> - -<p>"Are you the master of this ship, citizen?"</p> - -<p>The sailor removed his pipe. "Mate," he replied laconically. "Master -just coming aboard." He indicated with the stem of his pipe another -mariner, also red-faced and blue-eyed, who was making his way -round a pile of timber towards the gang-plank. Him La Vireville -intercepted, hastily filling up in his own mind the gaps in the -story designed for his edification, since here Duchâtel's papers -were not likely to be of much avail.</p> - -<p>"Captain," he began enthusiastically, taking off his hat, "the -Supreme Being has surely sent you to a fellow-creature in need!"</p> - -<p>The master of the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> grunted. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le bon Dieu</span> is good -enough for a plain sailor like me," he responded, and the émigré -perceived that he had overshot the mark. "What do you want?"</p> - -<p>"I want to go to Caen," returned La Vireville simply. "I and my -little nephew here. Can you give us a passage?"</p> - -<p>The master of the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> regarded La Vireville and his -nephew. "No," he replied, with equal simplicity. "Why should I? -I'm a trading vessel, not a packet."</p> - -<p>The petitioner came nearer and dropped his voice. "If you will -grant me the favour of a word or two in private," he said, "I will -tell you why I ask. It is for a most pressing family matter—an -affair, I may say, almost of life and death . . . and an affair -of haste."</p> - -<p>"Come on board then," said the master-mariner briefly, and led -the way over the gang-plank to the cabin.</p> - -<p>It was that neat little cabin with its shining brass fittings, -therefore, which witnessed the apotheosis of the Chevalier de -la Vireville as a liar. Even at the time a part of himself was -watching the other, the speaking half, with an amused wonder, as -he unfolded his tale, recounting how he was hastening, or wished -to hasten, to Caen on this most pressing family matter. He had sent -Anne-Hilarion to the other end of the cabin, and himself sat, with -the captain, at the table in the middle.</p> - -<p>"The fact is," he said in lowered tones, after a short exordium, -"that my brother's wife has run away from him, and we have reason -to believe that she has gone to Caen."</p> - -<p>"With her lover, I suppose," finished the sailor bluntly.</p> - -<p>"No," said La Vireville; "that is the whole point. My brother -believes that he has not yet joined her, though on the way to do -so. Hence, citizen, my need of haste. I want to arrive at Caen -before it is too late, and to that end I am taking my brother's -little son with me to plead his father's cause, and to see if -he cannot persuade his unfortunate mother to return."</p> - -<p>It was only because he felt sure that Anne, however willing he -might be, would inevitably make a slip if required constantly to -address him as Papa, that La Vireville had cast himself for the -part of uncle in this speedily-imagined drama. Otherwise he might -have played the part of the stricken husband rather than that of -the sympathetic brother. Indeed, there would have been an advantage -in the former rôle, for it would have spared him the captain's next -and very natural question:</p> - -<p>"Why the deuce does not your brother go after his wife himself?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville made a gesture, and throwing his brother from a restive -horse some seven days ago, remorselessly broke his leg.</p> - -<p>"Where does he live, did you say?"</p> - -<p>The émigré domiciled him distantly at Lyons, creating him at the -same time a lawyer.</p> - -<p>"I know Lyons well," observed the mariner unexpectedly. "You are -an affectionate brother, citizen, and you have certainly made -extraordinary speed if you have come from Lyons since that leg -was broken a week ago."</p> - -<p>This was unfortunately true, and La Vireville was forced to assign -a date a little more remote to the accident, and to say he had -made a slip of the tongue, proceeding afterwards to lay stress -on the speed which the lover also might be presumed to be using.</p> - -<p>"Well, my friend," remarked the sailor, "speed was never a characteristic -of the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i>. Moreover, I have a port or two of call, -Dieppe among them. I cannot for the life of me see why you should -not go to Caen by land, if you want to get there quickly. If you -could post from Lyons to St. Valéry in—how many days did you -say?—you ought to make Caen by nightfall!"</p> - -<p>"Citizen captain," responded the harassed romancer earnestly, -"speed, after all, is not everything in this case! Secrecy is -even more important—let me explain to you how important, at this -juncture." And he developed this theme, investing his brother's -wife's lover with much money and influence, all of which he would -use without scruple to circumvent the would-be rescuer, did he know -his route. And, acutely conscious all the while of the improbability -of his story, La Vireville concluded with a moving reference to -the innocent child, about, perhaps, to lose his mother for ever, -to the sanctity of the domestic hearth in danger of violation, -and to the purity of moral principles inculcated by the glorious -Republic. But the rhetoric which, a couple of years ago, would not -have failed to move a demagogue who sent a daily score of heads to -the guillotine, appeared to be without power over a peaceable and -straightforward mariner. The orator indeed, feeling that he was -wasting his time, and preparing in addition a net which would -probably trip up his own feet, ceased at last disheartened.</p> - -<p>His surprise was, therefore, all the greater when the master of -the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> said slowly, "Very well, I will give you a -passage to Caen." He fingered his chin in a dubious sort of way, -looking, however, at his guest with a blue directness of gaze -which was anything but undecided, and which the latter could only -hope that he was supporting with sufficient firmness. "I suppose -your papers are all in order?" he added.</p> - -<p>The crucial moment had arrived, for neither Duchâtel's papers nor -his own could very well be made to bear out the Chevalier de la -Vireville's story. But the latter laughed cheerfully. "For what -do you take me, captain?" he replied. "Do you want to see them?" -He began to thrust a hand into his breast.</p> - -<p>"No, no! It's the business of the port officer, not mine. Too many -papers and nonsense of that kind nowadays," said the sailor, who -appeared to have conservative tendencies. "And, by the way, the -port officer has already been aboard. Well, if there is any trouble -later on, you must represent yourselves as stowaways. Down in -the afterhold, you understand, and did not come out till we had -cleared the river, and I was not going to delay by putting back -to land you."</p> - -<p>Nothing would have suited the voyager better than to live the life -of a stowaway the whole time, especially if they were going to put -into Dieppe, so he received this suggestion warmly. The captain -then named his terms, and said he had a spare cabin which would do -for his passenger and the boy; after which he slewed round in his -chair and stared at Anne, who, kneeling on a locker, had his nose -pressed to one of the small stern windows.</p> - -<p>"Tell the child to come here," he said. "What is his name?"</p> - -<p>"An . . . Annibal," replied La Vireville brilliantly, feeling that -"Anne" savoured too much of the old régime, but not equal himself -to calling him consistently by a name too dissimilar. "You will -not, captain, out of humanity, mention his mother to him, nor why -we are going to Caen? Annibal!"</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion looked round, startled, at this unusual appellation, -but seeing his friend's outstretched hand, understood and came. -The captain studied his tired, sleepy, dirty little face, his -tangled curls, his good but hastily put on clothes . . . and La -Vireville had the sudden wonder whether those small kerseymere -breeches that reached so nearly to his armpits bore inside the -name of an English maker, or whether they were the work of Elspeth's -fingers. Anyhow, the sailor was not likely to investigate the point.</p> - -<p>"A little sea-air will do the child good," remarked the latter. -"And a meal, I think, as soon as we are out of harbour, as we shall -be before long. Don't you agree with me, my boy?"</p> - -<p>("Why did I not tell Anne on no account to let fall a word of -English?" thought La Vireville to himself. "But I do not suppose -he will.")</p> - -<p>No; for the Comte de Flavigny naturally responded to a query in -French by an answer in the same tongue. And he said simply and -politely:</p> - -<p>"If you please, Monsieur."</p> - -<p>"<em>Eh?</em>" ejaculated the seaman, and a gleam of speculation shot -suddenly into his blue eyes. La Vireville felt as if he were sitting -on a red-hot chair. He and the child between them had been a little -unfortunate, with the Supreme Being on the one hand and that forbidden -term of social address on the other—returning to use though it -was among the upper classes.</p> - -<p>The captain, however, merely shook his head.</p> - -<p>"You seem old-fashioned, my boy," he remarked drily, and, rising, -went to the door and called to the mate.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Some three-quarters of an hour later the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> was warping -slowly out of the basin, and La Vireville, immense relief in his -heart, and the hungry Anne-Hilarion on his knee, was giving the -child, as they awaited breakfast, a further lesson in the things -that he was not to say.</p> - -<h3 id="c10">CHAPTER X<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Happenings in a Postchaise</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Anne-Hilarion was sorry to say good-bye to the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> at -Caen, and all the way up the river from the little port at Ouistreham -he sat quietly on deck with a pensive expression. That the vessel's -speed at sea had not been very noticeably greater than that with -which she now approached the spires of the town distressed him -not at all. Everything about her had been delightful, from her -dolphin figurehead to her old-fashioned poop, and he only regretted -that M. le Chevalier had not allowed him to chatter to her crew -as much as he desired.</p> - -<p>La Vireville too owed the old barque gratitude. Whether her master -really believed his story or no, he had kept to his contract, and -asked few supplementary questions. It had been a fine breezy morning -when the émigré stood on her deck as she lumbered along the coast -towards Dieppe, and looked up at the tricolour beating at the mizen, -reflecting that it was the first time he had ever sailed beneath -this parvenu flag of his country. Two or three miles out at sea -a couple of frigates were visible, the rearguard of the Brest -fleet. Against those vessels that flag was their talisman. But -he had not looked at it with love for all that.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>The alluring prospect of a long ride in a postchaise had been -purposely held out to the Comte de Flavigny as he regretfully left -the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i>, clutching the striped and polished foreign -shell which the captain had given him at parting. It was true that -there were some rather unpleasant formalities to be gone through -first, in a place which he was told was M. le Maire's office, -where a man with a red, white, and blue scarf tied in a great bow—a -man whom he instinctively disliked—asked M. le Chevalier a -great many questions, and looked at him, Anne-Hilarion, very -suspiciously. At last, however, he wrote something on the papers -which M. le Chevalier had produced, and then they went to a little -hôtel and had a meal, and presently Anne was being assisted into -a two-horsed postchaise not quite like those he had seen in England.</p> - -<p>"All's well that ends well!" said M. le Chevalier, his mouth relaxing, -as with great crackings of the postilion's whip they rolled through -the streets of Caen. "They were suspicious of thy good uncle, Anne -. . . Annibal, I should say. Imagine, they were disinclined to -believe what he said—he who has always been noted for his veracity. -But the papers of thy other uncle—the one we left behind at -Abbeville, in . . . in bed—convinced them at last."</p> - -<p>"You had, perhaps, to invent some more histories about us," suggested -his fellow-traveller.</p> - -<p>"My nephew, I had. However, they need not concern you. Our kinship -still continues."</p> - -<p>"Of that," remarked the Comte de Flavigny earnestly, "I am glad." -He slipped his hand under his friend's arm. "That other, I did not -like him. Could you be my uncle in England also, do you think?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, little cabbage," said the Chouan, pulling a curl. "I shall -be delighted, once in England again, to assume any relationship you -please. At present I feel something like an inexperienced grandmother."</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion gave a squeak of laughter and hugged his arm. "You are -so amusing," he said, looking up at La Vireville with appreciative -eyes. "How long before we get to England, M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"That I am afraid I cannot tell you. Only a few days, I trust. But -this is how we hope to get there. We shall arrive to-night at a -place called Vire, and tomorrow we shall go on to Granville, which, -as perhaps you know, Anne, is the nearest port, but one, of all -France to Jersey. I think, however, that we shall not enter Granville -itself, but that somewhere on the coast we will hire a fisherman's -boat to take us to Jersey. And Jersey, you know, is English, and -from there it is easy to go to England. Also, after we have left -Vire, we shall be on the edge of the country of the Chouans of -Normandy, and so we may find friends. And thus I have hopes that -there will be no difficulty in procuring a boat, provided that -nothing disagreeable happens to us in the town of Vire; for in -towns, my dear Anne, they have not that entire faith in the candour -of your uncle that we could wish."</p> - -<p>"Another boat!" exclaimed Anne. "I shall like that, if the sea is -not rough. And then another after that! For Jersey is an island, -is it not?"</p> - -<p>"You are singularly well informed, nephew. Jersey <em>is</em> an island, -and one, moreover, which is a good deal nearer to France than to -England. Very probably, you will go home in an English man-of-war. -I think you are enjoying your tour in France, are you not, nephew -Annibal?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, since <em>you</em> came, M. le Chevalier," replied the child. "But -I do want to see Papa soon, and Grandpapa, and Elspeth, and——" -He checked himself with a sigh. "I suppose I shall never see it -again. M. le Chevalier, do you think the grey cat will have eaten it?"</p> - -<p>"Eaten what, my child?" asked the émigré, looking down into the -dark eyes, clouded with a sudden apprehension. "Ah, you mean your -goldfish?"</p> - -<p>Anne nodded, the tiniest little droop at the corners of his mouth.</p> - -<p>"I think," said the Chevalier de la Vireville, taking his hand, -"that we shall find, when we get to Cavendish Square, that Elspeth -has contrived to bring away the goldfish from the house of the -old ladies, and that it will be swimming round and round on Grandpapa's -table in the library."</p> - -<p>A gleam of hope passed over the Comte de Flavigny's grave face, -and died away as he said dolefully, "I do not see how Elspeth -could find it, and perhaps the old ladies would not let her in. -And . . . and . . . where <em>is</em> Elspeth?"</p> - -<p>"I am sure that she is quite safe," answered La Vireville in a -consoling tone. "She will be in London, you may be certain, before -we are. . . . My child, what <em>is</em> the matter?"</p> - -<p>For Anne-Hilarion, overtaken by a sudden whirlwind of sobs, had -buried his head in the corner of the chaise.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>It was the inevitable breakdown come at last. Had La Vireville -reflected a moment, he need not have been so startled; rather -would he have felt surprise that it had not happened earlier. For -a child of Anne-Hilarion's tender years to have been through so -much without the occurrence of something of the sort would have -been phenomenal, had his companion paused to think of it. But the -little boy was so sedate in his ways that he gave the impression -of being older than he was, and La Vireville was not experienced as -a nurse. However, some explanation of this seizure did dawn upon -him after a moment.</p> - -<p>"My poor little rabbit!" he exclaimed, putting his arm round him. -"There, don't cry so—it is all right! You will soon see Elspeth -again; and meanwhile, here is your uncle to look after you."</p> - -<p>But the little rabbit did not, apparently, want even his adoptive -uncle. He burrowed yet farther into the cushions of the carriage, -his whole body convulsed with weeping. Fragmentary ejaculations -of "Papa! Papa!" mingled with appeals for his grandfather and -for Elspeth emerged from his sobs, which now started to partake -of the character of screams. His grief was getting beyond his -control, and La Vireville began to be alarmed. Not only did he -think that such abandonment of distress must be bad for the child, -to whose nature it seemed so foreign, but it also occurred to him -that a passer-by, or even possibly the postilion, hearing such -testimony of affliction, and becoming curious as to what was going -forward in the chaise, might institute an investigation which could -hardly fail of being disastrous. Anne in this state would certainly -give the impression that he was being kidnapped—by his rescuer. -The émigré pulled up the window nearest to him, which was open, -and redoubled his efforts to quiet the boy.</p> - -<p>"I want to go home!" screamed Anne. "I want Papa! I want Papa! I -want my goldfish!" He beat with his fists against the dingy cushions, -and even repulsed his dear Chevalier's attempts at consolation. -Fortuné hardly knew him for the same child.</p> - -<p>And meanwhile they were slowing down at the entrance to Villers-Bocage, -a small place which would not have called for this attention but for -the fact that the whole infant population appeared to be at play upon -the road, thereby causing their pace to slacken.</p> - -<p>"Anne, you <em>must</em> be quiet!" said his 'uncle,' giving him a little -shake, and speaking with a severity which he had never thought -to employ towards him.</p> - -<p>He might as well have tried to restrain a thunderstorm; he had -better have been dealing with a refractory Chouan. Anne was now -physically incapable of obeying him, nor were the narrow confines -of the chaise sufficient to enclose the torrents of his woe.</p> - -<p>La Vireville's heart sank as the vehicle came to a standstill, -and in another moment the head of the postilion, a Norman youth -with a flaming crop of hair, appeared like a setting sun at the -window. La Vireville instantly motioned to him to proceed. The -youth continued to make signs outside the glass, while other heads, -of a rustic type, began to gather behind him. At last, rapidly -losing his temper, La Vireville let down the glass.</p> - -<p>"What the devil have you pulled up for?" he demanded. "Go on, -confound you! We don't want to stop here!"</p> - -<p>"I thought something was wrong," responded the youth, though how -he could have heard anything through the beat of his horses' hoofs -was hard to say. But by now Anne's lamentations, flowing through -the opened window, were convincing the inhabitants of the little -town that the postilion's surmise was just.</p> - -<p>"There is nothing whatever wrong," asserted La Vireville shortly, -and, on the surface, mendaciously. "Drive on at once!" And he -began to pull up the window.</p> - -<p>Ere he could fulfil his intention a large, knotted hand was laid -upon it, and its frame became the setting for another study in -genre—a large, solemn, be-whiskered old face surmounted by a -hat of ancient fashion decorated with a tricolour cockade. The -sight of this emblem, and still more of the parti-coloured sash -crossing its wearer's breast, caused in the Chouan an outburst of -silent blasphemy. From absurd the situation had become dangerous. -The worst had come upon them—the intervention of officialdom—and -that in a place where they need never have encountered it but for -Anne-Hilarion's unfortunate access of woe.</p> - -<p>"Well, citizen, and why have you stopped here?" demanded this -apparition.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Parbleu</span>, citizen, that is just what I want to know!" ejaculated -the émigré, a trifle taken aback. "The postilion took it into his -head to pull up without orders, because he said he heard my little -nephew crying—as you perceive."</p> - -<p>"In truth, I do perceive it," returned the ancient drily, with -his hand to his ear to catch La Vireville's reply through the -all-pervading sound of sobbing. "And what is he crying for?"</p> - -<p>Since La Vireville could hardly reply, "Because he is suddenly -overcome with longing for his émigré father and his English grandfather -in London, whither I am taking him," he said, much more tamely, -"Because, citizen, he is tired, and perhaps a little hungry."</p> - -<p>The old man bent his gaze upon Anne, who, looking up at that moment, -suspended a howl to return the compliment. "Poor child!" he said -unexpectedly. "You are in haste, citizen?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, so-so," replied La Vireville. It did not seem altogether -desirable to admit that he was, very much in haste.</p> - -<p>"You have come from far?"</p> - -<p>"Only from Caen this morning. Do you wish to see my papers, citizen -procureur-syndic?" For the Chouan guessed that he spoke with that -official—in less Republican phrase, the mayor.</p> - -<p>"Presently," said the other. "For the moment I was going to suggest -that as my daughter is, I know, preparing some excellent soup -for <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">déjeuner</span>, and since the little boy is crying because he is -hungry . . ."</p> - -<p>"You are too kind, citizen," said La Vireville, at once touched, -astonished, and full of a wish that he had not ascribed Anne's -tears to a quite problematical appetite. "But I fear that, though -not unduly pressed, we can hardly spare the time to get out. And -indeed we have some food with us."</p> - -<p>"But not good hot soup, I feel sure," said this benevolent old -mayor. "See, I will send for a bowl of it while you show me your -papers. One of my grandchildren here shall go for it. Here, Toinette, -run off to your mother and tell her——" The rest was lost as he -turned away from the window.</p> - -<p>"I don't want any soup," immediately said (like a later famous -character) Anne-Hilarion. He spoke peevishly, and, what was much -worse, in English. The apparition of the unknown official had -distinctly sobered him, but he was still intermittently heaving -with sobs.</p> - -<p>"My child," interposed La Vireville in the same tongue, since -he dared not say it in French, "I have told you before that you -<em>must</em> not talk English!" And he went on quickly in his own language, -"Take the bowl of soup when it comes, to please this kind old -man, and then we shall be able to go on again."</p> - -<p>"But I don't want it!" repeated Anne—reverting, however, to French. -Then he added, just as the procureur-syndic was turning back to -the window again, "Why must I not talk English, M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, untamable tongue of childhood!" thought the luckless Chouan. -Anne had called him by his title too! The situation hung on the -mayor's deafness. La Vireville frowned at Anne, said meaningly -in a low tone, "Thy <em>uncle</em> wishes thee to drink the soup, Annibal!" -and immediately after, in a loud one to the old man, "Will the -citizen procureur-syndic see my papers now? He will find them -in good order." For on that score at least, since his interview -at Caen, he was happy.</p> - -<p>As the citizen expressed his desire and readiness to do so without -any demur, it seemed clear that he had not caught the child's -remarks, so that Fortuné was not called upon to put into practice the -wild expedients which had scurried through his fertile brain—as, to -assert that his proper name was Chevalier (which would not be borne -out by those papers in the name of Duchâtel) or (on the chance that -the sound of English was unfamiliar to the procureur-syndic) that -Anne-Hilarion had been pedantically brought up to speak Latin on -occasions. He began to pull out his papers and was preparing to leave -the chaise, when the mayor suggested that he should enter instead, -and since the traveller could find no good reason against this, he -gathered the now tearless Anne-Hilarion out of the way—for there -were only two seats—and set him on his knee, while the old man got -out his spectacles and wetted his thumb for the proper perusal of -the documents.</p> - -<p>Then the soup came, borne by an elderly, responsible person of -about ten. Neither she, however, nor the train of smaller fry who -accompanied her were exempt from curiosity, and clambered up on -both steps of the chaise to witness its consumption. Anne received -the refreshment with resignation. It was all very kind and homely -and unexpected, this gift from the enemy, but if anybody ever -realised the discomfort caused by coals of fire on the head, it -was M. de la Vireville. Nor was he unaware of the ludicrousness -of his position, conscious that possible pursuers on the road -from Caen might overtake them because their postchaise, instead -of hastening towards the coast, was stationary in the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">place</i> of -Villers-Bocage, while a little boy unwillingly drank soup in the -company of the official who ought to be arresting them.</p> - -<p>The old mayor, who was taken with Anne because, as he explained, -his numerous grandchildren were mostly girls, would plainly have -liked to talk to him—a proceeding which, in the child's present -unnerved state, would surely have resulted in some disastrous -revelation or other. But Anne, for once, was not inclined to -converse, and also there was the soup to be disposed of. Never, -to La Vireville's knowledge, had soup been so hot in this world; -it seemed to him that it must have been specially heated by demons -in a lower, so long did it take to consume.</p> - -<p>At last—at long last—the ordeal was over, the nearly empty bowl -handed back to Toinette, her train ejected from the steps, the -postilion on his horse, the charitable old procureur-syndic -back, smiling, on the stones of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">place</i>. The horses jerked -forward . . .</p> - -<p>"Well, nephew Annibal," began La Vireville, "of all the uncomfortable -quarters of an hour——" But nephew Annibal, worn out by emotion -and full of good soup, had fallen instantly asleep like a puppy, -his head against the Chouan's breast.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>Fortuné shifted the child so that he should lie more comfortably. -Tear-stains were on Anne-Hilarion's cheeks, and round his mouth -traces of the refreshment which his harassed uncle had forced -upon his appetite. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Pauvre mioche!</span>" thought 'Monsieur Augustin,' -looking down at the head now resting on his arm. And he thought -also, "I never knew he had it in him to be so troublesome!"</p> - -<p>For himself, he fell into reflection over recent events—the first -opportunity, so it seemed to him, that he had had to review them -in quiet, for on board the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i>, a peaceable enough -refuge in itself, he felt always on the point of having to talk -to the captain or to fend off awkward inquiries. Yet it was in -the captain's cabin, after breakfast that first morning, that -Anne had given him a more or less detailed account of happenings -at Rose Cottage; how M. Duchâtel had taken him to the Cathedral -and had been very friendly and talkative, and of the particularly -sound sleep which had come upon him, Anne-Hilarion, that evening. -It had needed questioning to bring out the story of Mlle. Angèle's -nasty-tasting posset, for he was too innocent to connect that -draught with his slumbers. No details, however, could be furnished -of the departure from Dover, anxious as Fortuné was to obtain -them, for the simple reason that the small traveller had not -wakened till midway between England and France, in what he had -reported to be "a little ship, not so big as this." From what -he could gather La Vireville thought it must have been a lugger, -Heaven knew how procured.</p> - -<p>On arrival at Calais, M. Duchâtel appeared to have conveyed Anne, -frightened, as he admitted, but still somewhat stupefied, to a -private house—unidentifiable from the child's description—to -have put him to bed and left him behind a locked door, lest, as -he put it, his father's enemies should break in and steal him away. -For he had told Anne that he was taking him to France by his father's -wish, expressed through the old ladies, his father's friends, and -the child had believed him. So Anne thought he was going to Verona, -and at first was not ill-pleased.</p> - -<p>It had been, he thought, afternoon when he had been imprisoned in -this way at Calais, and yet they had not left that town till next -day; of that Anne was positive. He could give no reason for the -delay. La Vireville was driven to suppose that Duchâtel had some -secret service business of his own in Calais—possibly unknown -to Mme. de Chaulnes, who had spoken so exultantly about the -twenty-four hours' start. Moreover, he probably little expected -to be pursued so soon. But the delay in Calais had been providential -from Fortuné's point of view. He could not help wondering now, or -a second or two, whether, supposing the pursued to be at present -hunting the pursuer, the soup episode might not prove as providential -from Duchâtel's.</p> - -<p>That was all the conversation which he and Anne had had on the -point at the time, owing to the advent of a sailor into the cabin; -but later, that evening in fact, as Anne was looking over the -side at the water, tinged with sunset, which heaved slowly past, -he suddenly said:</p> - -<p>"The ship I came from England in moved about more than this, M. -le Chevalier."</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon oncle,</span>" corrected La Vireville, looking round to see if anyone -was in earshot. "Did it, Annibal? Were you frightened?"</p> - -<p>"I was down in a cabin," said Anne. "I could not see the sea then. -But I knew I was in a ship. And I thought"—he paused, and then -went on—"I thought you were drowned, mon oncle, and that it was -my fault."</p> - -<p>"Thought I was drowned, child? How could that be—and why should -it be your fault?"</p> - -<p>"Like my dream," said the little boy, staring hard over the bulwark -at the sea. "You were drowned because . . . because I . . . I told -<em>them</em> things about you." His face was scarlet.</p> - -<p>"Well, my child," said the émigré, putting his arm round him, "it -does not matter so much if you did." And, seeing signs of still -greater emotional discomfort, he embellished this questionable -statement. "It does not matter the scratch of a pin. I like to be -talked about, Anne—it's a failing of mine! . . . But everybody -doesn't, you know, little one. Did you tell them much about anybody -else?"</p> - -<p>Anne had put his knuckles into his eyes, and in a small and faltering -voice had confessed that he had talked about M. de Soucy and a -little about M. l'Abbé, because 'they,' the old ladies, were Papa's -friends, and he did not know . . .</p> - -<p>La Vireville took him on to his knee, and after waiting to see -that the captain was not really coming right up to them, whispered -to him not to cry. "You are not to blame, child," he went on. -"Those old ladies cheated you, as they have cheated older and -wiser folk. But there is one thing—a place, not a person . . . I -wonder if you told them the name of the place where the expedition -is going to land? Can you remember if you did?"</p> - -<p>His tone was very gentle as he put the question through Anne's -rather tangled curls into his ear, but there was a lively anxiety -in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"I could not remember," sighed the little boy almost apologetically. -"I tried. They said they would give me a crown piece for my money-box -if I could. I cannot remember it now."</p> - -<p>"Don't try!" said La Vireville hastily, thanking his Maker, though -not doubting that the name would eventually be known through some -other agency.</p> - -<p>"And I said," proceeded Anne, "that if I could remember it I would -not tell them—no, that part came in my dream, where the Queen -of Elfland was in the boat," he corrected conscientiously. "I said, -really, that I often forgot names and remembered them, sometimes, -afterwards."</p> - -<p>"And did they ask you afterwards? Did M. Duchâtel ask you?"</p> - -<p>It appeared that the old ladies had asked him afterwards, and that -M. Duchâtel's solicitude on the point, though vain, had been extreme -all the way from Calais to Abbeville. But M. Duchâtel had never, -it seemed, been actually unkind (it would not have suited his book, -thought La Vireville) and it was not till the episode of the Citizen -Pourcelles' declamation that the Verona idea had lost its hold on -Anne's mind. But then, child though he was, he had gathered from -the turgid but unequivocal statements of the Ode that he was not -in the company of those who could in any way be described as 'Papa's -friends.'</p> - -<p>Yet, except for that final shower of tears at Abbeville, it did -not appear that the kidnapper had ever had any trouble with the -little boy. The rescuer, now, could not say so much.</p> - -<h3 id="c11">CHAPTER XI<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">"Fifty Fathoms deep"</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">"We shall never make Jersey with this wind," said the young fisherman.</p> - -<p>"We <em>must</em>!" replied La Vireville firmly. "We could run for Gorey -if St. Helier is impossible."</p> - -<p>The Norman shrugged his shoulders under his faded guernsey. "Much -more likely to be blown into St. Malo! She makes a great deal -of leeway."</p> - -<p>The subject of their conversation lay before them at that moment -on the beach, an open sixteen-foot fisherman's boat, broad in the -beam, ballasted with stones, and lug-rigged. The unlucky north-east -wind, strong and steady, whipped La Vireville's cloak about him, -and caused him to put a hasty hand to his hat. It was about nine of -the spring evening and very dusk. The lights of the upper town of -Granville showed about three miles to the left, along the crest -of the high rock that jutted out into the sea, and a scrap of an -undesired moon served to emphasise the rate at which the clouds -were driving over the sky.</p> - -<p>"At any rate we must put to sea," said the émigré, determined to -waste no more words. "Get the boat ready, and I will fetch the -child, and then help you down with her. Wherever the wind may drive -us to, we cannot remain here."</p> - -<p>He spoke no less than the truth. There had been a very unpleasant -little scene on leaving Vire that morning, from which the Chouan -had managed to extricate Anne and himself only by the liberal -distribution of bribes. He had been driven to employ the same -unsatisfactory method with regard also to their postilion, dismissing -him in unusual and suspicious fashion outside Granville. Although -the youth (plied in addition by his fare with much strong drink) -had promised not to take the empty postchaise into the town, but -to return with sealed lips on the road whence he had come, and -though his start on that road had actually been witnessed, it -was more than probable that he was, at the very moment, back in -Granville, if not laying information against his late passengers, -at least babbling about them over his cups. Hasty departure was -therefore imperative, but the situation of St. Valéry-sur-Somme -seemed to be reproduced, with a difference. This time fate (or, -in this particular, La Vireville's knowledge) had brought the -travellers to a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maison de confiance</span>—one of the chain of secret -Royalist refuges which stretched along the roads from the coast—had -given them a well-disposed fisherman, its master, and a convenient -boat, but had denied the wind necessary to the thirty miles that -lay between them and Jersey.</p> - -<p>François, the fisherman in question, shrugged his shoulders again. -"Very well, if you insist. You know the risks you are running. -If we weather Chausey, we may be blown on to the Minquiers."</p> - -<p>"My friend," retorted La Vireville, "they are nothing to the risks -we run by remaining. I prefer the hospitality of the plateau des -Minquiers to that of Granville prison. Shall I give you a hand -with the boat?"</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>In the little cottage on the shore the fisherman's young wife -was sitting with Anne-Hilarion, very drowsy, on her knee.</p> - -<p>"Monsieur," she said, as her husband and the émigré came in, "it -is wicked to take this baby to sea on such a night!"</p> - -<p>"For that, Madame," replied La Vireville, "you must blame the -women who sent him over to France."</p> - -<p>The young woman kissed the sleepy little boy and rose with him -in her arms.</p> - -<p>"I will carry him down to the boat," she said. "You will have -your hands full. There is the water-keg, François, and a basket -of provisions. If you get within sight of Jersey this time to-morrow -you will be lucky. You have the compass—and the nets?"</p> - -<p>"Nets!" exclaimed La Vireville. "Ah, I understand." It was as -well to have some ostensible reason for being at sea.</p> - -<p>They went down the beach, all laden in their way, for even Anne, -half asleep though he was, clutched in one hand the foreign shell -which the master of the <i class="name" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Trois Frères</i> had given him. In spite of -the strong wind there were no breakers of sufficient force to make -launching difficult. The fisherman's wife deposited her burden and -helped to run the boat down. Then she went back, picked up the -child, and gave him into the arms of La Vireville, where he stood -knee-deep in the swirling water, with François holding on to the -boat on the other side.</p> - -<p>"Madame, I thank you for lending me your husband," said the Chouan, -as he took the boy from her.</p> - -<p>"It is only because of <em>this</em>," she answered, indicating the child.</p> - -<p>"I know that, but I do not thank you any the less." He put Anne-Hilarion -over the side and scrambled on board himself. François followed his -example, and began to push off.</p> - -<p>"Take the tiller, Monsieur," he said, "and I will hoist the sail. -Au revoir, la femme!"</p> - -<p>The wind carried away his wife's farewell. Rocking violently at -first on the swell, the boat gradually steadied and gathered way -as the lug-sail shot up, and at last, close-hauled, she was making -her way out of the bay, and La Vireville and his charge were really -leaving their native shores.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Enfin!</span>" exclaimed the former, and as François was now at liberty -to steer, he relinquished the tiller and took Anne-Hilarion in -his arms.</p> - -<p>Once out of the lee of the land the full force of the wind was -apparent. The <i class="name">Marie-François</i>—in such manner did the fishing-boat -combine the names of her owner and his wife—lay over to it; in -the gloom the water rushed white past the gunwale (there was no -coaming), and La Vireville had some ado to keep himself and the -child in place on the weather side.</p> - -<p>"You see!" shouted François, and he eased her a point or two.</p> - -<p>He was laying the usual course for Jersey, to the northward of -Granville, by the Passage de la Déroute. But the wind was strongly -against them, and on their lee, to the left, as they both knew, lay -the miles and miles of shoals and broken, half-submerged rocks and -islets of the Iles Chausey and the Minquiers, so treacherous a -network of reefs that for thirty miles out from the French coast in -their direction there was no water more than ten fathoms deep, and -few channels that were safe. It was true that this was not the -direction which the voyagers wished to take, but it was, unfortunately, -the direction of the steadily-increasing wind.</p> - -<p>From time to time La Vireville struck a light, looked at the compass -and reported, and François would take measures accordingly. On -the other tack, however, the <i class="name">Marie-François</i> did not sail so well. -After some couple of hours spent in these unprofitable manœuvres, -during which they had only progressed a very few miles, La Vireville -permitted himself to remark on this fact, and to say resignedly that -he supposed they must make up their minds between being driven on to -the rocks of Chausey or revisiting the Norman mainland. For himself -he preferred Chausey.</p> - -<p>"I told you that she made much leeway," replied the owner of the -<i class="name">Marie-François</i> rather sulkily. "If she were a bigger boat we -might change our course and ride out under the Iles Chausey till -morning, when the wind will probably abate, but she is too small -for that. Or, if the tide were making, we could find our way inside -to the natural harbour that there is by the Grande Ile (always -supposing there were no vessels of the Blues doing the same). But -the ebb has already begun, and if we got in there we could not -get out again, for the channels would be dry."</p> - -<p>La Vireville, with Anne huddled up in his arms, reflected. He had -sailed too often in just such a small craft between Brittany and -Jersey not to know its limitations.</p> - -<p>"Then I am afraid we must give up the idea of making Jersey and -run for the coast of Brittany," he said at last. "I know it very -well between Cap Fréhel and St. Brieuc. In fact"—he hesitated -a moment—"I have a command thereabouts. With this wind we could -make that part of the coast easily—provided that we are not sighted -in the morning by the Blues, either at sea or ashore."</p> - -<p>"Very well," agreed the Norman. "Our best plan will be to go between -Chausey and the Minquiers. It is dangerous."</p> - -<p>"It is better than returning," insisted Fortuné. "I suppose you -know the channels well? And we should get some shelter from the -lee of the islands of Chausey."</p> - -<p>So they went about, and presently the little boat was engaged, in -the darkness and the high wind, among that archipelago of dreary -and dangerous reefs, of which some rose like needles out of the -sea, and some, more deadly still, were only visible at low water. -Of such were the most perilous of all, Les Ardentes, which lay in -wait at the entry of the passage. And the moon would put aside the -flying clouds for a moment, to show them the surf boiling white -round some evil splinter of rock standing up in the channel like -a warning finger, or the water sucking greedily over an unseen -slab of granite. Only François' consummate steering, his steady -nerves, and, perhaps, the luck which sometimes attends those who -challenge risks, got them safely through. La Vireville kept Anne's -eyes covered the whole time.</p> - -<p>Even when they were through conditions were not agreeable. When -François had set the course fairly for the coast of Brittany they -felt the full violence of the wind again, this time, it was true, -no longer in their teeth. The sorely-buffeted <i class="name">Marie-François</i>, -obliged unceasingly to tack to avoid being driven on to the -St. Malo coast, shipped every few minutes a little water, flung -half-contemptuously into her by a snarling wave. About two in the -morning it became bitingly cold. La Vireville had long ago taken off -his cloak to wrap round Anne, and finally he made a kind of bundle -of him and put him right in the bows, where, in spite of the -lobster-pots and the smell of fish and tarred rope, he thought the -child would get more shelter than in the stern. Frightened and -sea-sick, the little boy did, however, fall now and again into -slumber of a sort, when La Vireville could turn an undivided -attention to the management of the sails or to baling.</p> - -<p>Thus the night wore on, and at last, as the dawn brightened on -the grey, heaving waters, the coast of Brittany was visible on -their left. The wind, now considerably abated, had gone round several -points towards the north, and had St. Malo been their objective -instead of the spot they particularly wished to avoid, they could -have run before it for that harbour. As it was, they must make -farther along the coast for the little bay which La Vireville had -in view. It was true that, owing to the change in the wind, they -would have difficulty in reaching this point before sunrise, and -a man with a price on his head, like La Vireville, does not of -preference select full daylight to land on a guarded coast, in -precisely that region of it where he may with most probability -be expected to land; but there was no help for it. There was always -the bare possibility of falling in with one of the Jersey luggers -before they got there, and thus making their landing unnecessary. -Moreover, a sort of informal armistice was supposed to be in existence -at the moment, on account of negotiations for a settlement then -going forward between Republicans and Royalists in the west, though -La Vireville pinned very little trust to the truce in question.</p> - -<p>The unwished-for sun was already rising when Anne-Hilarion, rather -wan, was fetched from his place of retirement and persuaded to try -to eat something. He displayed small interest and no disappointment -on learning that he was being taken to Brittany instead of to Jersey. -When this information was being imparted to him the fishing-boat -was already edging in towards the coast—a coast of cliffs and bays -equally asleep in the early sunshine, whence, so her crew hoped, -her small size and her inconspicuous brown sail would save her -from observation. After the night of cold and peril the change of -atmosphere was not unwelcome. In another half-hour, with luck, they -would reach the little bay La Vireville had in mind.</p> - -<p>The émigré was just coaxing Anne to finish a slice of bread at -which he was languidly nibbling when François bent forward from -the tiller and said a couple of words:</p> - -<p>"The Blues!"</p> - -<p>La Vireville followed his pointing finger. On the low cliff a little -ahead of them, which they would shortly pass to port, was a small -wooden building, and, pacing up and down in front of it, a man in -uniform with a musket over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>The Chouan and the fisherman looked at one another. They could -not hope, at so short a distance, to escape notice, unless the -sentry were blind; the question was whether, in view of the truce, -he would or would not consider their craft suspicious. On their -present course every moment brought them nearer to the headland, -and consequently within better range, while if they tacked and -stood out to sea they ran the chance both of attracting more -attention and of giving evidence of an uneasy conscience.</p> - -<p>"We had better continue as we are, eh?" remarked La Vireville.</p> - -<p>Francois nodded.</p> - -<p>"I am going to put you back in the bows, Anne," said the émigré. -"It is warmer there." And, catching him up, he went forward with -him over the uneven stone ballast and deposited him as low as -possible among the lobster-pots and nets. The coast was hidden -from his own view by the lug-sail, and he could not see what was -passing there. The <i class="name">Marie-François</i> held on at a good speed.</p> - -<p>"He has seen us," observed François after a moment. A sort of smile -flickered over his face, and he pulled the mainsheet a little -tighter round the thwart.</p> - -<p>La Vireville came back and stood by the mast. They were now abreast -of the guardhouse. "He has roused the others," said François grimly. -"He was not blind, that parishioner, worse luck!"</p> - -<p>And with the words came the sound of a shout from the cliff, then of -a shot. A bullet splashed into their wake a yard or so behind them.</p> - -<p>Fortuné de la Vireville shrugged his shoulders. They were very -obviously not out of range. But neither he nor the Norman had any -impulse to bring to, which was evidently the course intimated -by the bullet.</p> - -<p>"So much for the truce!" he said aloud, and as the words left his -mouth came a second and more menacing crackle from the cliff. At -the same moment La Vireville was conscious of a violent blow on the -side of the head—so violent, indeed, that it threw him off his -balance. He had a lightning impression, compound of resentment and -surprise, that the yard had been hit and had fallen on him. And -then, suddenly, in the midst of the sunshine, it was night. . . .</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>La Vireville opened his eyes. It was day again, bright sunlight. -The <i class="name">Marie-François</i> was bounding forward before a spanking breeze. -For a second or two La Vireville could not remember why he was -there—hardly, indeed, who he was. Then he looked up instinctively -at the yard. It was there, unharmed, at the top of the brown, -swelling sail. He himself was half lying, half sitting on the -seat that ran round the gunwale, and everything was as before -the helmsman at the tiller——</p> - -<p>The helmsman!</p> - -<p>"My God!" said La Vireville aloud. The fisherman was indeed sitting -in the sternsheets, his arm over the tiller; but he was sitting -in a heap, and his face was upturned to the sky. Under the tiller -was a red pool shifting with the motion of the boat. The Chouan -stared at him horror-struck. "My God!" he said again. "He's been -hit. . . . Anne, Anne, where are you?"</p> - -<p>Only then did he become aware of something clutching tightly one -of his legs, and, looking down, saw the child clinging there, his -face hidden. The émigré moved to take him in his arms, and was -instantly conscious that he was very dizzy and that there was -blood on the breast of his own coat. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ciel!</span> did they get me too?" -he wondered, and putting up a hand to his head withdrew it with a -reddened palm. How long ago did it all happen? There was the coast, -but no guardhouse. It must be out of sight now behind the headland. -The wind had taken them on, the dead hand had steered them—if -indeed François were dead? He must see to him first.</p> - -<p>"Anne—my little pigeon, my comrade, it is all right," he said, -stooping to him. At the sound of his voice the child lifted his head, -took one look at him, and screamed. La Vireville then realised that -there must be blood down his face, and, pulling out his handkerchief, -did his best to remove it. Afterwards he twisted the handkerchief -hurriedly round his head, in which, so far as he knew, there might be -a bullet, though he inclined to think that it was a ball ricochetting -off the mast which had given him a glancing blow. Otherwise he would -hardly be alive to speculate about it. Not that there was any time -just then for speculation. . . . Anne-Hilarion suffered himself to be -lifted on to his friend's knee, and, shuddering convulsively, hid his -face once more in his breast. La Vireville comforted him as well as -he could, trying hastily to dissipate the terror which seemed to have -frozen him, for he could not devote much time to consolation now, -when Francois might be bleeding to death. So he soon lifted the -little boy off his knee, and put him down facing the bows, telling -him not to look round; and Anne, sobbing now as if his heart would -break, leant his head on the gunwale, and so remained.</p> - -<p>But François was quite dead. He had fallen back and died instantly, -so the Chouan judged, shot, probably, through the heart. It was for -this, thought La Vireville, that he had dragged him from his -wife. . . . He pulled the body with difficulty away from the tiller, -laid it on the ballast, spread over it a small spare mizen, and -sat down at the helm to think. But he found himself looking rather -hopelessly at the mess of blood below the tiller; something must be -done to it, for the sake of the little boy who had been through so -much. He found a rag under the seat, and with this converted the pool -into a smear, and then perceived that, still bleeding himself from -the head, he was leaving wherever he moved a further series of bright -splashes. "I must stop that," he thought, and took stronger measures -with a piece of sailcloth hacked off the mizen.</p> - -<p>But all the while he was aware of strange momentary gaps in -consciousness, though his brain was clear enough. At any cost, he -must not lose his senses again—or if he must, let it at least be on -land. Only an extraordinary coincidence had saved the <i class="name">Marie-François</i> -from being blown on to the rocks or out to sea. Anne was still -sobbing; the time to comfort him was not yet come. The pressing need -was to make a decision while he yet could. Fortunately he knew his -whereabouts exactly. . . . After a few moments' thought he made the -decision, altered the boat's course a trifle, and, sitting there -steering with the dead fisherman at his feet, began gently to talk -to Anne at the other end of the boat.</p> - -<p>And so, presently, the sun shining, the waves slapping her sides, -and the lug-sail wide with the following wind, the <i class="name">Marie-François</i> -began to make for the cliffs, just where a spit of rock ran out at -their feet and they sloped to a little cove. Here there was only -a lazy swell that stirred the long seaweed, for it was half-tide.</p> - -<p>"We are going ashore here, child," said La Vireville, letting -down the sail. "You will not see this boat again." For he meant -to sink her if it could be done; she was too clear an indication -of their whereabouts, and here, so near his own command, he would -have small difficulty in getting another boat for Jersey, and -men to sail her, too, more capable of the task than he felt at -present.</p> - -<p>White, dishevelled, and tear-stained, the little boy got off the -seat. "Are we to get out now?" he asked uncertainly, as the sail -came down with a run.</p> - -<p>"Yes, little one, and be careful that you do not slip," said the -émigré, putting him over the side on to the rock, and scrambling -after him. Once there he spread his cloak on the seaweed. "Now sit -quiet for a moment," he went on, in a business-like tone, "and take -care of these things for me." He put the water-keg, the compass, and -what remained of the provisions beside him, and armed himself -with an oar.</p> - -<p>"I am not going to leave you, Anne," he said. "I am only going -to the end of this rock; but I want you to look at the compass -carefully while I am away, so that when I come back in a minute -or two you will be able to tell me which is the north. Will you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, M. le Chevalier," responded Anne, and averted his eyes not -unwillingly from La Vireville's bandaged head to the still-swinging -compass-card.</p> - -<p>With the oar La Vireville manœuvred the boat farther out along the -spit of rock, where she would catch a better wind for his purpose. -Then he clambered on board again, and, lifting the sail, looked -regretfully at the young, sunburnt face beneath. Thinking of the -dead fisherman's wife, he turned out his pockets; there was nothing -there but a claspknife and a twist of tobacco, but round his neck -was a medal, and on his finger a silver ring, and these he took. -Then with a rope he lashed the body to the thwarts and made fast -the tiller. The last thing was done with an auger from the locker. -Hastily he then hoisted the sail, scrambled back on to the rock, -and pushed the boat off with the oar.</p> - -<p>Slowly at first, then faster as the breeze caught her, the -<i class="name">Marie-François</i> moved away. Her executioner had bored only small -holes, so that she should be well out in the bay before her doom -came upon her; but she was settling little by little as she went. -She began at last to lie over to the wind, and that hastened the -end; the water without and the water within met over the gunwale; -she heeled suddenly over, struggled to right herself, heeled over -again . . . and was gone. The brown sail lay a second or two on -the water, then it followed the rest, and the <i class="name">Marie-François</i> -and her master went down to the bottom of the bay.</p> - -<p>An oar, a loose spar, some indeterminate objects, and a couple of -lobster-pots bobbed on the surface of the waves as La Vireville, -dizzy with pain and regret, made his way back over the seaweed to -the forlorn, frightened child for whom these two lives had just -been thrown away.</p> - -<h3 id="c12">CHAPTER XII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Introducing Grain d'Orge</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Anne-Hilarion was still sitting obediently on the cloak, staring -at the now stationary compass. La Vireville stooped and kissed -him before he had time to ask any questions. "Anne, you have been -a very brave little boy! Now you will go on being brave, will you -not? The fisherman and his boat have gone home; you will not see -them any more. But we do not need them, because for the rest of -the day we are going to stay here, in a cave that I know of. You -can help me to carry these things to it. Mind you do not slip on -the seaweed!"</p> - -<p>Employment, of whatever kind, was exactly the tonic needed by the -child at the moment. He picked up the nearly empty basket of food -and followed the émigré, who carried the water-keg and the compass. -The sea whispered up the side of the rock, lifting the seaweed. -"Be very careful," adjured La Vireville over his shoulder. "Here -we are. I expect you have never been in a cave before?"</p> - -<p>Only just above high-water mark, of a slit-like entrance so narrow -that La Vireville, stooping, could only just squeeze through, and -with even this entrance partly screened by a projecting rock, the -cave opened out within to respectable proportions. The Chevalier -de la Vireville had not, in fact, been guided, in his choice of -a landing-place, entirely by the fact of his mishap, which made -an immediate haven a necessity, nor by the knowledge that the -soldiers on the cliff might very possibly come along in pursuit. -The thought of this very spot had visited his mind once or twice -earlier on the voyage.</p> - -<p>Anne hesitated a moment, rather daunted by the darkness, so La -Vireville set down his burdens and took him by the hand.</p> - -<p>"It will soon get lighter," he said cheerfully. "Come and sit -down by me." He disposed his own long legs with some haste upon -the sandy floor, for his head was swimming so much that he feared -to fall.</p> - -<p>Anne came willingly enough and nestled up to him. "We are quite -safe now, are we not, M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"Quite," said Fortuné, with his arm round him. "And I think the -best thing we could do would be to go to sleep, don't you, nephew?"</p> - -<p>"I am in effect very sleepy," said Anne, leaning his head against -him with a sigh. A moment's silence, and he went on, in a changed -voice, as if against his will, "I was frightened . . . there was -blood . . . you too, and the fisherman——"</p> - -<p>"Of course you were frightened for a moment," interrupted the -émigré, holding him tighter. "But listen, my little pigeon, and -I will explain it all. The soldiers on the cliff fired at us, as -you know, and a bullet hit François the fisherman, and because -it hurt him very much, he fainted—you understand? At the same -time your uncle got a blow on the head from another bullet, which -hit the mast first and then knocked him down. But, you see, he is -quite recovered now. In the same way, when François had lain down -a little in the bottom of the boat he felt better again, and after -you and I had got out of her he was able to sail her back home; -for, you know, with this wind and in the daylight we should never -have got to Jersey to-day. We shall go at night, when the soldiers -can't see us. So you see, mon petit, that there is nothing to be -alarmed at now, and as for hearing shots and seeing . . . a little -blood . . . you must remember that you too will fight for the -King some day!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the little boy. "Unless I write a big book like Grandpapa."</p> - -<p>"Well, whatever you do, you must never let yourself be frightened."</p> - -<p>"I suppose that you and Papa are never frightened?" deduced Anne.</p> - -<p>"Never!" responded La Vireville firmly. ("Heaven forgive me for -a liar!" he added inwardly.)</p> - -<p>"Then I will try not to be," announced Anne, with another sigh, -and, to the Chouan's relief, he settled down against him, and -almost instantly fell asleep.</p> - -<p>As for La Vireville, he remained for some time in the same position, -his back against the rocky wall of the cave, looking down at the -brown head with its heavy silken curls that rested confidingly -against his redingote, and reflecting on the chance that had given -him so unusual a companion in these regions. This cave had known -in the past year very different occupants, for it had served, and -would shortly serve again, as a depot for arms and ammunition, -smuggled in under cover of night from Jersey, and smuggled out -again, in the same conditions, by the Chouans of the parishes which -he commanded in the neighbourhood. He touched one of the soft -ringlets that held so many gleams of gold in their brown, then, -very cautiously, so as not to disturb the sleeper, he slipped -down at full length on the floor of the cave, taking Anne with -him in an encircling arm, and, pillowing his own aching head on -the other, tried to follow his example.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>During the afternoon Anne-Hilarion woke up, in a mood for converse, -and with his sleep his late adventures seemed, temporarily at -least, blotted from his mind. Having eaten, he made inquiries -after La Vireville's head, but instead of reviving the question -of how he got the hurt, branched off into an account of Baptiste's -calamitous fall off a ladder at some undated epoch, and the large -swelling on his forehead which was the result. From this topic -he entered that of a gathered finger once sustained by Elspeth, -which had, she said, pained her right up to her shoulder, and to -which a succession of poultices had been applied. La Vireville -rather absently remarking that it would be impossible to make -poultices at present, nothing but seaweed being available for -the purpose, Anne, for some reason, found this observation so -exquisitely humorous that he laughed over it for a long time.</p> - -<p>"If we were wrecked on a desert island, like Robinson Crusoe, of -whom Grandpapa has read to me," he concluded, "we might have to -make poultices of seaweed. Perhaps we might even have to eat it. -Do you know about Robinson Crusoe, M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"No," answered Fortuné drowsily. "Tell me about him."</p> - -<p>Anne told him, to the appropriate sound of the waves without.</p> - -<p>"One hears the sea in here," he remarked at the end. "But not so much -as last night. Last night it was as it says in 'Noroway-over-the-foam':</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'The lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">And gurly grew the sea . . .'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And he added, crooning the words to himself:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'Half owre, half owre to Aberdour</div> -<div class="verse indent2">'Tis fifty fathoms deep;</div> -<div class="verse">And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>"Whatever are you talking about, child?" asked La Vireville uneasily, -coming out of his doze.</p> - -<p>But Anne went on, apparently fascinated by the words, and not much -thinking of their meaning, which had on a past occasion so much -distressed him:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'O lang, lang may the ladies sit,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Wi their fans into their hand,</div> -<div class="verse">Before they see Sir Patrick Spens</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Come sailing to the strand!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">'And lang, lang may the maidens sit</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Wi' their gowd kames in their hair,</div> -<div class="verse">A-waiting for their ain dear loves!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">For them they'll see nae mair.'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>La Vireville winced, and his hand went to the medal and the ring -in his pocket.</p> - -<p>"Your selection of poetry is not very cheerful, my small friend," -he remarked.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion looked at him with large eyes of surprise. "Do you -not like it, M. le Chevalier? I think it has so pleasant a sound. -But I expect your head aches a good deal, does it not? Then I -will not say any more of it. That is the end, I think." He had -been sitting on a pile of dried seaweed at a little distance, -whence he could see out of the cave entrance; now he got up, and -came and slipped his hand into his friend's. "If you wish to sleep, -M. le Chevalier——"</p> - -<p>"You will play sentry, eh?" finished La Vireville, smiling up at -him. "Very well, only you must promise on no account to go outside -the cave. We shall leave it as soon as it is dark. That is," he -added to himself, "if this accursed head of mine is steady enough -for me to walk by then." For he was beginning to fear that it might -not be, and it was therefore with relief that he accepted Anne's -suggestion, and closed his eyes again.</p> - -<p>Left to his own devices, the Comte de Flavigny sat for quite a -long time solemnly and sympathetically regarding his prostrate -companion—rather as that companion had, earlier, studied him. -M. le Chevalier looked so long, lying there, longer even, Anne -thought, than when he was on his feet. Then the watcher got up and -proceeded to make a careful tour round his domain. A meticulous -search yielded nothing of more interest than an empty water-keg, -similar to their own, abandoned in a corner. Having exhausted the -hopeful emotions of this quest, Anne looked longingly at the entrance -of the cave, whence he could see a slit of sea and sky, and hear -the waves and the gulls. He desired greatly to go out, but his -promise rendered that impossible. So he returned to his heap of -seaweed, and wondered if François the fisherman had got nearly home -by now; for he did not in the least doubt the explanation of recent -events that had been given him, though he did not much care to dwell -upon them. Then he thought of his grandfather, and speculated as -to what he was doing; he thought also of Elspeth, and Baptiste, -and the exotic Lal Khan. He would soon be seeing them again now.</p> - -<p>M. le Chevalier stirred in his sleep—if indeed he were really -asleep, of which Anne was not sure—threw out an arm, and said -something that sounded angry.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Anne bethought him that he had not said his prayers -since . . . he could not exactly remember when. So he knelt down -on the seaweed and applied himself to his devotions, adding a -special petition on behalf of the Chevalier de la Vireville. After -that he himself fell asleep again.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>It was quite dark in the cave when La Vireville dragged himself -to his feet and told Anne that it was time for them to be leaving -it. The subsequent Odyssey was, to Anne at least, full of interest, -and undoubtedly possessed more reality to him than to his half-dazed -companion. After they had made their way through the narrow opening -of the cave they had to scramble over many rocks full of pools in -which, so Anne opined, there might be crabs, only it was too dark to -see them—even though it was not so dark outside the cave as in it. -His views on their alleged presence, and the likelihood of their -seizing hold of the travellers' feet and retaining them willy-nilly -till the tide came up again, were discouraged by La Vireville (or at -least their utterance was), and he was told that he must not speak -above a whisper. So in silence they clambered, in silence they -arrived upon a beach which was first sand, where the waves were -coming in gently, and then pebbles, which not only made a noise but -also hurt the feet. Here La Vireville picked up Anne under one arm -and so carried him. Then, when they were at the top of the bank of -pebbles, they had to climb a low cliff where there was a path, -somewhat difficult to see. After that they were on the level, on -grass, and soon after in a strange, tunnel-like lane, very deep and -dark indeed, and so narrow that they could only just go abreast. -Soon there were great trees growing on the banks of this lane, and -it became so dark that Anne could only see a few feet in front, but -M. le Chevalier went on without hesitating, though not very fast. -Sometimes Anne walked by his side, his hand in his; sometimes he -was carried. Then they were out of the lane, in among more and more -trees. Anne began to be tired, and M. le Chevalier seemed tired too, -for he stopped and sat down occasionally, and once or twice he said -things to himself which Anne did not understand.</p> - -<p>There was some animal or bird among these trees which kept making -a strange noise, and this M. le Chevalier would now and then imitate -exactly. Anne asked what it was, and was told that it was an owl. -After a little it seemed to Anne that there were people too in the -forest, strange shadowy forms in curious garments. He commented on -this, and M. le Chevalier told him not to be frightened, that they -were all friends, and would do him no harm, and that it was, in -fact, they who made the sound like an owl which he had answered. -And, almost as he said it, two men seemed to come up out of the -ground, two men with great wide-brimmed hats and long loose hair. -They each carried a gun. It was too dark to see their faces. M. -de la Vireville spoke to one in a strange tongue, and then he said -to Anne, "Let him carry you, little one, and don't be frightened." -So the man took him up in his arms, and Anne, being tired, was -glad of this, though he had to struggle against a certain amount -of the alarm which he had promised to try never to feel again.</p> - -<p>M. le Chevalier, who was of course too big to be carried, however -tired he might feel, took the arm of the other man, and they went -on again. And then, just as Anne was thinking that he would ask -to be put down—for, after all, the man who carried him smelt -almost too disagreeably—they came to a little hut roofed with -branches, and one of the men knocked, and made the noise of the -owl, and the door opened and they all went in.</p> - -<p>In the hut was another man in strange dress, and here, by a couple -of rushlights, Anne, when he was deposited on his feet, had his -first full view of a Chouan.</p> - -<p>By his side there stood an oldish man, not very tall, with enormously -powerful shoulders and rather a short neck. On the lank, grizzled -hair that fell to these shoulders was a large wide-brimmed hat; -he wore the strangest breeches that Anne had ever seen, made of -some dirty white material, pleated and full like a woman's skirt; -from these to his sabots his legs were clad in deerskin gaiters. -But his coat engaged the little boy's attention almost more, for -it was blue, very short, and appeared to have another underneath -it, and the front was elaborately embroidered in whorls of yellow -and red. Pinned on to it was a tiny soiled square of linen, roughly -worked with the emblem of the Sacred Heart, and a rosary was looped -through one of the button-holes. The man's little twinkling eyes, -set deep in his head, looked, Anne decided, rather wicked, and he -had never seen a face which seemed so much as if it never could -be washed clean, so grey and leathery was the wrinkled skin. The -Chouan carried a musket slung across his back, and a knife and -two pistols in a leather belt.</p> - -<p>M. le Chevalier, sitting on the edge of the table, with both hands -to his head, now addressed this being as "Grain d'Orge," and said -a few words to him in a strange language. Anne had by this time -arrived at the conclusion that this was the man who had carried -him, so when the lips of the being parted in what the little boy -supposed to be a smile (displaying a few yellow teeth, and causing -innumerable more wrinkles to appear), and it held out a large grey -hand, uttering something unintelligible, Anne gathered that he was -being given a friendly greeting of some kind, and with very little -hesitation laid his own hand in Grain d'Orge's capacious paw.</p> - -<h3 id="c13">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Far in the Forest</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"'O Richard, ô mon roi,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">L'univers t'abandonne;</div> -<div class="verse">Sur la terre il n'y a que moi</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Qui s'intéresse à ta personne,'"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">sang a clear tenor voice in the forest next morning—the once famous -air out of that opera of <cite>Richard Cœur-de-Lion</cite> which had served -the Royalists of three or four years ago as a rallying-cry. The -singer, a fair-haired young Breton with a face of refinement and -intelligence, was busy polishing his English musket. He was, or -had been, a law student at Rennes, and now was one of 'Monsieur -Augustin's' lieutenants. A little way off Anne-Hilarion was crouched -in a patch of primroses, which he was adding one by one to the tight, -hot bunch in his hand. Grain d'Orge and another Chouan of about the -same standard of personal cleanliness, sitting on a fallen trunk, -their muskets resting against them, regarded his labours with a -wide, admiring grin. And under a beech-tree, a fresh bandage round -his head, La Vireville himself lay propped on his elbows, reading -and re-reading a letter. A map lay open on the ground beside him. -Over this peaceful and almost pastoral scene shone the young green -of April's trees and the soft blue of her sky, a setting with which -the child plucking flowers was more consonant than the armed peasants. -But the latter, by the attention which they paid to his movements, -did not seem to find it so.</p> - -<p>La Vireville suddenly rolled over and sat up. "Le Goffic, come -here a moment, will you?"</p> - -<p>The young Breton ceased his song, put down his weapon, and obeyed. -His leader motioned to him to sit down beside him.</p> - -<p>"You know, of course, Charles, that 'M. Alexis,' the leader of -the Carhoët division, was killed the other day while I was away?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Monsieur Augustin."</p> - -<p>"He seems to have been killed by treachery," said La Vireville, -referring to the letter in his hand, "at a farm near Lanrivain. -Let me see, where is that exactly?" He searched on the map lying -beside him.</p> - -<p>"Grain d'Orge knows that neighbourhood well," suggested his lieutenant.</p> - -<p>"Yes, of course he does," assented the émigré, relinquishing the -search. "I will ask him in a moment, since I shall have further -need of his topographical knowledge. For there is another matter -in this letter of M. du Boishardy's. He wishes me to take over the -command of the Carhoët division, now vacant through 'M. Alexis' -death."</p> - -<p>Now M. du Boishardy commanded the whole department of the Côtes-du-Nord -for the King, and La Vireville was consequently more or less under -his orders. The young Breton's face fell.</p> - -<p>"And leave us?" he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"No, no! M. du Boishardy wishes me to combine the two if possible. -I should have to appoint a subordinate in any case. The pressing -need, however, seems to be that I should go over there in person -as soon as possible, for it appears that they are all at sixes -and sevens since their leader's death. I must proceed to Carhoët -directly I return from Jersey—for to Jersey I must go, to see the -Prince de Bouillon, even if I had not the infant there to convoy -into British hands. The best plan, I take it, would be to sail -direct from Jersey to that part of the coast, if it is possible -to land there. Grain d'Orge!"</p> - -<p>In front of that warrior, fingering his musket with one hand, was -now standing Anne-Hilarion, who had abandoned his primrose-plucking, -though still retaining his spoil. The old Chouan's French was very -limited, for which reason conversation with him, for those ignorant -of Breton, was difficult; but he and the Comte de Flavigny did -appear to be holding discourse of some kind. La Vireville's summons -brought not only him but Anne and his flowers also.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, my child," said La Vireville, accepting the hot nosegay. -"Now you can go back and pick some for Grain d'Orge."</p> - -<p>The Chouan grinned. "You wanted me, Monsieur Augustin?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. Sit down there. You know the Carhoët division well, don't you?"</p> - -<p>"Like the palm of my hand, Monsieur Augustin." He began to arrange -some of Anne's primroses on the ground. "See, here is Porhoët, -the little fishing village, in the Bay of St. Guénaël, and there -is Carhoët, seven miles inland, and there is the wood of Roscanvel, -and there is Lanrivain, and close by there, I think, is the farm -where 'M. Alexis' was killed the other day, as we heard. There -is a path leading to it through a copse, and it was doubtless by -that that the Blues came when they surprised him. . . . Yes, I -know it well, though I cannot read the map. My sister lives at -Carhoët, and I have a nephew at Roscanvel."</p> - -<p>"Good," said La Vireville, studying the chart of blossoms. "Well, -mon gars, I want to go to Carhoët directly I return from Jersey. -You could meet me at the fishing village, Porhoët, I suppose, and -conduct me to Carhoët and some other places that I want to visit -there? Can one land with any measure of safety at Porhoët?"</p> - -<p>Grain d'Orge nodded his great head. "Surely, Monsieur Augustin. 'M. -Alexis' had an agent of some kind living at Porhoët for the Jersey -correspondence, so that once I get into touch with him it should -not be difficult. One should take precautions, though, in spite -of the truce; is it not so, Monsieur Augustin?"</p> - -<p>"The headache which I have at this moment, mon vieux, supplies a -sufficient answer to that question."</p> - -<p>"You will not go to the peace conferences at La Prévalaye, then, -Monsieur Augustin?" asked his younger lieutenant.</p> - -<p>La Vireville shrugged his shoulders. "Do you think, my dear Le -Goffic, that I am a particularly good exemplar of peace—a man -who has been fired on during this truce which Grain d'Orge so -rightly distrusts? No, I do not believe in the possibility of a -lasting peace at present, and I am sure that even if it is concluded -it will be broken in a month or two. Neither side really wants it; -they are merely deluded if they think they do. M. du Boishardy—he -writes to me from La Prévalaye itself—is young and enthusiastic, -and believes too readily in the good in other people. But he -recognises that he is not likely to see me there—otherwise he -would hardly have suggested my going over to Carhoët."</p> - -<p>"Monsieur Augustin is right," said Grain d'Orge sagely, shaking -his grizzled locks. "Nobody wants a peace, and it will not last."</p> - -<p>"Well, you shall guide me to Carhoët from Porhoët in a day or two. -I must make a try for Jersey to-night if the wind serves. Burn the -flare at ten o'clock, for I think we shall find that the Jersey -lugger will be off the point. I know that the Prince is impatient -to see me, and it is possible that he may have forgotten I was -coming from Southampton, not from here."</p> - -<p>"I will see to the matter," said Le Goffic.</p> - -<p>"There is something else of importance that I want to discuss with -you two," went on La Vireville, lowering his voice; and his two -dissimilar lieutenants, seated on the beech-mast like himself, -brought themselves nearer. "If—note that I only say <em>if</em>—there -were to be an émigré landing, supported by the British Government -this summer, somewhere in the Morbihan, do you think that our gars -could be relied on to follow me to Southern Brittany to co-operate -with it?"</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion had picked primroses, as suggested, for Grain d'Orge, -but he had not given them to him, for, sensible little boy that he -was, he knew the signs of a grown-up being really too absorbed to -attend to him, since Grandpapa himself sometimes exhibited them. The -most unmistakable of these were written now upon the three men who -sat, talking so earnestly, under the beech-tree. He had approached -them tentatively once or twice, but even M. le Chevalier took no -notice of him—did not, in fact, appear to be aware that he was -there—so in the end he presented his second harvest to the other -Chouan, who received it with testimonies of extreme gratitude, -and arranged some of the flowers round his greasy wide-brimmed -hat. This man could not speak a word of French, so all he and Anne -could do was to sit side by side on the log and smile spasmodically -at each other. Anne regretted that his foreign shell with the -stripes was in M. le Chevalier's pocket, for a scheme had just -visited him of filling it with water and putting primroses into -it. He gave a sudden little yawn. What a long, long time M. le -Chevalier was talking. . . .</p> - -<p>His head was all but nodding when he felt a hand on his shoulder, -and there was M. le Chevalier bending over him.</p> - -<p>"Are you bored to death, my child, or asleep?" he asked kindly. -"I have been a terrible while talking, have I not? It is Grain -d'Orge's fault; he is so obstinate. Now, would you like to come -for a little walk in the wood before we have our next meal? There -is just time, and I have something to show you."</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion jumped up from the log with much alacrity.</p> - -<p>"What is it that we are going to see, M. le Chevalier?" he asked, -as he set off, his hand in his friend's. "Do ogres live in this -forest—or giants? Or perhaps there is buried treasure? You know, -I have never seen so many trees all together at one time as this. -I could not count them, <em>possibly</em>!"</p> - -<p>"No, I should think not," agreed La Vireville. "You cannot even -see them all. This is the way, where the little path strikes off. -I am going to show you, Anne, the château of Kerdronan, where I -lived when I was a boy like you."</p> - -<p>"Oh, M. le Chevalier, I shall like that!"</p> - -<p>"Wait till you see it!" said Fortuné.</p> - -<p>And they went along the path, little more than a track, that -wound between the trees. Over and about them were the fledgling -beech-leaves, of the loveliest green of hope and innocence, so -young and untried that they resembled gleams of bright water rather -than anything more palpable; and underfoot, crackling like paper, -were their fellows of last year.</p> - -<p>"Then you used to come and play in this wood when you were a boy, -M. le Chevalier?" began Anne-Hilarion again.</p> - -<p>"I knew every inch of it once," replied the émigré.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion gave a sigh of envy. "But you ran away to sea, did -you not?" he asked, and there was a strong suggestion of reproach -in his tone.</p> - -<p>La Vireville smiled. "Never!" he said. "What put such an idea into -your head? I was in the navy once, it is true—I served under -Suffren—but I assure you that I got there by the most legitimate -channels. Mind that root, child!"</p> - -<p>"Papa said that you had been a sailor," explained Anne, "and I -thought——"</p> - -<p>"I see," said his friend, amused.</p> - -<p>"Are there as many trees as this in Jersey?" was Anne-Hilarion's -next question.</p> - -<p>"No, nephew, there are not. By the way, I don't believe I have -ever told you where I am going to take you when we get to St. -Helier—to Jersey, that is?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps to the house of a pirate?" suggested Anne-Hilarion hopefully.</p> - -<p>This time La Vireville laughed outright. "My child, what an imagination -you have! No; to the house of my mother. She lives there."</p> - -<p>"Why?" inquired his charge.</p> - -<p>La Vireville did not answer for a moment. "For various reasons," -he replied, at length. "One of them you will see in a few minutes."</p> - -<p>"I should think," observed Anne, looking about him as they went -on, "that it was in a big wood like this, where nobody could see -them, that the two brothers of Liddesdale met and fought."</p> - -<p>"Who were they?" asked the Frenchman. "I never heard of them."</p> - -<p>"They are in a story of Elspeth's that she told me once. They -fought about a lady, and the lady was false to both of them. Is -that why people generally fight duels, M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville switched at an anemone with a hazel twig that he -had pulled off.</p> - -<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed to himself. "It is not the only reason, -child," he returned. "But duels are not subjects for little boys -to talk about."</p> - -<p>Ordinarily Anne-Hilarion would have been deterred at once by a -tone and a phraseology so foreign to the speaker, as he knew him, -but he was undeniably wrought upon by his surroundings, and pursued -the forbidden topic.</p> - -<p>"I expect you have fought a duel, have you not, M. le Chevalier?" -he said tentatively, looking up at his tall companion. But La -Vireville was silent.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps several?" suggested the inquirer; and though he still -got no answer, went on, "Were any of them here, in this wood?"</p> - -<p>"No," said the Chouan, walking very fast. "—Now leave the subject -alone, there's a good child! You will see in a moment what we have -come to see. Here the wood ends, but it goes on again afterwards."</p> - -<p>They had come, in fact, to the edge of the forest—or, rather, -to an extensive clearing crossed by a deep-rutted woodland road. -The émigré led the way along this for twenty yards or so, and -the stopped.</p> - -<p>There in front of them, at the end of a grass-grown avenue of -larches, now swaying in all their first delicate green joy, stood -the corpse of a large seventeenth century manor-house. Not decay, -but violence, had slain it; it was gutted from end to end, so that -with its blackened, jagged walls, its grinning rafters, and the -few tall chimneys that yet stood, it looked, between those arcades -of feathery mirth, like a skeleton in fairyland.</p> - -<p>"Oh, poor house!" exclaimed Anne-Hilarion compassionately. "What -has happened to it? Whose is it?"</p> - -<p>"Mine," replied La Vireville. His mouth was rather grim.</p> - -<p>"Is that Ker-where you lived?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville nodded. "The Blues burnt it down two years ago. It -does not look very pretty now, does it? Yet it was beautiful once."</p> - -<p>"Oh, M. le Chevalier, you must have been very sorry!"</p> - -<p>"Sorry? Of course I was sorry, Anne. I was born there, and my -father and grandfather before me. . . . Well, there are no more -of us, so perhaps it does not much matter. We must go back now."</p> - -<p>The little boy stood with a very grave face under the larches, and -looked at the irremediable havoc towards which they led. Then he -thrust his hand silently into his friend's, and they both turned -back into the wood.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>"So, after all, Anne, your good-bye to France is a very peaceful -one," observed La Vireville some hours later.</p> - -<p>He spoke the truth. The deck of the <i class="name">Aristocrate</i>, one of the -armed luggers employed in the Jersey correspondence, was under -their feet, and the <i class="name">Aristocrate</i> herself, her sail ready to go -up to the favouring wind, lay gently rolling on a tranquil sea. -The little boat, manned by La Vireville's own gars, which had -brought them out without adventure to the lugger, was just pulling -away. La Vireville, standing by the side, looked after her.</p> - -<p>"Yes, this is really your farewell to France. God knows when you -will see it again."</p> - -<p>"I think, perhaps," replied the Comte de Flavigny in his uncompromising -treble, "that I would rather live in England. Though I like the -Chouans. . . . But you will, no doubt, be going back to France, -M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"I? Yes, in a couple of days, most probably," answered the émigré -rather absently, gazing at the moon-silvered coast, dear and -implacable, where one day, as he well knew, he should land for -the last time.</p> - -<p>"And what the devil is this, M. de la Vireville?" demanded a voice -behind him, and La Vireville turned to see Lieutenant Gosset, the -Jerseyman who commanded the <i class="name">Aristocrate</i>. "Have you kidnapped -it, or is it, perchance, your own?" went on the sailor.</p> - -<p>"Neither," answered La Vireville. "Let me make known to you the -Comte Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny. We have been making a little -tour of Northern France together." And Anne made a bow, while -Gosset laughed, half puzzled, and the lugger's mainsail went up.</p> - -<p>"May I stay on deck with you a little quarter of an hour?" begged -Anne, snuggling down by La Vireville's side in the moonlight. "And -tell me, please, M. le Chevalier, about Madame your mother, to -whom we are going. Is she—is she old?"</p> - -<p>"That depends on what you consider old, my pigeon. She does not -seem so to me. But perhaps I am old myself; I expect you think so, -don't you? Her hair is grey, it is true—but so would mine be, -Anne, if I had to look after you much longer."</p> - -<p>Anne smiled, recognising this for a jest, not to be taken seriously. -He studied his friend, whose bandaged head was bare in the windy -moonlight.</p> - -<p>"I like your hair," he observed thoughtfully. "But already—is -it rude of me to say so?—there are some grey hairs there . . . -only a few." He laid a small finger on La Vireville's temple. -"I saw them when you were asleep in the cave."</p> - -<p>"I have so many cares," sighed the Chouan. "You have seen, Anne, -what a quantity of people I have to look after in Brittany. Then -there is my mother—and, lately, a certain small boy. . . . And, -by the way, it is time that small boy went to bed. We shall not -reach St. Helier till morning."</p> - -<p>He went off to see what accommodation had been prepared for the -child. When he returned, he found Anne giving an account of his -adventures to the interested Gosset, who was standing looking down -at him with his hands on his hips.</p> - -<p>"And now," finished Anne, "M. le Chevalier is going to take me to -Mme. de la Vireville in Jersey, and then I shall go home to my -Grandpapa in London."</p> - -<p>"You seem to have had a stirring time, by gad!" commented the -sailor. "But I did not know that you had a wife, La Vireville! -Since when are you married, may I ask, and who is the fortunate -lady?"</p> - -<p>The Frenchman frowned. "You are misinformed," he said shortly. "I -have never had a wife. It is my mother to whom I am taking him."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Gosset, struck by the sudden change -in his face, and La Vireville turned and walked away.</p> - -<h3 id="c14">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Cæsarea the Green</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">The port of St. Helier, reached at last after such vicissitudes -of seafaring, was ringing with Jersey-French and English, and -here and there with the genuine tongue of Gaul, for the place -was full of Royalist refugees. As the tall Frenchman with the -bandaged head, holding by the hand the little boy in the dishevelled -English clothes, made his way between fishermen, loiterers, and -an occasional man-of-war's man from the English frigate in the -roads, he nodded to an acquaintance or two, not staying, however, -to satisfy the curiosity of any.</p> - -<p>It happened that their road from the harbour led through some -stalls of market produce. Anne was chattering gaily as they passed -between heaps of apples and onions, when the course of his legs -was suddenly checked, and, through surprise, that of his tongue -also, by the fact that his conductor had stopped. He looked up, -and followed the direction of his friend's eyes to where, by a -stall a little farther on, two women had paused. The one was an -upstanding Jersey peasant girl with a basket on her arm, the other -a little elderly lady in black. At the moment one of her diminutive -hands was resting on a robust cabbage, where it looked like a -belated butterfly.</p> - -<p>"No, this is larger than I require," she was saying, in the prettiest -broken English.</p> - -<p>La Vireville, followed by Anne, went up behind her and stooped -over her.</p> - -<p>"Reconsider your decision, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petite maman</span>, I pray you," he said -softly. "A man is hungry after the sea, and there are two of us——"</p> - -<p>The reticule in the lady's other hand went to earth as she turned -and grasped his arm. "Fortuné! Mon fils! Dieu soit loué! But I -expected you days ago! I have been in torment that you came not. -Where have you been—and ah, my God, what have you done to your -head?"</p> - -<p>The little white hands went fluttering over him as if they must -assure themselves that he was really there. He was so much taller -than she that to meet her upturned face with its delicate cheeks -and young eyes he had to stoop a long way. The kiss was given and -returned among the stalls with that candour of the Latin races, -the testimony of whose emotions is not confined to withindoors, -and it is probable that for Mme. de la Vireville at that moment, -if not for her son, the market-place did not exist. And being -half French itself, it looked on with sympathy.</p> - -<p>But the man at least remembered the existence of someone else, and -while those fingers were still stroking his arm and the soft voice -was yet asking him questions, he caught hold of his mother's hand.</p> - -<p>"You want to know where I have been, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ma mère?</span> I have been in France -with a travelling companion, whose acquaintance you must now make. -Here he is."</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville, still under the sway of emotion, turned, -looking for something of the size of her son. So at first she saw -no one. Then she gave an exclamation.</p> - -<p>"Anne, let me present you to my mother. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ma mère</span>, this is the Comte -Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny. We will tell you our adventures presently; -but just now I fancy that M. le Comte is hungry."</p> - -<p>"The little angel!" murmured Mme. de la Vireville, and this time -it was she who had to stoop. "He shall come home with us at once, -le cher petit."</p> - -<p>And Anne finished his journey, therefore, holding a hand of each.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville lived in the plainest way in a small house -in St. Helier. Indeed no other manner of life was open to her, -for she and her son were very poor, though they had not always -been so. But resource was innate to her French blood. Besides, -Jersey was dear to her—dearer at least than England would have -been—for it was near France, and those expeditions in which -Fortuné so frequently hazarded his life had Jersey for their -starting-point. So, at irregular intervals, she was able to see -him; sometimes he even slept a night or two beneath her roof. -Every time they parted she knew that the odds were considerably -on the side of their never meeting again. But she had in her -little body the soul of a hero, and in consequence her son kept -back few secrets from her; indeed, he often came to her for advice, -as he would have done to a comrade. In spite of great sorrows she -had about her something eternally young, something in the mind -corresponding to the almost infantine freshness of her oval face -under its crown of grey hair.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>The simple meal was gay. The small visitor, bathed, brushed, even -mended as to his more noticeable rents, had one side of the table -to himself, and plied a very creditable knife and fork. How much -he loved and admired Fortuné, and how fond Fortuné was of him, -soon became apparent to Mme. de la Vireville; and when she slipped -out into the kitchen to put the last touches to the salad, Jeanne -Carré, the Jersey girl, observed respectfully:</p> - -<p>"One might almost say, Madame, that it was M. le Chevalier's son -sitting there at table with you!"</p> - -<p>A vivid look of pain shot across Mme. de la Vireville's face, and -was gone in an instant. "Yes, might one not, my child?" she answered -quietly. But later, when she was back in the little parlour with her -guests, and sat for a moment studying the two, her gaze was clouded -with a profound sadness. And, as it happened, her son looked up and -caught the expression. His eyes smiled at her, but his mouth was -grave.</p> - -<p>At the end of the repast Anne-Hilarion was installed in an arm-chair -with a book, while mother and son conferred together on the -window-seat.</p> - -<p>"You will oblige me, Fortuné," began Mme. de la Vireville, "by -going as soon as possible to a surgeon. You are telling me the -truth when you say that it is nothing serious?" she added, eyeing -the bandage round his head with suspicion.</p> - -<p>"Have you ever known me lie to you, little mother?" he retorted. -"The bullet must have struck the mast and glanced off on to my -head, which is equally hard. I promise you that I will have the -scratch attended to. But first I must make inquiries about the -English frigate. Should she be sailing this afternoon or evening, -as I suspect, Anne must go in her."</p> - -<p>"You will not go with him yourself, Fortuné?"</p> - -<p>"No, I must find an officer to whom to confide him. It should not -be difficult. And after that I must see the Prince without delay; -I am already four or five days late, and as usual there is some -business about landing muskets."</p> - -<p>The light that had sprung into his mother's eyes died out of -them. "Surely, if you are not going to England, you could stay -here this one night?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville bent forward and kissed her. "We will see, my heart. -Meanwhile, I leave M. le Comte in your charge."</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>A couple of hours later he returned with a young man in uniform, -and Mr. Francis Tollemache, of His Britannic Majesty's Navy, had -his first glimpse of a French interior.</p> - -<p>"My mother speaks a little English," said La Vireville encouragingly -in that tongue, "and Anne is fluent except when he talks Scotch. -The <i class="name">Pomone</i> is sailing for Weymouth this afternoon," he explained -to Mme. de la Vireville. "Her captain will give Anne a passage, -and Mr. Tollemache, who has a few days' leave on arrival, will be -kind enough to take him to London with him."</p> - -<p>And while his mother started to captivate the young lieutenant, -La Vireville took his travelling companion on his knee and told -him what had been arranged. Anne-Hilarion quietly hid his face in -the émigré's breast, and the latter half thought that he was -crying—a rare occurrence.</p> - -<p>"You will not mind, will you, Anne, that I do not come with you?" -he asked coaxingly. "They will be very kind to you on board the -man-of-war, and you will like to see a frigate. In a few days you -will be back with Grandpapa; I don't suppose Papa will have got home -yet. Think how anxious they must be about you in Cavendish Square!"</p> - -<p>But Anne would say nothing save, in a little voice, "I wish you -were coming, M. le Chevalier; I wish you were coming!"</p> - -<p>And La Vireville, holding him tight, was surprised to find how -much he wished he were.</p> - -<p>"You promised to be my uncle in England also," said the little -boy presently in rather a melancholy voice.</p> - -<p>"Well, so I will, my child, when next I come over. But I have my -folk in Brittany to look after now. You remember Grain d'Orge and -the rest, don't you?"</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Mr. Tollemache, at the other side of the room, had brought -about the very catastrophe he wished to avoid, having from sheer -apprehension talked in his own tongue (he knew no other) so fast -and so loud to Mme. de la Vireville that he had caused the complete -shipwreck of what had never been a very sea-worthy vessel—her -English. She had therefore relapsed into French and he into silence. -Perceiving this, La Vireville put down Anne and went over to them.</p> - -<p>"Suppose, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ma mère</span>," he suggested, "that we leave the fellow-travellers -to make each other's acquaintance without us?" And the next moment -the Comte de Flavigny and Mr. Tollemache were left alone.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion looked a trifle shy, but eyed his new acquaintance -with interest; Mr. Tollemache, on the other hand, appeared to be -suffering a certain degree of anguish, and to have no idea what -to say. It was Anne, therefore, who broke the ice by remarking: -"You are going to take me in your ship, Monsieur?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the sailor. "Old—I mean the captain has given permission."</p> - -<p>"You are not the captain then?"</p> - -<p>"God bless me, no!"</p> - -<p>"That was the ship—that large one we saw at entering?"</p> - -<p>The young man nodded. "The <i class="name">Pomone</i>, forty-four guns. I'll show -you all over her when we get on board." And, seeing the direction -of the little boy's eyes, he half shamefacedly hitched forward -his sword. "Would you like to look at this?"</p> - -<p>Anne came nearer, and in order better to approximate their heights -Mr. Tollemache decided to sit down. Anne then stood by his knee -and examined the sword-hilt with gravity. After which he said, -in his most earnest manner, "I should very much like to see your -ship, Monsieur. You see, I have been in a great many lately, and -they were all different. Yes, if you would please draw your sword. -You have perhaps killed pirates with it?" . . .</p> - -<p>When La Vireville came back in a quarter of an hour or so he -felt—was it possible?—a tiny prick of jealousy at seeing Anne on -the young lieutenant's knee. It was true that the child slipped -off at once and came to him, but his conversation for the moment -was entirely pervaded by the scraps of information he had just -acquired about the British Navy.</p> - -<p>"By Jove, it's time to go!" exclaimed Mr. Tollemache, catching -sight of the clock. "Are the boy's things ready?"</p> - -<p>"He has only got what he stands up in," said La Vireville, smiling. -"No, here's my mother with a bundle she has put together, but -Heaven knows what is in it."</p> - -<p>"Well, there will be no lack of boat-cloaks to keep him warm," -returned the sailor. "I promise you I will look after him; he seems -a jolly little beggar." And he added feelingly: "It's a mercy he -can talk English!"</p> - -<p>So, farewells to Mme. de la Vireville over, they walked down to -the quay, the new protector and the old, with Anne between them. -A boat's crew from the frigate was already waiting at the slip. -La Vireville went down on one knee and put an arm about his little -comrade.</p> - -<p>"Will you kiss me, Anne?"</p> - -<p>For answer, Anne clung to him so tightly that a curl became entangled -on a button and took a deal of disengaging. . . .</p> - -<p>Then once again Anne was in a boat—but not with him. La Vireville -turned on his heel with Mr. Tollemache's "Give way, men!" in his -ears, then changed his mind, and stood watching the progress of -the gig as the oars urged it forward over the dancing water. The -small figure in the stern looked back at him all the time.</p> - -<h4>(4)</h4> - -<p>Philip d'Auvergne, titular Prince de Bouillon and captain in -the British Navy, received the Chevalier de la Vireville rather -petulantly in the little house which he inhabited under the shadow -of the half-ruined castle of Montorgueil, over at Gorey. He was a -good-looking, florid man of one-and-forty, somewhat overfond of -surrounding with circumstance the title which had so strangely -descended upon him, and converted an unknown naval officer of -Jersey into a French prince of the house of Turenne—deprived, it -is true, of his principality by the Revolution—while leaving him -all the while a British subject. At heart he was generous and loyal.</p> - -<p>"What the devil is this I hear about a wild-goose chase to France -after a little boy, M. de la Vireville?" he began angrily. "Is this -the meaning of your being so long overdue? I wanted you yesterday -to land a party of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span> near Cancale, and I had to employ -Chateaubriand instead."</p> - -<p>"Permit me to observe to your Highness," returned the culprit -coolly, "that I am not, at this moment, disposed to lend my services -to that side of the correspondence. My men in my own command have -a prior claim on my attention just now."</p> - -<p>"I am glad you realise that, Monsieur," retorted the Prince rather -tartly. "Yet the muskets and ammunition have been waiting for -them nearly a week."</p> - -<p>La Vireville gave his shoulders a slight shrug. "The delay was -unavoidable, mon Prince," he said, wondering whether it were the -hot room which was making his head ache so. "I am ready to superintend -the landing of that cargo whenever you please."</p> - -<p>The Prince seem mollified. "Good," he remarked. "Sit down, M. de -la Vireville, and before we go into details over that affair I -will tell you an important piece of news. . . . You have nothing -serious the matter with your head, I trust?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing," the émigré assured him, as, half expecting that he -was going to be told about the Carhoët command, he took a seat -opposite Captain d'Auvergne at the big table, strewn with maps -and papers.</p> - -<p>"His Majesty's Government," went on the Prince, bringing out the -words as if their utterance gave him pleasure, "have decided to -support a Royalist expedition this summer to the coast of France, -to land perhaps in Southern Brittany, perhaps in Vendée. You could -co-operate with your Chouans, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"A little while ago, mon Prince," replied La Vireville, "I should -have said No. But, having already heard of the likelihood of such -a step, I took the opportunity of sounding my men on the point -yesterday—by which your Highness sees that my delay has not been -without fruit. And I am now convinced that I could, with some -difficulty, get them to follow me to Finistère or Morbihan, but -south of the Loire, no. They would never leave Brittany."</p> - -<p>Leaning back in his carved chair, with the crown on the top, the -Prince de Bouillon digested this information. La Vireville thought -that his face had a little fallen on learning that the proposed -expedition was no secret to his visitor. Although he liked him in -spite of them, the Chouan was well aware of Captain d'Auvergne's -weaknesses, and he let his gaze stray up to the framed pedigree -on the wall behind the Prince's head that showed where, in the -mists of the thirteenth century, that branch had burgeoned on the -ancient stem of La Tour d'Auvergne which was to blossom, during -the eighteenth, in the present scion. From that it wandered out -of the window, whence he could see the blue expanse of Gorey Bay. -He wondered whether the <i class="name">Pomone</i> had weighed yet. . . . Confound -this beating in his head!</p> - -<p>His Serene Highness suddenly bent forward and laid a hand on his -arm. "La Vireville, I am afraid you are unwell! It <em>is</em> your head, -then; what have you done to it?"</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," exclaimed the émigré, removing the hand with -which he had unconsciously covered his eyes. "The fact is that I -have a damnable headache—a relic of the wild-goose chase, nothing -more. It will be gone to-morrow, Monseigneur."</p> - -<p>"Then to-morrow, my dear fellow, will serve us to discuss matters. -I was sure," said the good-natured Prince, "that there was something -under that bandage, and that you have not had it attended to since -you landed. No, I thought not. Will you take a glass of wine? . . . -Well, go home to Madame de la Vireville, make her my compliments, -and tell her that I am sending my surgeon to see you at once."</p> - -<p>But as La Vireville left Gorey he wondered whether it were not -rather a touch of heartache than of headache that he had.</p> - -<h4>(5)</h4> - -<p>The smile which Mme. de la Vireville gave the Prince's surgeon when, -after examination of her son's hurt, he ordered him at least three -days' complete rest, must have gone to his head, for, being a -young man and a jocular, he remarked to his patient as he left, "You -have a trifle on the breast of your coat, Monsieur—an involuntary -token at parting, I take it—which you may like to know of. . . . I -hope I have not been indiscreet!"</p> - -<p>La Vireville, who, in obedience to orders, was then lying at full -length on the little sofa, stared at the speaker rather haughtily -and made no answer. But when the door had shut he said, "Look at -my coat for me, little mother, and let us see what that farceur -meant."</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville, who had the sight of a girl, bent over him, -and after a second pointed to where, round a button, were tangled -two long bright brown hairs.</p> - -<p>Her son frowned, then he smiled. "Take them off, my little heart, -and keep them for me. I may as well have some souvenir of my 'nephew,' -since it is likely to be long enough before I see him again."</p> - -<p>Later he was still lying there, and she sat on a stool beside him, -her head resting against his pillow, her hand in his. Suddenly he -said, though he had been silent a long time:</p> - -<p>"I think if . . . I think <em>hers</em> would have been like Anne."</p> - -<p>She understood him perfectly, because she, and she alone, knew -the bitter grave where his heart was buried.</p> - -<p>"Yes . . . but he would have been less fair." She put her hand on -his dark hair, and, drawing his bandaged head to her shoulder, -kissed it passionately.</p> - -<h3 id="c15">CHAPTER XV<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Cavendish Square once more</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">For the second time that day Baptiste was distractedly polishing -his silver. About every six minutes a tear rolled off his sharp -nose on to salver or tankard and had to be wiped off, and the -dull patch rubbed up again. Lal Khan, putting Mr. Elphinstone's -bedroom to rights with long, dusky fingers, stared mournfully at -a miniature propped on the dressing-table, and shook his head. And -still further upstairs Mrs. Elspeth Saunders was mending stockings; -her nose was red, so too her eyes. In the kitchen the cook and -the rest of the domestics were discussing the situation, as they -had almost unceasingly discussed it for the last few days since -Elspeth's return. Her own account of what had happened they had -long ago threshed bare: had thrilled to hear how, when she reached -Rose Cottage at seven o'clock that fateful morning, as arranged, -she had been met by one of the old ladies with the horrifying news -that their guest had evidently spirited Anne-Hilarion away in the -night; how, almost beside herself at this intelligence, she had -suffered them to hustle her into a postchaise on a totally false -scent, which caused her to traverse many miles of the county of -Kent until, half-crazed and wholly destitute of money, she returned -at last in sheer desperation to London, there to hear that La -Vireville had already started to France in pursuit of the child. -The opinion of the region was divided, some of its inmates inclining -to blame Mrs. Saunders, some to commiserate. And it was either -the consciousness of unjust condemnation or of her own innate -superiority which kept Elspeth so much alone in the big house -over which hung that piercing sense of something gone that would -never, perhaps, come back again. . . .</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">'Twas but a few days syne A was tellin' a piece to the bairn in -his bed!</span>" Elspeth rapped her thimble suddenly against her teeth, -flung down her mending, and marched downstairs. At the library -door she knocked, and, receiving no answer, looked in. The room -was empty and the fire burnt low. Muttering to herself anent the -negligence of "yon black heathen," she made it up. There was a -book open on the table, but no signs that Mr. Elphinstone had been -occupied, as of custom, with his memoirs. Elspeth left the library -and went to the pantry.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Where is the maister, d'ye ken?</span>" she asked of the polisher.</p> - -<p>"I tink he go again to the ministère, I do not know," responded -Baptiste, sighing.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Tae the meenister!</span>" retorted Elspeth. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">What wad be the sense in -that noo? Gif prayin' could bring the wean back, A reckon he'd -been here these mony days!</span>" (Had not she herself, descendant of -the Covenanters, taken the incredible step of removing Our Lady -of Pontmain from the back of the drawer where, immediately upon -the Marquis's departure, she had been stowed away, and putting -her in the very centre of the mantelpiece in the lost child's -room—a deed for which she nightly besought forgiveness?)</p> - -<p>"That is ver' true," agreed the Frenchman, "but it is not that -which I mean, Madame Saundair. I mean he go to the—how do you -call it?—there where are the State Secretaries."</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Why for canna ye say what ye mean, then?</span>" snapped the lady. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">That -mebbe will dae gude. At least they arena French there. A've had -eno' o' yer Frenchies tae last ma life!</span>"</p> - -<p>Baptiste withered.</p> - -<p>"Those . . . those weemen at Canterbury!" proceeded Elspeth. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">And -then—what d'ye call him, the Chevaleer . . . what gar'd Glenauchtie -send <em>him</em> after the bairn instead o' an Englishman? Him that -jockeyed the wean oot o' his bed at nicht! Belike 'tis he's spirited -him awa the noo!</span>"</p> - -<p>Baptiste made no effort to defend his compatriot. He had long ago -realised that to live in peace with Mrs. Saunders required a policy -of thoroughgoing self-effacement, and had decided that on the whole -it was worth it. Otherwise he might have retorted that she, pure of -any Gallic strain though she was, had not proved singularly successful -in her guardianship. Instead, he feebly used his wash-leather on a -ladle.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">There's ane gude thing,</span>" resumed Elspeth, "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">that the Marquis doesna -ken yet awhile.</span>"</p> - -<p>"But when he return!" exclaimed the old man, lifting eyes and -hands to heaven.</p> - -<p>He was still in this attitude when there came a rousing rat-tat -at the hall-door.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Mebbe that's the Marquis the noo!</span>" ejaculated Mrs. Saunders. And, -though it was not her place to do so, she flung off her apron and -rushed to answer it.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Lieutenant Francis Tollemache, therefore, standing on the steps, -received one of the most painful shocks of his life when a gaunt -Scottish female, darting forth, caught his small companion from -the ground and almost stifled him with kisses, and then showed a -decided disposition to cast herself on his breast also. He prepared -to defend himself, backing hurriedly to the limits of the portico, -and saying disjointedly, "My good woman, my good woman . . ." And -then in a moment there was some old man actually trying to kiss -his hand, and from the back of the hall there was even advancing -a salaaming native in a turban, while more and more female servants -came flocking towards the doorstep. It was intolerable! In a minute -or two there would be a crowd outside, and already Mr. Tollemache -was conscious of the enraptured gaze of the hackney coachman who -had brought them there.</p> - -<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed, very red. "For Heaven's sake let's get -inside!" But even within the hall the whirl of greetings and emotion -continued, and Anne-Hilarion kept disappearing from view in successive -avalanches of embraces, till at last his voice was upraised, asking, -"Grandpapa! Where is Grandpapa? Has Papa come back?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, where is the master of the house?" demanded Mr. Tollemache, -with some indignation, and was most unseasonably answered in French -by the old man. Meanwhile, one of the younger domestics in the -background was threatened with a fit of hysterics, and had to be -removed. During this episode Anne skipped about the hall, and ran -into the library and the dining-room in turn. "Oh, I wish Grandpapa -were in! When will he be back?" he queried, and mixed with his -inquiries the unfortunate young officer heard the remark, "There, -you see, it's no foreigner as has brought him back,"—to which the -cook, who had an affinity on the lower deck of H.M.S. <i class="name">Thunderer</i>, -responded with pride, "No, it's a Navy gentleman!"</p> - -<p>"Anne," said Mr. Tollemache firmly, holding out his hand, "I must -be going. Good-bye!"</p> - -<p>The Comte de Flavigny came at once and caught him by the cuff of -his uniform. "No, no, M. le lieutenant! No, I do not want you to -go! Come into the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bibliothèque</span> and wait for Grandpapa!" he said, -with a little tug, and the domestic crowd, waking all at once to -a sense of their forgotten duties, concurred in this request, which, -to tell the truth, accorded very well with Mr. Tollemache's most -secret wish. It was not that he at all desired to receive the -thanks of Mr. Elphinstone, but—though he would have died on the -scaffold rather than admit it—he hankered for just a few minutes -more of Anne's society before the final good-bye.</p> - -<p>"If you would come into Mr. Elphinstone's study, sir?" suggested -Elspeth respectfully, as he hesitated. Since she now evinced no -desire to embrace him, he was about to accede to her request when -there was a knock at the front door, which opened to admit the -grinning and curious face of the hackney coachman, demanding to -know if he was to wait any longer.</p> - -<p>So it was not Anne only who was overjoyed when Mr. Elphinstone -walked suddenly in.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Late that evening—much later than he ought to have been -up—Anne-Hilarion still sat contentedly though sleepily enfolded in -his grandfather's arms. He had ceased to ask questions, for they -had all been satisfactorily answered . . . all except that "Did -you miss me, Grandpapa?" to which Grandpapa had seemed incapable -of replying. So his last remark was a statement.</p> - -<p>"I had to leave my goldfish behind with those ladies." For he had -satisfied himself that Elspeth had not brought it back with her -after all.</p> - -<p>"Don't speak of those women!" said the gentle old man fiercely. -"As for your goldfish, child, you shall have a whole aquarium -if you wish."</p> - -<p>"Then I could put my big shell inside," murmured Anne drowsily. -"M. le Chevalier said it came from . . . came from. . . ." He ceased -suddenly; he was asleep.</p> - -<p>Conscience-stricken at last, Mr. Elphinstone rang the bell for -Elspeth, and was left by the fire to reflect on the inexhaustible -mercy of Heaven, and on the debt that he owed to a man away in -Jersey, whom he scarcely knew, whom he could not even thank—a -debt that in any case, so far as he could see, must ever go unpaid, -for it was unpayable.</p> - -<h3 id="c16">CHAPTER XVI<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">The <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Agent de la Correspondance</span></span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">It was not until the <i class="name">Seaflower's</i> boat was actually pulling off -from the shore, and his feet were sunk in the wet sand of Porhoët -Bay, that Fortuné de la Vireville realised how much more serious -than he had imagined might prove the results of the ridiculous -accident which had befallen him a few hours previously at St. -Helier. Embarking, according to arrangement with the Prince de -Bouillon, on the lugger <i class="name">Seaflower</i> with a view to being landed, -not at Kerdronan as usual, but at Porhoët, where Grain d'Orge was -to meet him, he had had the misfortune to receive upon his left -foot the full weight of a refractory water-cask of considerable -size, which, escaping from the hands of a clumsy sailor, had rolled -vehemently down a gang-plank upon him before he could get out of -its way. It is true that when he had finished swearing he had found -the episode rather ludicrous, and had laughed at himself for his -ill-luck, and that on board the lugger, slipping along with an easy -evening breeze from Jersey, the damaged foot, though it had -sufficiently pained, had not greatly incommoded him. But here, at -midnight, alone on the hostile coast of France, he knew for the -first time that he was indeed disabled, and that he could not fully -rely on that vigorous body of his which for thirty odd years had -seldom failed to respond to the often exorbitant demands that he -made upon it. It was not at all a pleasant thought, and, standing -there at the water's edge, La Vireville uttered a final and more -fervent malediction upon the water-cask.</p> - -<p>The boat which had landed him, with its muffled oars, was already -out of hearing, though it was still visible, a lessening dark -lump upon the quiet sea. Even the lugger, farther out, could almost -be discerned by one who knew where to look for her, though the moon -which, a week ago, had lighted the way to Jersey for Anne-Hilarion, -was obscured this evening. La Vireville glanced about the beach. -As far as could be ascertained in the dusk, it was quite deserted; -there was no sound but the lap of the incoming tide, and no sign -whatever of Grain d'Orge, who should of course have been there to -meet him. And, since the émigré had no acquaintance with these few -miles of coast, without a guide he was helpless; an attempt to -penetrate inland would probably end in his running into an enemy -patrol—in spite of the truce, the last thing he wished to do—and -even in Porhoët village he had no idea which house he was to make -for. Moreover, he was lame—a great deal more lame than he had had -any idea of, or he would hardly have landed. . . . And, cursing -Grain d'Orge, he began to limp away from the water's edge. In any -case, it would be more prudent to approach the low cliffs, where -it was darker, than to stand where he was; and under the cliffs, -if nothing better offered, he must wait for his dilatory guide.</p> - -<p>M. de la Vireville went painfully over the tract of large, rolling -pebbles between him and the cliffs, the sweat breaking out on his -forehead; but, not having <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">'chouanné'</span> for nothing, he set his teeth -and persevered, throwing his weight as much as possible on his -sound foot and on the stick with which the captain of the <i class="name">Seaflower</i> -had furnished him. "Devilish odd I must look from the cliff," he -reflected, "if there's a patrol up there." But, apparently, there was -no patrol, and having pursued his way unmolested up the purgatorial -bank he sat down, with a sigh of relief, his back against the cliff, -and waited, either for discovery or guidance.</p> - -<p>"There is at least one thing to be thankful for," he reflected, -"and that is, that I have not the child with me now." But all the -same it seemed strange not to have him, and to know no anxiety -but for his own personal safety—a burden he was so accustomed -to carrying that he scarcely felt its weight.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>La Vireville had been there, propped against the cliff, for perhaps -half an hour, before he heard the owl's cry. He answered it faintly -and cautiously, perceiving, to his astonishment, that it came from -seaward, and in a little beheld the dim figure of a man detach -itself from an overturned boat on the shingle. As it came towards -him it looked, by some trick of the faint light, as unreal as the -little bay itself, though it wore the usual peasant's costume, -appropriate enough to the scene, and had over its shoulder a large -net. When this individual was within distance, La Vireville told -him softly what he thought of him, for the apparition was Grain -d'Orge.</p> - -<p>"I was under the boat watching the cliff," said the Chouan, undisturbed -by his leader's abuse. "If I had taken Monsieur Augustin up the -cliffs when he landed we might both have been shot—in spite of -the truce. They shot three men yesterday. But now we can go on -to the village."</p> - -<p>"I wanted to get farther than that to-night," said La Vireville, -"though the devil knows how I am to manage it now. Is it impossible -to push on to Carhoët at present?"</p> - -<p>"There are hussars quartered at Carhoët to-night," answered his -guide. "They leave to-morrow, probably."</p> - -<p>La Vireville began to struggle to his feet. "I see. That is sufficient -reason against attempting it. There is another reason, too, why I -should not get so far. You may have to carry me as it is, mon vieux. -I am as lame as a duck. If we should chance to meet a patrol, you -must run for it, and leave me to take my chance. Do you hear?"</p> - -<p>The Breton turned a stolid face on him. "Yes, I hear. But I am not -good at running. Is Monsieur Augustin ready?"</p> - -<p>"As ready as he is ever like to be. Where are you taking me?"</p> - -<p>"To a fisherman's cottage just outside Porhoët. There is no one -there but a woman—Madame Rozel."</p> - -<p>"The fisherman's wife?"</p> - -<p>"His widow, some say," responded Grain d'Orge. And he then added -the somewhat surprising information: "It is she who has acted as -the agent of the late Monsieur Alexis here."</p> - -<p>"Really!" said La Vireville—not that he was particularly surprised -at the choice of a woman for such a post. He put his hand on his -follower's shoulder, and, with Grain d'Orge's arm round him, moved -off towards the cliff path.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Not a gleam of light came from the solitarily-standing little -cottage when at last they reached it, but after Grain d'Orge had -knocked softly its door opened as though by magic. A whisper, and -the Chouan turned to his disabled leader and helped him into the -blackness within, past a figure of which only the glimmering coif -could be guessed. The door was shut, and then, standing rather dazed -in the dark, La Vireville heard the scrape of flint and steel. In -another moment the occupant of the cottage had lit the lamp that -stood ready on the table, and had turned towards the two men.</p> - -<p>The light, seeming by its suddenness more potent than it really -was, showed to the émigré a woman of about thirty, of a face and -figure extraordinarily unlike what he expected, just then, to see.</p> - -<p>"Welcome, Monsieur," she said in a low voice, and the purity of -the accent, coming from under the wide peasant's cap, made La -Vireville jump. He stammered out something, staring at her, and -then he found that she was asking him if he would not eat.</p> - -<p>He sat down, puzzled, to the bread and meat and wine ready on the -table, and the Breton, after a moment's hesitation, did the same. -As a matter of fact, La Vireville was passably hungry, and not -a little exhausted by his painful walk. But he could scarcely -eat for watching the slim hands that cut the bread and poured his -wine. They were brown enough, but the shape and the well-tended -nails betrayed them. At last he began to feel annoyed with Grain -d'Orge for keeping him in the dark as to the identity of his hostess, -since to believe for a moment that she was a fisherman's wife was -impossible. If not a lady of great quality she was no woman of the -people. And, seizing an opportunity when she was gone from the -room, he addressed his guide.</p> - -<p>"What the devil do you mean by foisting me upon a gentlewoman in -this fashion? Who is she?"</p> - -<p>Grain d'Orge went on stolidly eating.</p> - -<p>"As I told Monsieur Augustin, she is the agent for the Jersey -correspondence of the late M. Alexis. She passes here as Mme. -Rozel, a fisherman's——"</p> - -<p>"Fisherman's fiddlestick!" interrupted his leader impatiently. -"Do you think I am as blind as the people of Porhoët?"</p> - -<p>"But I do not know her other name, if she have another," said -the Breton. "I do not even know that of the late M. Alexis, but -doubtless Monsieur Augustin knows it."</p> - -<p>La Vireville did know it, or thought he did. Under that cognomen, -he believed, had been concealed the identity of a gentleman from -the St. Pol de Léon country, a M. de Kérouan or something of the -sort. This, however, did not help him much, and when Mme. Rozel -came back he found himself observing her for the next few minutes -with an increasing interest. Her face was rather pale, with an -intense clear pallor that was accentuated rather than reduced by -the lamplight, and she had wide, beautiful brows. The mouth was sad -and resolute; her whole expression was sad, but it was resolute -too, and when suddenly she lifted her eyes and looked her guest -full in the face he received, for the second time since his entrance, -an unmistakable shock. They were, unquestionably, the most expressive -eyes he had ever seen in a woman. The Chevalier de la Vireville -divined in his hostess depths which it had been interesting to -explore had not both leisure and inclination been lacking to him.</p> - -<p>Mme. Rozel, however, veiled those eyes again and said very little, -and after a time Grain d'Orge rose, wiped his mouth with the back -of his hand, crossed himself, muttered a prayer, and announced that -he was going out to watch the roads and would not be back till -morning. But La Vireville still sat on at the table, the lamplight -beating full on his own lean, strongly-marked features, with their -look of humour and daring, on the cleft in his determined chin, -and on his dark hair, clubbed and ribboned indeed, but somewhat -disordered from the sea-wind. Yet it was curiosity, not hunger, -which kept him there, his half-emptied glass between his fingers, -engaging his hostess in talk almost perceptibly against her will. -Her replies were very brief, and at first he himself made wary -conversational moves; for though he really placed almost absolute -reliance on Grain d'Orge's knowledge and discretion in a matter of -this kind, yet there existed always in this business, a need for -caution, and there was just the hundredth part of a chance that she -was not, after all, what that astute old Chouan asserted her to -be—the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">agent de la correspondance</span>. But Mme. Rozel's prudence, if -anything, exceeded his own; indeed, after a little fencing on both -sides it began to seem to La Vireville that she was—necessary -circumspection apart—a trifle hostile to him. Possibly she, on her -side, felt that he might not be what Grain d'Orge, when he made -arrangements for her to receive him, had given him out to be. And -yet, from the trend of their guarded converse, it seemed rather -that she tacitly resented his coming to take the dead leader's -place—for so much she allowed him to gather that she knew of -his purpose. But why should she resent it?</p> - -<p>He suddenly fired a direct question at her.</p> - -<p>"Have you any reason to believe, Madame, that the death of the -late M. Alexis was due to anything other than the fortunes of war? -I have heard a rumour of treachery. It is true, at any rate, is -it not, that he was surprised?"</p> - -<p>He saw the swift colour rush over her face, and flee in an instant, -leaving her ivory pallor still more pale. Instead of answering -him she got up, and took the remains of the loaf to put away in -the press against the wall—a pretext, the questioner was sure, -to withdraw her face from his further observation.</p> - -<p>"Yes, he was surprised," she said in a low voice, her back to him. -"He was sitting at table in the farm. It was all over very suddenly. -He was . . . he was shot through the head. He did not suffer. . . . -O my God," she burst out suddenly, "if only I <em>knew</em> whether it -was treachery or no—and if so, whose!"</p> - -<p>Yes, there were indeed hidden fires there! The vehemence, the -breaking passion in her voice, had somehow jerked La Vireville, lame -as he was, to his feet. The question flashed through him. What then -had been Mme. Rozel's relations with the slain 'Alexis' that she felt -his loss thus acutely? Purely those of political partisanship? Or -had she, perchance, been his mistress? The thing was not unknown -among the Royalist leaders in the West of France, though it was -rare. There was Charles du Boishardy himself as an example—to be, -in fact, in a few weeks a fatal example—of laxity in that respect, -and, to cite a greater name, Charette's reputation was by no means -conformable to that of the unblemished first leaders of the grande -guerre, the Vendée, whose work he carried on.</p> - -<p>With that cry, wrung so evidently from a torn heart, M. Alexis' -agent had swung round from the press, and was looking full at -the man who faced her across the table by which he was supporting -himself.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Que diable!</span>" thought the émigré, "I verily believe she thinks <em>I</em> -had something to do with that ball in the head!"</p> - -<p>Whether his surmise was painted on his countenance, or for whatever -reason, Mme. Rozel next instant recovered herself, and removed -those accusing eyes—if they were accusing.</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, Monsieur," she said hurriedly, "and pray be seated -again. I was so . . . so intimately associated with the plans and -hopes of Monsieur Alexis that I have felt his death, I confess, -very deeply."</p> - -<p>"That is easy to understand, Madame," replied her guest, dropping -back, at her bidding, in his chair. "You will perhaps permit me -to offer my most sincere condolences on what is, besides, a very -great loss to our cause. I hope, however, that since I am here by -M. du Boishardy's express wish, and not by any desire of my own, -that I may count on your co-operation?"</p> - -<p>She too had sat down again, after that brief outburst, and seemed -to have got rid, perhaps by its means, of some of her latent -hostility. "As long as I can, Monsieur, certainly," she said, -sighing, her cheek on her hand. "But my work here is done, and I -leave in a day or two for the Channel Islands."</p> - -<p>And at that piece of information La Vireville no longer felt any -doubts as to the nature of the bond which had united her to the -departed leader. He had another thought, too, about the fundamental -drawback of employing a woman in a position such as hers—a point -on which he kept on other counts an open mind, even recognising -certain advantages in it. "A man," he said to himself now, "would -not resign a post like this just because his superior officer was -killed. A change of leadership is just the time when she could -have proved herself of most use."</p> - -<p>"I regret to hear that, Madame," he said aloud, drily.</p> - -<p>"It was my—Monsieur Alexis' express wish if anything happened -to him," said she, as if aware of the unspoken criticism, as if -careless, too, what implications of intimacy were contained in -that avowal.</p> - -<h3 id="c17">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Strange Conduct of the Agent</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Half an hour later M. de la Vireville's half-perfunctory, -half-condemnatory regret at Mme. Rozel's approaching departure was a -much more genuine and a deeper feeling. At his request she had been -giving him particulars about the arrangements of the correspondence -at Porhoët, so that he or his delegate could take steps for it -to be carried on with as little interruption as might be. And he -very quickly saw that she was the right person for the post—a -remarkable woman, full of intelligence and resource. M. de Kérouan -had been lucky in his 'agent.' And yet, in talking to her much more -frankly than he had yet done, or she to him, he could not help -speculating as to where that passionate soul which he guessed to -be yoked with so much understanding and will might one day lead -her. He was to know before long.</p> - -<p>She ended by warning him that she thought it would be well in the -future to choose some other place on the coast for the Jersey -correspondence. The new mayor was exhibiting a certain amount of -suspicion and zeal. She hoped that Monsieur Augustin's landing -had not been observed; she had warned Grain d'Orge to be very -careful. Fortuné, who was a little surprised to learn that so -small a place had a mayor at all, thereupon described with some -humour the form which Grain d'Orge's inspired caution had taken.</p> - -<p>And after this their talk, late as it was, began to range farther -afield into the past, and somehow La Vireville found himself -touching on his own previous experiences of exile, for he had been -in the army of the Princes in 1792.</p> - -<p>"I hated Coblentz when I was there," he said frankly, finishing his -wine at last. "It is true I was pretty near starving at the time."</p> - -<p>And suddenly he felt Mme. Rozel's recovering confidence in him -retract, as a sea-anemone shrinks up at the touch of a finger.</p> - -<p>"Ah, you have been at Coblentz, Monsieur," she said slowly, looking -at him with a curious expression. "When exactly was that, if I -may ask?"</p> - -<p>He told her, within a week or two of the precise date, as well as -he could remember. "You have been there too, Madame?" he hazarded.</p> - -<p>"No; I have never been to Coblentz," she answered. Her eyes, that -held a more ready speech than her lips, had clouded over, and he -could almost see her thoughts playing round that Mecca of the -French emigration. Again he wondered why.</p> - -<p>He talked on a little more, but the mention of Coblentz seemed to -have broken the spell, and he suddenly remembered that it was -very late—or, rather, very early.</p> - -<p>"I will ask your permission to retire, Madame," said he, a trifle -formally. "I must be abroad before the village is awake—especially -after what you have told me." He got to his feet, and stood leaning -on the back of his chair, waiting for his dismissal. She too got -up, and, after lighting a rushlight, threw a glance at the ladder-like -stairs in the corner behind her. "I must apologise for your quarters, -Monsieur Augustin. They are little better than a loft, I fear. Do -you think that, crippled as you are, you can manage that steep -ascent? And how will you get to Carhoët to-morrow?"</p> - -<p>"I leave that to Grain d'Orge, Madame," replied the émigré. "He is -a person of resource in his own line. Besides, I hope that my foot -will be better."</p> - -<p>The mention of his destination had reminded him of something, and -he thrust a hand into his breast. "You were good enough, Madame, -to give me some names at Carhoët, and so, to avoid disturbing you -in the morning, may I ask you to write them down for me now? I -have some paper here."</p> - -<p>He drew out from an inner pocket a small bundle of loose letters, -a couple of which incontinently slipped to the floor. Before he -could prevent her she had stooped to pick them up, and had laid -them at his elbow on the table. Thanking her, he meanwhile tore -off a blank sheet from his correspondence.</p> - -<p>"Now, if you would be so good, Madame," he said, handing her the -piece of paper and instinctively looking round for pen and ink.</p> - -<p>But Mme. Rozel, at his side, was staring as if transfixed at one -of the letters she had rescued, now lying face upwards between -them on the table.</p> - -<p>"Is that your real name, Monsieur Augustin?" she asked, in an odd -voice, pointing to the letter.</p> - -<p>Now in Brittany La Vireville's <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">nom de guerre</span> was so much more -significant than his own—which, as has been said, he made some -endeavours to keep distinct from it—that it was second nature to -him to be called by it, and he had never even thought of informing -her of the latter. In Brittany communications also were addressed -to "M. Augustin." But the topmost of the two letters which his -hostess had picked up chanced to be a note from the Prince de -Bouillon sent to him during his recent stay at St. Helier, and, -presumably for that reason, directed to him in his real name. Hence -a large "M. de la Vireville" looked up at them both from the table, -for His Serene Highness wrote no crabbed hand.</p> - -<p>"Why, yes, Madame," answered the owner carelessly. "Did you not know -it? I had no intention of keeping you in the dark on the point."</p> - -<p>"Nor had I any intention of . . . prying," she said, and, catching -up the two letters, she held them out to him almost feverishly. -"I will give you the names you want at once." She well-nigh snatched -from him the piece of paper he was holding. "Where is the pen?"</p> - -<p>Thoroughly puzzled, La Vireville watched her as, with set mouth -and face as white as the paper itself, she wrote out the list he -required. Why should his name so discompose her? M. de Kérouan, -whom he had never met, had evidently not mentioned it to her while -he was alive—possibly did not even know it himself. It was not as -if their commands had been contiguous. But why should his 'agent' -find the discovery so extremely disconcerting? Was it possible -that she, like Mme. de Chaulnes . . .? No, that he could not -credit for a moment. It was on the tip of his tongue to pursue -the subject—and he knew he was rather a fool not to do so—but -somehow he was too sorry for her to probe her distress to-night. -She had but recently lost her lover, and she was so pale! When -she gave him the list he merely thanked her, and bent over her hand -for a moment with a grace oddly at variance with its surroundings. -The hand in question was very cold.</p> - -<p>Once again, as he took up the rushlight, she began an apology, -scarcely audible, for the poorness of his quarters, and the difficulty -of getting to them.</p> - -<p>"A night in the hayloft used to be the summit of my ambition, Madame, -when I was a child," replied he gaily. "I only hope that you will -sleep as well as I shall." And with that he limped away to the stairs.</p> - -<p>The ascent, indeed, was not too easy to him. At the top a last -prompting of curiosity urged him to glance back over his shoulder -down into the room. But his hostess was no longer visible, and -he opened the door at the top of the ladder-stairs to find himself -in a small, bare apartment, containing little save a truckle-bed -under the window, with a rush-bottomed chair beside it, a press -built into the wall by the door, and a crucifix.</p> - -<p>Having ascertained that the crazy door possessed no means of fastening -other than a latch, and a bolt on the outside, La Vireville set -down the light on a chair and threw off his outer garments with -celerity. He had the habit of seizing sleep when he could get it, -and in Brittany a bed was something of a luxury. And though in -Porhoët village he was probably less safe than he would have been -sleeping, as usual, with his men in the lee of a hedge under -the open sky, and knew it, and though his curiosity, if not his -suspicions, had lately suffered a rousing prick, and though—more -disturbing than either—his foot ached persistently, ere a quarter -of an hour had elapsed he was in the enjoyment of a very refreshing -slumber.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Perhaps if the guest could have known how his hostess spent the -night he might have slept less well; perhaps, even, if, when he -had looked back from the head of the stairs, he had seen how she -stood rigid against the wall, in the lake of shadow by the press, -her hands clenched at her sides, like one who has encountered some -terrible vision, he might have descended to prosecute the inquiry -he had abandoned. Perhaps he might have felt compassion at the -tormented, desperate face she wore as the hours crept on towards -morning, and every one brought conviction nearer to her, yet no -guidance. "It is he! it must be he!" she said aloud, not once but -many times. "He was at Coblentz then—he acknowledged it. Oh, was -it god or devil showed me his name? . . . André, André, my darling, -tell me what I am to do!" Rent with sobs, she would cease her -agonised pacing to and fro, and throw herself down by the table, -her head on her outstretched arms. . . . But of these phenomena -La Vireville was not a witness.</p> - -<p>And soon the dawn was stealing in, comfortless. Mme. Rozel extinguished -the lamp, and sat, her hands locked tight together. As the daylight -grew, so did the light in her eyes—a steady beacon. Her mouth -hardened itself into an inflexible line, and at last, rising as -one whose mind is irrevocably set, she began to go cautiously up -the stairs to La Vireville's room.</p> - -<p>So light was her tread that the steps did not creak. The door -yielded to her touch. She went in, noiseless as a ghost, her face -like a ghost's save for the flame in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Under the tiny window, a little turned on his side, and with one -arm crooked beneath his head, her guest lay in a profound sleep. -She stood a minute by the door, then crept nearer and looked down -at him long and steadily. Yes, it must be he! Here were the same -features, as they had been painted to her; the same hair and brows, -the same cleft in the chin. The mounting tide of hatred began to -lift her off her feet. . . . And even while she studied his sleeping -face she saw, hanging from the back of the chair by the bedside, -a hunting-knife—his own.</p> - -<p>She was not conscious of putting out her hand for it, still less -of drawing it from its sheath, yet the moment after the bright -blade was somehow in her grip. How absolutely he lay at her -mercy!—and so still that his breathing scarcely lifted his half-open -shirt. Staring down at the strong, bare throat she suddenly turned -giddy. . . .</p> - -<p>How far—or how little distance—would that wave of feeling have -carried her? Next instant two eyes, quite calm and very alert, -were looking up into hers, and the hand that had been under the -sleeper's head held her wrist in a clutch like fate.</p> - -<p>"Madame, private theatricals are out of fashion," said La Vireville in -a lazy voice. A twist of his powerful fingers, and the hunting-knife -dropped from her grasp to the coverlet, where his other hand secured -it. "My own knife too! May I ask why you were rehearsing this -dramatic scene?"</p> - -<p>All the while he lay and looked up at her, too contemptuous, it -seemed, to be at the trouble of raising himself, so long as he had -her wrist prisoner in that hopeless grasp of his. White, silent, -choking, her other hand at her throat, she did not even make an -attempt to wrench herself away. At last, when her captor had run -on a little more, he loosed his hold. "You can go, my fair assassin! -In whose pay are you, by the way?"</p> - -<p>She paid no heed to the taunt, but, having reached the door, she -turned, and spoke in a voice rendered unsteady neither by fear nor -shame, but by some more positive emotion.</p> - -<p>"Listen, M. de la Vireville, and I will tell you my name. I am -Raymonde de Guéfontaine—Raymonde du Coudrais, the sister of André -du Coudrais, the man whom you hounded out of Coblentz on a lying -charge of cheating at cards, whose reputation you blasted with -your tongue, whose health you ruined with your sword! And now, -before he is cold in his grave—murdered, for all I know, by your -connivance—you come to claim his place! Oh, it is too much! After -all, cold steel, could I have used it, is too good for you! I know -a better way—a more fitting——"</p> - -<p>"<em>Du Coudrais!</em>" broke in the thunderstruck La Vireville, on his -elbow. "'Alexis' was du Coudrais! But he . . . it was——"</p> - -<p>"Ah, you remember!" cried she, unheeding. "You remember that night -at the Three Crowns, and the morning after! Till now you had -forgotten, perhaps? Otherwise, surely, you would scarcely have -dared to come—even you! I had heard a whisper of your name, but -I did not believe——"</p> - -<p>"Stop!" cried La Vireville, breaking in, in his turn. "I assure -you——"</p> - -<p>Her hand was already on the door. "Too late, M. le Marquis! What -is done is done. But you shall never step into André's shoes. And -at least you know now why I am going to give you up!"</p> - -<p>"The devil you are!" said La Vireville, with a very grim face. -The pistol in his hand covered her with a perfectly steady aim. -"There is this between you and your hospitable project, Mme. de -Guéfontaine!" He cocked it.</p> - -<p>She stood flattened against the door, wide-eyed, scarcely breathing, -but not attempting to move.</p> - -<p>"Now swear," commanded the émigré, "swear on the crucifix there that -you will do no such thing! Otherwise I shall fire!" For he knew that -she would be through the door before he could spring on her.</p> - -<p>"I will not swear!" cried she, her face a white flame. "Shoot me -if you will—you can do no worse to me than you have already done -through André—but if you do not shoot me, as sure as there is a -God above us, I shall summon the National Guard of this place to -take you!"</p> - -<p>Though the colour of a sheet, she did not flinch before the barrel, -not ten feet away. La Vireville set his teeth, and himself changed -colour. But he could not do it. The pistol sank.</p> - -<p>"Madame," he said, in his usual careless tone, "if you are treacherous -you are devilish well-plucked. I wish I were as strong-minded. -Go and fetch the National Guard then, and be damned to it!"</p> - -<h3 id="c18">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Equally surprising Conduct of "Monsieur Augustin"</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Five seconds, no more, did Fortuné de la Vireville allow himself -wherein to reflect that he found himself, as the door was shut and -the bolt slid into place, in one of the most unpleasant situations of -his life; ten to formulate a plan—a very precarious and weak-kneed -plan—of escape therefrom, and about a minute and a half to scramble -into the rest of his clothes. He could have done this quicker but -for his foot, which hampered him at every turn. Then, kneeling on -the bed, he pushed the little casement wide, tore off the sheets, -knotted them together, twisted them round into the semblance of a -rope, made one end fast to the head of the bed, and threw the slack -out of the window. But he did not climb down it. Nor did he attempt -to break open the door, which he could probably have done with ease. -To escape in either of those ways before the house was surrounded -would necessitate running, and, unfortunately he could not run. But -he trusted that the sheet hanging out of the window would convince -the National Guard that he <em>had</em> run. . . . He thrust his pistols -into his belt, picked up his hunting-knife—a smile flitted across -his face as he touched it—and limped across the room to his chosen -refuge.</p> - -<p>If it was a refuge! For his life depended at that moment on what -Mme. de Guéfontaine, the 'fisherman's widow,' had a habit of storing -in the large press built into the side of the little room. If it -were linen, or anything that required the presence of shelves, -then—"Good-night, my friend!" said La Vireville to himself.</p> - -<p>"But no!—one enters!" he finished, when the door stood wide. There -was nothing at all in the cupboard but a row of pegs, from one of -which depended, oddly enough, a tricolour sash. So he went in.</p> - -<p>The place had a strange, stuffy smell. Light, but not much air, -came under the flimsy double doors, and between them. "And if I -am to stay here long," thought La Vireville, "a chair would be very -acceptable;" for it was tiring to stand, as he was doing, practically -on one leg. If he sat upon the floor he could not make much of a -fight of it, supposing the necessity arose. He was beginning -seriously to contemplate emerging to fetch the chair when he heard -numerous and hurried steps on the steep stairway outside. "This -cannot, surely, be the National Guard already," thought their quarry. -"The vindictive lady has not had the time to summon them!" For he -remembered noticing last night that Mme. Rozel's cottage stood at -a little distance from Porhoët itself.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless the visitors' method of procedure pointed to a raid. -Some form of battering ram, presumably the butt of a musket, was -hastily applied to the door of the room. A very little hammering, -and the portal fell inwards with a crash. As it was fastened on -the outside only, the refugee was tickled at this evidence of local -zeal. "If these individuals look into this cupboard I fear they -will be very ungentle with me," he reflected, a pistol in either -hand. "Let me see to it, in that case, that their numbers are -somewhat reduced."</p> - -<p>But he had no need of his weapons; his ruse had been enough for -these simple and enthusiastic souls. La Vireville heard a wild -rush to the window and the (as he had hoped) convincing sheet; -thereafter cries, stampings, curses, and voices proclaiming that -the Chouan had escaped by the window, and that the woman Rozel, -in league with him, had warned him.</p> - -<p>"Hardly the way that I should have put it!" thought the fugitive.</p> - -<p>And from that indictment of complicity to avenging action was but -a step. "Arrest her! arrest her!" shouted several voices. And with -a fresh rush down the stairs, with noise and loud talking from below, -and what La Vireville half took to be a stifled scream, this was -evidently accomplished. Five minutes had seen the development of -the whole drama.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>With the loud banging of the cottage door a great and signal silence -fell upon the dwelling of the 'fisherman's widow,' even upon the -cupboard upstairs and its occupant. For La Vireville was filled -in the first place with an access of prudence which urged him to -make no sound until he was tolerably sure that the house was really -empty; in the second with a certain ironical satisfaction. Into -a memory not over well stored with such literature had come the -words of the Psalmist concerning such as dug a pit and fell into -the midst of it themselves, and he stayed to savour them. Poor Mme. -de Guéfontaine! she had paid dearly for her vengeful instincts. -Moreover, in spite of the poetical justice which had overtaken -her, she might have that revenge even yet. La Vireville was helpless, -even in the empty house. Grain d'Orge would certainly not come till -dusk, always supposing that he were free to come at all. Before -his advent, too, the village authorities might return to search -the house; it seemed strange, indeed, that they had not already -done so.</p> - -<p>But, however precarious one's position, it is impossible to live -without food. La Vireville hobbled downstairs and found a loaf of -bread and some sour milk, with which he clambered back to his little -room. Eating the bread thoughtfully, as he sat on his devastated -bed, he considered the case of Mme. de Guéfontaine. So 'Alexis' had -been the unfortunate du Coudrais, the victim of an odious charge -made against him (whether in good faith or for some ulterior object -Fortuné had never felt quite sure) by a near kinsman of La Vireville's -own, the Marquis of that name! La Vireville himself had only arrived -at Coblentz a few days after the duel which ensued upon the Marquis's -denunciation of du Coudrais at the Three Crowns, to which Mme. de -Guéfontaine had made hot reference; but émigré circles were still -ringing with the scandal, and the Marquis de la Vireville, his own -arm in a sling, was better able to explain to his cousin how he -had run du Coudrais through the lungs than to satisfy him—or -anybody else—of the ill-starred gentleman's dishonour. But du -Coudrais, when he recovered from his wound, had to leave Coblentz -nevertheless . . . and, having left it, was abundantly cleared, -too late, of the charge against him by the dramatic unmasking of -another man as a professional sharper. And for this affair, in -which ironically enough, La Vireville had by no means supported -his cousin, of whose past record he knew too much, he had been -himself within an ace of paying the penalty—might, indeed, yet -pay it.</p> - -<p>It was quite clear to him why Mme. de Guéfontaine had taken him -for her late brother's aggressor. He had confessed to his name, -he had mentioned having been at Coblentz at the time, and he bore -a close family resemblance to his kinsman—close enough, at least, -to deceive anyone who relied merely on a verbal description; for -it was tolerably certain that Mme. de Guéfontaine had never seen -the Marquis de la Vireville. Evidently she had been devotedly -attached to her brother; had shared in his schemes, worked and -plotted for him here at Porhoët, in a position of no small danger, -and then, fresh from the shock of that brother's violent death, -was called upon—so she thought—to shelter and to help to install -in his place the man who had been his worst enemy! She was a woman -of strong feelings; she had found the situation, as she had declared -to him, intolerable, and in a moment of wild impulse she had -resolved to put a term to it and to avenge her brother in one and -the same act. And, reviewing the episode dispassionately, La -Vireville found he could not blame her overmuch . . . especially -as she had failed. True, there was always something of a nauseous -flavour about delation, but the matter of the cold steel had a -primitive and heroic touch—Jael and Sisera. "And if," he said to -himself, "if I had given her a minute longer she need not have -been put to the shift of betraying me to the authorities!" . . . -Yet, after all, he doubted whether she would have had the nerve -to use the knife. And, whatever her intentions with regard to the -National Guard, it was by no means certain that she had carried -them out. He did not see how she could have done so in the time. -And because he found himself oddly reluctant to associate her with -the idea of just that form of treachery, he settled that she had -<em>not</em> had time. . . . But she was, no doubt of it, a remarkable woman!</p> - -<p>And so, commending her spirit, as though he had not nearly been -its victim, La Vireville arrived, as the long, featureless day -was beginning to close in, at a certain decision.</p> - -<p>When the dusk had quite fallen the owl's cry, as he had expected, -came prudently to his ears. He answered it, and in a little while -the countenance of Grain d'Orge was visible at the window, whence -the misleading sheet still trailed into the garden.</p> - -<p>"Come in," said his leader, without moving from the chair whereon -he sat, with his legs extended on another. "A pretty sort of refuge -you selected for me!"</p> - -<p>The Chouan scrambled over the sill on to the bed, and broke into -violent and ashamed protestations, mingled with horrible curses on -the unknown informer. It was plain that he did not suspect where -the guilt really lay.</p> - -<p>"Never mind," remarked La Vireville carelessly. "I have fallen -upon circumstances which you could not possibly have foreseen, -and I harbour no grudge against you, mon gars. But have you any -plan for getting me away?"</p> - -<p>"There will be two horses to-night at the cross-roads, a quarter -of a mile away, if you think you can get so far, Monsieur Augustin, -and if we have the luck not to be seen."</p> - -<p>"I can get there," said La Vireville. "Repose has benefited my -foot. But we have a little matter that demands our attention in -Porhoët first. You know that Mme. Rozel has been arrested?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, the poor woman!"</p> - -<p>"The poor woman, as you say. Well, before we leave this place I -am minded to repay her hospitality. We must remember, too, that -she was the defunct M. Alexis' agent here, and has deserved well -of the King's cause. It will therefore be our business, before -proceeding to Carhoët, to set her at liberty."</p> - -<p>"Monsieur is joking!" said the Chouan, his jaw dropped.</p> - -<p>And it took La Vireville, with all his authority, quite twenty -minutes to extract from his horrified follower what he knew of -the conditions of Mme. Rozel's captivity, and to reduce him, on -the point of an attempt at rescue, to an incredibly sulky submission.</p> - -<p>"I am about to become a Republican to that end," announced the -émigré when this result had at last been attained. "Do you fancy -me in the rôle, Grain d'Orge?" And, limping to the cupboard, he -snatched the tricolour sash off the peg, wound it twice round his -waist and tied a flamboyant bow at the left side.</p> - -<p>Mingled horror and disgust strove in the Breton's face.</p> - -<p>"For God's sake, Monsieur Augustin!" he protested.</p> - -<p>"Citizen Augustin, if you please," corrected La Vireville with -dignity. "I have, unfortunately, no cockade. Never mind; it is -dark. But we want some little scrap of writing on official paper—just -to make an effect. . . . I have it!" and he took from the breast -of his coat the Government proclamation for his own head.</p> - -<p>"With a trifle of manipulation . . ." said he. "Grain d'Orge, descend -into our parlour and bring me the pen and ink that is there."</p> - -<p>Unspeakably sullen, the Chouan obeyed, and when La Vireville had, -by doubling up the paper, secured a blank space under the "In the -name of the Republic one and indivisible," he executed thereon -a few specious forgeries and waved the paper about to dry it.</p> - -<p>"Observe, my good Grain d'Orge," he said, "to what virtuous use -can things evil be put. This paper, instead of being a brave man's -death-warrant, shall bring liberty to a woman . . . who very little -deserves it," he added to himself. "More, my faithful follower," -he pursued impressively, "if you understood better what I was -doing, you would be lost in admiration at the nobility of my -character. I own that I am myself so lost."</p> - -<p>"I understand this, M. le Chevalier," retorted the Breton with -passion, "that you are mad, stark mad, to go playing your head -like this! The woman Rozel has bewitched you."</p> - -<p>"I believe you are right," answered his leader. "And she did it -with a knife—my own! It is a potent spell, if an unusual. But you -surely would not have a gentleman leave a woman to her fate, be she -enchantress or no? . . . Well, we must have our horses before we -can pay our visit to the Citizen Botidoux—that, I think you said, -was the mayor's name. You can go first down the sheet and steady -it for me."</p> - -<p>It is not altogether surprising that Grain d'Orge, when his master slid -to earth beside him, was muttering mingled prayers and imprecations. -La Vireville smiled to himself as he leant his weight on that -faithful arm, and the two moved off into the darkness.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>About a quarter after midnight, M. Jacques-Pierre Botidoux, grocer -and mayor, sleeping peacefully beside his wife, was aware of a -very persistent knocking upon the door of his little shop below -him. Arising, not without lamentation, and thrusting a night-capped -head out of the window, he was astounded to see in the street two -shadowy figures on horseback.</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" he shouted ill-temperedly.</p> - -<p>The taller figure lifted a dim face. "Silence!" it said in a low, -rapid, and singularly impressive voice. "Silence, Citizen, and -come down to the door!"</p> - -<p>And at M. Botidoux, when, dazed, cross, and sleepy, he finally -unfastened his shop door, was launched an imperative demand for -the key of the village lock-up. As he gaped at the mandate the -tall rider bent from the saddle; a vast tricolour sash showed -indistinctly round his middle as he moved his arm under his cloak. -"Citizen, I am from the quarters at Carhoët, but I carry orders -from the Convention itself. You are to deliver to me without delay -the person of the woman Rozel, arrested by you this morning. You -did well and wisely in so arresting her, but higher powers than -you have need of her, and at once. A conspiracy of great extent -. . . the State . . . information . . . you understand?"</p> - -<p>"But . . . but . . ." began M. Botidoux, who did not understand -at all.</p> - -<p>The emissary of the Convention changed his tone. "Eh?" he said -sharply. "Will not this satisfy you?" He flapped some kind of -paper in the startled face. "Must I bring in my escort to convince -you?"</p> - -<p>"No, no!" stammered Botidoux. "No, Citizen Commissary, I will get -the key, I will come at once!"</p> - -<p>"That is well," responded the cloaked figure. "But, look you, not -a word! It is of the utmost importance that no one in the village -knows of this transfer of a prisoner of State. Others are not to -be trusted as the Convention trusts you, Citizen! That is why I -left my escort at the cross-roads, and came with only this good -fellow to guide me."</p> - -<p>"But the woman——"</p> - -<p>"Do you think two able men cannot manage one woman, Mr. Mayor?"</p> - -<p>Very soon the short, stout, and rattled Botidoux was trotting by -the side of the silent horsemen, was leading them towards the little -house standing back from the street which served as a lock-up for -drunkards. Porhoët was not of sufficient importance for a jail. -Towards this Botidoux vanished, important, if puzzled, and in a -little while reappeared, bringing by the wrist the figure of a -woman. Some other man was vaguely discernible in the background.</p> - -<p>"Put her up in front of the guide," ordered the Commissary, who -seemed to have no wish to dismount.</p> - -<p>Mme. Rozel must have recognised his voice, for she gave a faint -scream, which Botidoux had the wit to smother ere he lifted her -into Grain d'Orge's unwilling arms. But once there the captive -began a fresh protest.</p> - -<p>"Where are you taking me—who is it?" she cried, struggling. But, -since expostulations were only to be expected in her situation, -M. Botidoux was not at all perturbed.</p> - -<p>"Be silent, woman!" he urged; and as the riders, turning their -steeds, began to move down the street, he added, "I think your -escort has come to look for you, M. le Commissaire."</p> - -<p>"What!" exclaimed La Vireville, startled out of his sangfroid. "By -God, it's true!" For he had heard the jingle of bits at the end of -the street. It could be nothing else but the cavalry detachment -from Carhoët out to hunt for him.</p> - -<p>He uttered a very pretty and comprehensive curse, and turned his -horse's head in the opposite direction. "Come on, we must ride -for it! Come on, I say!" Grain d'Orge's mount—a grey—sprang -forward, and Mme. Rozel screamed again. A shout answered her from -a point nearer than the oncoming hussars—from another little group -of horses, imperfectly seen, on the left, whose riders were mounting -in haste.</p> - -<p>"Madame, you have lost us all!" said La Vireville furiously. "Ride -like the devil, Grain d'Orge; straight on—straight on, I tell -you! I'm going back; they will come after me!" He tugged at his -bewildered steed, brought it slithering to its haunches, swung -round yet again, and set off in the direction of the hussars at -the end of the street.</p> - -<p>As he had hoped, the mounting men on their left, confused, hesitated -a moment, then decided to follow him and not the doubly-burdened -grey. In front was the stationary, or almost stationary, cavalry, -as yet only one vague bunch on the road. But, much as La Vireville -would have liked to try it, he could scarcely venture to ride past -or through them. He checked his horse, hoping that what he took to -be a hedge on his left hand was really a hedge, and put the animal -at it, somewhat expecting to land in a garden or an orchard. But, -apparently, he was in a field, and a large one at that. On the -grass he urged his excited horse into a frantic gallop, his blood -racing not unpleasantly. Shouts told him that other horsemen had -also cleared the hedge and were after him. "I wonder what I shall -ride into in this cursed darkness?" he thought. And he thought -also, "I did not expect she would be a woman to scream. . . ." -Something black rose before him—the usual Breton field hedge, a -six-foot bank with forest trees atop, impossible to negotiate on -horseback. Should he then abandon his mount? He had but a second in -which to make up his mind, for his pursuers, better horsed, were -inevitably gaining on him. No, he would go on, and, trusting to -find the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">échalier</span>—the low, ladder-like gate of those parts—he -cantered for a moment alongside the bank.</p> - -<p>Here, judging by the cessation of the dark mound and its crown of -trees, was what he sought. He put his horse at the gap. As he -rose, a spattering fire rang out; a bullet sang past his cheek, -there was a most unpleasant sensation of a jerking fall, and he -found himself among a great deal of wet grass, with his injured -foot excruciatingly pinned beneath the weight of his struggling -horse. La Vireville instinctively stuffed the back of his hand into -his mouth to prevent himself from screaming out, saw all the stars -of the dark heaven swoop down on him, and incontinently fainted.</p> - -<h3 id="c19">CHAPTER XIX<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap" lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La Porte du Manoir</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">A cold and grey light was in the sky when La Vireville came back -to consciousness, and, for the moment greatly puzzled, raised his -head and looked about him. There was no fallen horse, no sign of -hussars, nothing left of the night's doings but a sick feeling -in the mouth, a bruised shoulder, and a foot that ached ten thousand -times worse than he had ever thought a foot could ache. But, as -he struggled to one elbow, he saw another relic—he tricolour -sash about his body. He surveyed it without much approbation. Was -it that symbol which had saved him? No; it had been too dark when -he came down; they could not have seen it. Had they thought him -killed, then, and ridden off and left him? Hardly, because if they -knew whom they were hunting, which was probable, they would have -been anxious for the reward, since he was equally marketable alive -or dead—did he not carry that guarantee on his person? And where -was his wounded horse? He came at last to the conclusion that his -steed must have picked itself up and galloped on, and that the -hussars had pursued it, not seeing that it was riderless, or that -their quarry was lying at their mercy by the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">échalier</span>. They must -almost have ridden over him as he lay senseless. All of which was -very miraculous, and seemed to denote a special care on the part -of Providence that was encouraging. "If only the brute had chosen -my other foot to roll on!" thought the victim. "But of course he -would not!"</p> - -<p>However, long as the grass was, and early as the hour, it was -unbecoming to lie there like a lame sheep and wait to be picked up. -A coppice ran along the side of this second field, and towards this, -on his hands and knees, the ends of the tricolour sash dragging -in the wet grass, La Vireville made his way. And in the coppice, -having drunk some brandy, cut off his slashed boot and applied the -same restorative to his swollen foot, he very stoically lay down -under an oak, thinking to sleep. That solace, however, he could -not compass; his foot hurt too much. Moreover, he had a fairly -knotty problem to solve—how best to remove himself from his present -environment to a safer. And he saw no way, short of crawling or -hopping. For even if he were physically capable of working his way -towards Carhoët he could only safely do it under cover of darkness, -and for darkness, near as he was to Porhoët, he could not afford -to wait. "I was really better in my cupboard," he reflected. -Certainly his knight-errantry, if it had proved of any avail for -the lady—which was more than doubtful—had left its author in no -happy plight.</p> - -<p>And at last it was borne in upon La Vireville that, daylight or -no daylight, he must somehow set a greater distance between himself -and the now enlightened village of Porhoët. With luck, the copse -where he lay might turn out to be a spur of the wood of Roscanvel, -which he knew, from a previous study of the map, to be somewhere -thereabouts. In that case, by going a little farther he might find -shelter till the evening, even if he had to climb a tree to attain -it. He sighed, sat up, and tried to draw the remains of his boot -over his foot—an attempt that proved out of the question. So he -tied up the injured member as best he could, cut himself a stout -stick out of the coppice, and, just as the first rays of the sun -began to strike through the trees, set his face towards the thickness -of the wood.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Because it had been raining hard since ten in the morning—though -now, by sunset, it had ceased—the bad road was exceedingly muddy -and full of extensive pools. These it was at the moment so profoundly -delighting a small male child to stir up with a twig that he did -not observe the slow approach of a wayfarer, nor look up till -he heard himself addressed. He then saw a tall man leaning upon -a stick and wearing only one boot. He was bareheaded, wet, and -very pale; but he wore a tricolour sash.</p> - -<p>"Child," said the apparition, and its voice sounded strange and -small, like the voice of Uncle Pierre when he was ill of the -fever—"child, is there any house along this road . . . not far -away?"</p> - -<p>The boy was frightened, and much desired to return no answer at -all, but he knew that you must not trifle with those who wore the -tricolour scarf, or it would be the worse for you. So, rubbing his -bare toes for solace in the delicious mud, he responded truthfully:</p> - -<p>"Round the next corner, Citizen, you will see the old manoir of -L'Estournel. But nobody lives there, and it is full of ghosts, -witches, and all manner of evil things. One does not pass it -after dark."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," said the man with the tricolour. And adding solemnly, -"May you live to be an ornament to your country," he gave him a -silver piece and limped on. The boy watched him with open mouth -till he disappeared round the bend.</p> - -<p>It seemed to La Vireville that he had never known the possession -of two sound feet; also, that he had been walking for several days, -though it was only at noon that he had left the forest, which had -not proved a very happy resting-place. But since then he had set he -knew not how many miles between himself and Porhoët; indeed, by now -he had almost lost count of direction. He was wet and hungry, while -his foot was a plaster of mud, blood, and devouring pain. Finally, -he was on an open road, where he little desired to find himself. -But he hoped now to force an entrance into the deserted house.</p> - -<p>Round the turn of the road he saw it at last, steep-roofed, peering -greyly at him over its high wall. All round it the overgrown trees -flamed with spring and sunset, and, behind, two slim poplars mounted -like spires to heaven. The wall brimmed with the stems of matted -creepers, and in it, sheltered in a stone archway with a living -thatch of grass, was an old green door. He would go through this -and rest.</p> - -<p>As he had the thought, La Vireville's heart stood still, for he -had caught the sound of many hoofs in front of him. Was he neatly -trapped after all his fatigue and pain? Then at least he would not -be taken alive, nor die with their accursed rag on his body! He -tore off the sash and flung it into the ditch, drew behind the -row of chestnuts which fringed the road—a perfectly inadequate -cover—and, a hand on each pistol, waited. . . .</p> - -<p>And they passed, at a canter, half a squadron of red hussars, -looking neither to right nor left!</p> - -<p>Strong-nerved as he was, Fortuné de la Vireville turned a moment -giddy with the revulsion. Then once more he saw the trees beckoning -over the wall, the friendly green door, the grey roofs. If only he -could get inside he could at least drop down in peace in the garden, -and after that he cared little what happened. He hobbled forward, -steadying himself from chestnut to chestnut. In all the rainpools -the sunset gleamed, and the reflection bothered him, dancing up -and down. "I must reach the door! I must reach the door!" he kept -repeating. Only twenty-five steps farther, perhaps . . . or count -it by trees, that was better. . . . The effort of keeping his head -steady in the dizzying pain was as difficult as the actual walking. -At last he had shuffled across the road, and was at the old green -door, and dared not try whether it were fastened. La Vireville had -never in his life, he thought, desired anything so vehemently as to -be able to pass it—though in truth he knew not if he should find -safety on the other side. . . . The latch was stiff; his fingers -seemed stiffening too. . . . It lifted, the door gave, creaking -on its old hinges, and he found himself inside. He had just enough -sense to close it after him.</p> - -<p>Within, it was all as he had guessed it would be, of a neglect -so ancient that every growing thing had set itself to repair and -clothe it. But all that he saw clearly was the great, nail-studded -door above the flight of shallow steps, for it stood wide open, -and through the archway, framed in a tangle of still rust-coloured -creeper, was cool darkness. It drew him more than the rioting -garden, and he got himself somehow up the steps. And, once in the -place, that was half-hall, half-kitchen, and that was lofty, with -many great beams, he knew himself to be vanquished, for there was -mist before his eyes and the sea in his ears. Yet he staggered as -far as the huge old table, thick in dust, that stood before the -great empty hearth, before he felt himself falling. He made a grab -at the oak, missed it, stood swaying, and then sank heavily to the -cold hearthstone. Consciousness had left him before he reached it.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>When the familiar pain in his foot laid hold of him once more, -and pulled him up, reluctant, from this happy blankness he was -aware, as he came, of other sensations. Something wet and cold, -smelling strongly of brandy, was passing slowly over his forehead; -something hard was rubbing one of his hands. A voice said, "He -is coming to," and this being now his own opinion, La Vireville -opened his eyes.</p> - -<p>He was lying where he had fallen, but his head was resting in -the crook of someone's arm. On the other side knelt Grain d'Orge, -chafing one of his hands between his own horny palms; he looked -ridiculously lugubrious. La Vireville stirred.</p> - -<p>"You are safe, Monsieur, you are safe!" said a woman's voice above -him—a voice with a break in it. "Oh, your poor foot!"</p> - -<p>The émigré removed his gaze from Grain d'Orge, who kissed the -hand he was holding, and, looking up, beheld the face of Mme. de -Guéfontaine, stamped with a new character of pity and tenderness. -He concluded that she was no longer desirous of his blood. But -how was it that she and Grain d'Orge were here? He tried to ask -her, but the words were unaccountably difficult to say.</p> - -<p>"You shall know in good time, Monsieur le Chevalier," she said -gently. "Meanwhile, lie still. Grain d'Orge, roll up that cloak -and put it under his head. That is better." She slipped her arm -from under La Vireville's head, and his eyes closed again in spite -of himself. A little time passed; he heard the Chouan murmuring -prayers. Then light fingers were unwrapping the rags from about -his lacerated foot, and he felt on it the sting of water, deliciously -cold. He reopened his eyes.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid that I am giving you a great deal of trouble," he -said slowly and politely to the kneeling figure.</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine lifted her head, and, to his amazement, the -tears were running down her cheeks. "I did not betray you!" she -said, clasping her hands together over the dripping cloth they held. -"Oh, believe me, M. le Chevalier, whatever I said to you in my -madness, I did not give you up! I could not do it—by the time I -was downstairs again I was ashamed of having said I would. But, by -the most evil chance, which I still cannot understand, the section -having got wind, somehow, of your arrival, chose that very moment -to break in to arrest you. And when they found you, as they thought, -gone, they arrested me instead . . . and if it had not been for -you . . . And you,"—she finished brokenly, looking down at his -foot,—"you went through all this for me, thinking I had betrayed -you."</p> - -<p>"Why," said La Vireville, with more animation, "if it comes to -that, Madame, you were yourself under a slight misapprehension -with regard to me!"</p> - -<p>"I know! I know! Oh, can you ever forgive me?" she cried, leaving -her task and kneeling down once more by his side. "I know now—it -was your cousin the Marquis—but the name, the likeness, your -having been at Coblentz—I felt so sure——"</p> - -<p>"Then how do you know now?" queried La Vireville, still more puzzled.</p> - -<p>"Because," she answered, "I have had someone to tell me the truth. -I told you that I was leaving Porhoët in a day or two. I was, in -fact, expecting my other brother from Guernsey to take me away—he -is in the Comte d'Oilliamson's regiment there. He was to meet me here -at L'Estournel, rather than come to Porhoët, because the manoir was -unoccupied, and we both knew it, as it belonged once to our kin. So -I made Grain d'Orge bring me here; it seemed the best thing to do, -since we could not safely return to Porhoët, and Henri, when he came, -could help Grain d'Orge to look for you."</p> - -<p>She broke off, and returned to her ministrations.</p> - -<p>"And then, Madame?" suggested her patient.</p> - -<p>"Henri was here waiting for me! He had come earlier by a day than -we had arranged. And he told me about poor André—how that it was -your cousin the Marquis. Indeed, I had been already prepared for -this, because Grain d'Orge spoke once or twice of you as 'Monsieur -le Chevalier.' . . . All day we have been searching for you, as -best we could—my brother is not yet returned. (Oh, this foot . . . -what you must have suffered!) But I, when I came in a little while -ago and saw you lying like a dead man across the hearthstone, I -could scarcely believe it—and that fate had given me a chance -after all of telling you that—a chance of undoing what I did——"</p> - -<p>"What you did not do, rather," corrected La Vireville.</p> - -<p>"But you thought I had—and yet you saved me!"</p> - -<p>It was impossible categorically to deny this accusation, yet La -Vireville was beginning to answer when a step was heard on the -flagged floor, and Mme. de Guéfontaine sprang to her feet.</p> - -<p>"Henri—he is here!"</p> - -<p>And into the prostrate man's somewhat limited field of vision -came a dark, good-looking young man whose resemblance to Mme. de -Guéfontaine proclaimed his relationship. His sister slipped her -arm into his.</p> - -<p>("Now I wonder," thought Fortuné, "how far her fraternal affection -for <em>this</em> brother would carry her!")</p> - -<p>"Monsieur," began Henri du Coudrais, with emotion, standing looking -down upon the Chouan. "I have no words to express my apologies, my -gratitude, or my sense of your magnanimity. But why did you not -tell my sister the truth?"</p> - -<p>"Monsieur," replied La Vireville from the floor, "I began to do -so, but . . . had not time to finish. And I do not think that I -should have been believed. . . . But permit me to say, M. du Coudrais, -that if I had a sister, and she had been placed in like circumstances, -I could only be flattered if her affection for me had led her to -do the same, in all things, as Madame has done."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine lifted her head from her brother's shoulder, -against which she had suddenly hidden her face. "In all things?" -she repeated, stressing the words, and with something like a -remembered horror in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Fortuné de la Vireville raised himself a trifle, while his fingers, -as if unconsciously, tapped out a little tune on the handle of -his hunting-knife. "Yes," he said, smiling at her meaningly and -half-mischievously, "<em>in all things!</em>"</p> - -<p>And the old beams, which had heard so many wise and foolish utterances, -caught and flung to each other his perverse and fantastic condonation.</p> - -<h3 id="c20">CHAPTER XX<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Sea-Holly</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">The moon that night, peering through the half-shuttered windows -of the manoir, spilt on the dark floor pools that reminded La -Vireville of those others in the interminable wet road of the -afternoon. Mme de Guéfontaine and her brother had contrived for him -a fairly comfortable resting-place by piling some old moth-eaten -hangings and a cloak or two on the oak settle, and he had been -made, despite his protests, to occupy this couch. But his foot -pained him too much to admit of sleep.</p> - -<p>From where he lay he could just see Mme. de Guéfontaine lying back -in a great chair by the empty hearth, a cloak over her knees; and -at one time the direct moonlight itself, falling on her fine, weary -profile, showed a wisp or two of hair escaping down her cheek, a -relic of her wild ride with the Chouan. But he knew that she slept -only in snatches, and that she was concerned for him. Every time -that she stirred and turned her head in his direction he deceitfully -closed his eyes to delude her into the belief that he was not -awake. At her feet lay her brother, wrapped in his cloak; he at -least seemed to be enjoying a motionless repose, and evidences of -an acoustic kind went to prove that Grain d'Orge, self-banished, -out of respect, to the other end of the hall, was certainly not -suffering from insomnia.</p> - -<p>La Vireville was indeed not without occupation of a sort as he lay -there wakeful and the hours went by. He was enabled to devote almost -unlimited time to an interesting problem—one now, unfortunately, -impossible of exact solution. Would Mme. de Guéfontaine, this modern -Jael, really have stabbed him yesterday morning if he had not -forestalled her? On the whole, he was almost inclined to think that -she would. But probably she would not have done it very well. . . . -What irony, though, if she had—if he, Augustin, after all his -hazards and escapes, had ended that way, slain in his sleep by -a devoted adherent of the same cause, for a private offence that -he had never committed, and which the real offender had since, -perhaps, almost expiated! (By the way, he must remember to tell -Mme. de Guéfontaine of that.)</p> - -<p>At any rate, he was heartily glad to know that she had not, after -all, betrayed him. To the conception of her now gradually forming in -his mind, such a course seemed so foreign as almost to be incredible. -But he did believe that she might have used the knife.</p> - -<p>Speculations of this kind did not, of course, advance sleep, though -they kept him a little from thinking of his injured foot, which -was the real obstacle to slumber. As the moon-pools ebbed away -and the place became full of a ghostly grey radiance that might -or might not be the dawn—for La Vireville had small idea of the -time—he changed his position on the settle, thinking it might -ease his foot. Stealthily as he did it, he heard Mme. de Guéfontaine -stir. He repeated his expedient of shutting his eyes and lying very -still. But he knew in a moment that she had risen from her chair -and was bending over him, so he reopened them.</p> - -<p>"M. le Chevalier, you cannot sleep, I know," she whispered.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Peu importe, Madame,</span>" he replied. "But what of you?"</p> - -<p>"If I could see you sleeping perhaps I could do the same," was -her retort. "Let me renew the wet cloth round your foot; it is -time it was done."</p> - -<p>La Vireville protested, but she paid no heed. Flitting about -noiselessly in that pale gloom she procured water, and, kneeling -by the settle, very intently unwound the heated wrappings, dipped -them in the cool liquid, and replaced them.</p> - -<p>"Is that better?" she asked, coming like a ghost to his side.</p> - -<p>"Much better," he murmured. "Almost worth having it crushed for, -in fact."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine looked down at him without speaking, but he -was aware, almost painfully aware, of the distress and remorse -surging in her heart.</p> - -<p>"I was sure that the Blues had got you—if they had not killed you," -she said in a vibrating voice. "And all for me, for me who . . ."</p> - -<p>"As far as I can tell," interrupted La Vireville lightly, "they -rode over me and never saw me. I assure you that I have the devil's -own luck, Madame; it is mixed with a good deal of an inferior kind, -but it has always held to this point, that I have so far succeeded -in cheating l'Ankou, as we call him in Brittany."</p> - -<p>"My brother André had that kind of luck too," said she sadly. "But -it failed him in the end."</p> - -<p>La Vireville perceived that she wanted to talk about him—perhaps -as a kind of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">amende honorable</span> for her suspicions and hostility at -Porhoët. "If you cannot sleep, Madame," he suggested, "will you -not tell me about your brother? You see, I only knew of him as -'Alexis,' and I must tell you that I had got it into my head that -his real name was de Kérouan or something of the sort."</p> - -<p>"At what cross-purposes were we playing!" she exclaimed. "Do you -really wish me to tell you about André?"</p> - -<p>"If you will be so good," replied Fortuné. "Consider also, if you -please, Madame, that I have procured you a chair here."</p> - -<p>She smiled a little, and, bringing one quietly to the side of the -settle, sat down, and began in her low and beautiful voice to tell -him her history. There was a strange kind of unreal and yet intimate -charm in this recital in the morning twilight, that went back now -and then to childish days, some of which this old hall itself had -witnessed. For here André and Raymonde du Coudrais, from their -home in more western Brittany, had been used to visit an old uncle -and aunt, and here they and their cousins had played hide-and-seek, -and here André himself had lain hid only a week before his death. -By reason of its early associations with that beloved brother the -old place was now, the narrator confessed, painful to her, yet with -a kind of sweetness. But the rest of the Carhoët country, she -suddenly acknowledged in a voice that shook, had become intolerable -to her.</p> - -<p>An extraordinary devotion to her brother André had always been hers -from childhood; listening to her, La Vireville thought that so -ardent a nature as hers (beating under an exterior that in some -ways belied it) must always have needed someone on whom to expend -itself, and that having so early found that person, it was singularly -fitting that she should never have been forced to transfer her -allegiance. For André had never married, and her own marriage, in -1788, to a man many years older than herself, for whom it was -evident she had not felt love, but much respect, had left unimpaired -the bond between her brother and herself. The Comte de Guéfontaine's -death in exile at Hamburg, in 1792, had set her free to serve -André and the cause he followed with all her heart and soul. That -was the year of the unfortunate Coblentz episode, of which she -spoke with far more bitterness than of her brother's death; it was -from Coblentz that he had come to her at Hamburg, not yet recovered -of the wound to his body, and healed still less of that to his -spirit. At Hamburg they had shared the privations of exile—and -worse, the slight sneers of compatriots who looked askance at the -Marquis de la Vireville's victim. Their pride at last drove them -thence to England. And from England André had found the way to -Brittany, the command of the Carhoët division, and his death. His -sister had been with him all the time, nineteen months—a long -spell of life for a Chouan leader.</p> - -<p>And when he had heard the whole tale and realised what a sensitive -pride and what a singularly tender affection his cousin's action -had outraged, La Vireville was certainly in no mind to rescind -his half-jesting condonation of Raymonde de Guéfontaine's attempt -at vengeance. Rather, he ratified it.</p> - -<p>"Madame," he said when she had ended, "perhaps you can extend some -measure of forgiveness to my unhappy cousin when you learn that -he gave his life, after all, for the same cause as your brother -has done. He died of his wounds after the battle of Charleroi -last year."</p> - -<p>"But that does not undo what he did," she said quite simply. "It -does not give André back his honour; it makes no difference at all."</p> - -<p>"No," answered La Vireville, after a pause, "that is true. It -does not."</p> - -<p>There was a silence. Then she said, leaning forward and looking -at him very directly—there was more light now, "M. le Chevalier, -I think there are some who love better than they hate, and some -who hate better than they love. Could you forgive a mortal injury -so readily? . . . But perhaps you have none to forgive?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville abruptly put his locked hands over his eyes. "Madame," -he replied after a moment, "I have had a mortal injury to forgive -these ten years—and I have not forgiven it."</p> - -<p>She was startled, no doubt, at the hard intensity of his tone, -and drew back, as one who has stumbled on a grave.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon," she said in a very low voice. "That was -impertinent. I ought not to have asked such a question."</p> - -<p>And it was a proof of the measure in which they had both already -passed into a region of intimacy sufficiently remote from the -somewhat unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting, that -it struck neither of them at the moment, least of all the man, -that it was a strange question to put to him, considering those -circumstances. His recent treatment of an at least attempted mortal -injury could hardly be termed rancorous. But this reflection did -not occur to Mme. de Guéfontaine till she had, a little later, -resumed her efforts at slumber, and to Fortuné it did not occur -at all.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>It was something of a surprise to the Chevalier de la Vireville -to learn, next morning, how near the manoir of L'Estournel stood -to the sea. Henri du Coudrais had, it appeared, made all the -necessary arrangements for conveying his sister to Guernsey that -evening, and they were to embark, as soon as dusk fell, from a -tiny cove not a mile distant from the old house, and, when they -had sailed to a certain point, were to be picked up by a fishing -smack, and so to St. Peter Port.</p> - -<p>But La Vireville himself, as the brother and sister assured him, -could lie very conveniently hidden at L'Estournel for another day -or two, to permit his foot a further chance of recovery. This, -however, was not a course which commended itself to the invalid. -He declared that he also should leave that evening for Carhoët, -taking the sole means of locomotion open to him, namely, Grain -d'Orge's horse, which, having conveyed its double burden safely -to the manoir, was now secretly tethered in one of the tumble-down -stalls, nourished on handfuls of grass. If Grain d'Orge could not -somehow procure another steed for his own use (which was improbable) -he must go on foot, leading this beast, and his master upon it, -under cover of night, and by ways known to himself, to Carhoët. -Moreover, La Vireville proposed, since the coast was so conveniently -near, to accompany Mme. de Guéfontaine and her brother thither, -and speed their departure before himself turning inland for his -own destination. And in these two resolutions he persisted all day, -despite every effort to dissuade him.</p> - -<p>But all morning and afternoon he obediently lay, or rather sat -propped up, on his settle, his swathed foot extended in front of him, -and conversed with the two <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span>, or watched the lady preparing -the somewhat exiguous meals necessitated by the absence of fire, -which they dared not light for fear of the betraying smoke. During -the afternoon they held a solemn conclave, he and she, and she -gave him a fresh quantity of valuable information about his new -command, of which he took cypher notes.</p> - -<p>"How am I going to replace you, Madame?" he said at the end, putting -the notes away in his breast, and looking at her with a certain -admiration and wonder.</p> - -<p>"Shall I come back?" she suggested, smiling. And though he knew -that she did not for a moment mean the offer to be accepted, and -she had told him that the place, from its memories of the lost -André, was hateful to her, he guessed at some lingering traces of -regret, even of poignant regret, in her mind.</p> - -<p>"You could not take up your quarters at Porhoët again, I fear," -said he, smiling too. "I wonder if the Citizen Botidoux has got -over his interview with the Commissary! Why did you so providentially -keep that tricolour sash in your press, Madame? It is true that -I have not felt my own man since I had it round me, but it certainly -lent a most convincing—perhaps <em>the</em> convincing—touch to the -whole affair."</p> - -<p>"How amazingly you carried it off!" she exclaimed, her eyes glowing. -"Oh, I kept the sash because . . . well, one never knew when it -would prove useful—to an émigré embarking, for instance. It came -off a dead Blue. But, as you can imagine, I could have bitten my -tongue out afterwards for having screamed as I did. Yet I—yes, -it seemed like a nightmare to recognise your voice. I thought -for a moment, you see, that all the time you must have been a -Government spy. I could hardly be expected, could I," she inquired, -with the glimmer of a smile, "to grasp in a moment such unequalled -magnanimity?"</p> - -<p>"Madame," said La Vireville hardily, "I am getting somewhat tired -of that word. You know, to be quite frank, I have not so much claim -to it as you might think. In the first place, I rather admired -you for . . . for that business with my hunting-knife—save that if -you really want to stab a man you must not hesitate like that about -it, and you must know just where to strike (I can show you if you -wish); and secondly——"</p> - -<p>"Monsieur," said his Jael, looking down and biting her lip, with -a heightened colour, "either you are laughing at me, or you are -trying to avenge yourself. I think it is true . . . you are not -so magnanimous after all."</p> - -<p>"Just as I told you!" cried Fortuné. "But I swear that I am not -laughing at you. It is the truth, as I live, that when I knew the -provocation you had received I thought not less of you, but more, -for trying to rid yourself of me—I mean of my cousin Gaspard. -But—there is one thing I am dying to know, though I do not feel -certain that you can tell me."</p> - -<p>She looked warily at his half-mocking expression.</p> - -<p>"I suppose, Monsieur Augustin, that you have earned the right to -any information I can give you."</p> - -<p>La Vireville lazily put his clasped hands behind his head and kept -his eyes on her. "Would you really have inserted that knife into -me if I had not . . . waked?"</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine parried. "I will tell you," she said, no more -than a little perturbed, "if you will tell me something. At what -moment exactly <em>did</em> you wake?"</p> - -<p>He held her a second or two under his amused gaze before he would -answer. "That, Madame," he said at length, "is too vital a secret -to be revealed. I cannot tell you."</p> - -<p>"Then I cannot answer your question either," retorted she.</p> - -<p>La Vireville made her a bow. "So be it. I shall always cherish -the hope that you meant to make a good job of it, like Mlle. de -Corday with the late Citizen Marat. Your opportunity, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">par exemple,</span> -was something better. And you, Madame, if it gives you any pleasure, -need not know whether I was not awake and watching you all the -time." He smiled mischievously. "But let me proceed to the second -reason why I am not so magnanimous—what a mouthful of a word it -is!—as you think. It is this—that the advent of the patriots of -Porhoët followed so soon on your threatening departure that I felt -tolerably sure you had not had time, even if you had the will, to -summon them. And I remembered that you had warned me of certain -suspicious spirits."</p> - -<p>This time Mme. de Guéfontaine confessed to emotion, drawing a great -breath of relief. "M. le Chevalier, you believe me then—that I -did not send for them, that I never should have done!"</p> - -<p>"Madame, naturally I believe you. Have you not already told me so? -Yet consider—you told me here, after it was all over, while my -point is, that the idea had already occurred to me at the time, -and that when I had the honour of carrying you off I was pretty -sure that you had not, in the event, betrayed me."</p> - -<p>She winced at the word, and dropped her head. "I do not know how I -could even have threatened it," she said earnestly. "But I was mad."</p> - -<p>"You cannot think, Madame," went on La Vireville, the mischief -gone out of his face, "how much that thought comforted me. It was -difficult for me to connect the idea of you and . . . treachery. -The knife—well and good, I could understand that, but not the other."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine lifted her head and met his eyes.</p> - -<p>"The difficulty is," she said quietly, "to be sure that I have -convinced you that I did not betray you even in intention; that -when they rushed in, my idea of vengeance was already dead."</p> - -<p>"I am content to take your word for that, Madame," said La Vireville, -and, bending forward, he lightly took one of her hands and lifted -it to his lips.</p> - -<p>She flushed and sighed. "It is no use for you to deny it, M. le -Chevalier. You are what you refuse to be called."</p> - -<p>At that moment Grain d'Orge stumbled past, bearing an armful of -herbage for the horse, and casting at the pair as he went, out of -his quick little eyes, a glance at once solicitous and discontented. -Mme. de Guéfontaine seemed fully conscious of it.</p> - -<p>"Poor Grain d'Orge," she said musingly, as soon as he was out of -hearing. "He was half beside himself with anxiety about you. I -do not know to what saints he did not pray. I am sure he will never -be able to pay for all the candles he has promised to St. Yves -alone. How was it, Monsieur Augustin, you who repudiate . . . that -word . . . that you had never given him even an inkling that I -was responsible (as you had every reason to think) for the appearance -of the National Guard?"</p> - -<p>"Because in that case, Madame," responded La Vireville promptly, -"I should never have got him to help me in my little plan. He would -never have gone near the lock-up. He was sufficiently insubordinate -as it was. And, as events turned out," he added gravely, "it was a -good thing that I never even hinted at it. He would have been quite -capable of cutting your throat when he got you alone."</p> - -<p>"He did not seem very much pleased with me as it was," remarked -Mme. de Guéfontaine pensively. "He accused me of having——" She -stopped abruptly.</p> - -<p>"He made the same remark to me in the cottage," observed La Vireville -gravely, but with laughter in his eyes. "I trust that, like me, -you were quick to acknowledge its justice. I told him that you had -done it with a—knife."</p> - -<p>If he had wished to put an end to their conversation La Vireville -certainly succeeded, for at that Mme. de Guéfontaine, murmuring -something about Henri and a meal, arose and left him. She had, -for the time being, quite lost her beautiful pallor.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>La Vireville had his way in the end, and rode with them at dusk -to the sea, and Mme. de Guéfontaine walked beside the grey horse, -throwing a glance now and then at the bandaged foot, which his -rider could not get into the stirrup.</p> - -<p>"It was all my fault," she said, when they had gone a little way, and -L'Estournel, place of refuge and memories, was a memory once more.</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, Madame," objected La Vireville from above her, "it was -not you who dropped a barrel on my toes."</p> - -<p>She gave a rather impatient sigh. "Do you always jest about yourself, -M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"Madame, what else would you have me to do? Does it not strike -you as humorous, you who know the conditions of our warfare in -Brittany, that when fighting begins again I should have, for a -time at least, to lead my men over hedges and through the broom -in a litter, which is the only method of conveyance that I can -think of at the moment?" He laughed under his breath. "At any rate, -my foot is a change of site for an injury. Last time, not so long -ago, it was a knock on the head that I acquired."</p> - -<p>"And in whose cause, pray, did you receive that?"</p> - -<p>"But in the usual—no, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parbleu,</span> when I come to think of it, it -was an extra. It was for—a child, a small boy."</p> - -<p>"And what, if one may ask, were you doing that you got knocked on -the head for a small boy?"</p> - -<p>"I was trying to convey him back to England. He had come to France -by—mistake. I had some trouble over it."</p> - -<p>"And is he back in England?"</p> - -<p>The rider nodded. "Safely back in Cavendish Square by now, I trust."</p> - -<p>"Cavendish Square?" said she, surprised, for she knew London. "Then -he was an English boy?"</p> - -<p>"No, French, the son of a friend of mine, the Marquis de Flavigny, -who lives with his Scotch father-in-law there. And I think I may -count the child himself as a friend, if it comes to that."</p> - -<p>"Ah, it was not for a person unknown, then, that time—or for one -who had tried to do you an injury?"</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?" asked La Vireville. And he added quickly, -"Madame, I beseech you never to refer to that episode again, or -I——" But here the grey stumbled badly, and he never finished -his threat.</p> - -<p>"Hold up, Rosinante!" adjured Mme. de Guéfontaine below her breath.</p> - -<p>"You learnt this beast's name the other night, I suppose," suggested -La Vireville innocently, for he had not clearly heard what name -she used.</p> - -<p>She looked up at him with dancing eyes which held a suspicion -of moisture.</p> - -<p>"Did you not recognise the animal the moment you saw it, M. le -Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"But I never set eyes on it before in my life," objected he.</p> - -<p>"Yet it certainly comes out of the illustrations—by Coypel, if -I remember right, they were. But perhaps when you read it in your -childhood you had not an illustrated edition?"</p> - -<p>"An edition of what?" asked La Vireville, now completely at sea.</p> - -<p>"Of an old Spanish book called <cite>The Adventures of Don Quixote de -la Mancha</cite>," she said, sparkling, having, as was evident, so timed -this thrust that their overtaking her brother and Grain d'Orge -at that very moment should prevent his answering her.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Since neither of them could assist in getting ready the little -sailing-boat, already at her moorings below them, they had, afterwards, -a few moments' more converse. La Vireville had dismounted, and -now sat upon the short sea turf at the head of the steep little -sandy track that plunged down into the cove. For all the circumstances -of escape and danger and caution there was a certain feeling of -security, almost of holiday. No patrol was out that night, so -much had been previously ascertained. The offshore breeze of evening -was blowing; although the sun was down there were rosy wisps in -the sky, and the tide drew in upon the little sandy beach like -a lover.</p> - -<p>"Madame," said La Vireville, looking up at her, for she was still -standing, "some time hence, when I come to Jersey, I shall make -an excuse to visit Guernsey and see if you are tired of domesticity, -and ready to undertake the post of <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">agent de la correspondance</span> again."</p> - -<p>"So it is not in the Carhoët division," answered she, looking out -to sea.</p> - -<p>"Would you come to Kerdronan then?"</p> - -<p>The breeze had loosened a strand of her hair, and she put it back -before she replied, turning to him with a half-smile, "I am afraid -that Grain d'Orge—I should say Sancho Panza—would not approve."</p> - -<p>"True," responded La Vireville, but before he had time to suggest -a means of getting round this difficulty, Henri du Coudrais appeared -up the sandy path.</p> - -<p>"Come, Raymonde," he said, "we should be off." To M. de la Vireville -he had already made his grateful adieux, and seeing that gentleman's -evident desire to escape any further testimonies of gratitude he -did not repeat them now.</p> - -<p>But for her leave-taking Raymonde de Guéfontaine waited till her -brother had run down the slope once more.</p> - -<p>"I forbid you to stand up!" she said to the Chouan, and, slipping -to her knees beside him, she held out her hand. When, however, he -thought to carry it to his lips, she seized his right hand strongly -in both of hers and pressed her own lips upon it. "I wish André -had known you!" she murmured, with something that sounded like -a sob. Then she got up and ran down the sandy path.</p> - -<p>And the Chevalier de la Vireville was left in some stupefaction, -staring after her and then at his just-saluted hand. . . . After -a moment he got to his knees and made a grab for the trailing -bridle of his horse, now deriving a hasty nourishment from the -coarse grass, intending by this means to support himself on one -foot. In clutching at the reins—the grey naturally moving on -precisely at the moment of capture—his hand, that hand which had -recently been so unexpectedly hallowed, came into contact with -something prickly. It was a young plant of sea-holly.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Peste!</span>" ejaculated the sufferer, but he caught the bridle and -scrambled to his feet—or foot. Once again he looked curiously -at his right hand. But the tingling sensation which was running -over it now was not due entirely to its contact with a woman's -lips. There was a little blood on it, for the sharp, bloomless -sea-holly had scratched him. Blood on his hand and a kiss; the -sea-holly's wound and a woman kneeling beside him by the sea—these -things were all to come back to him afterwards. . . . Now he stood -with his arm over the saddle, and watched the embarkation.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>"I am glad the witch has gone," observed Grain d'Orge with simple -thankfulness as he in his turn came up the slope. "She has caused -a great deal of trouble. Are you ready, Monsieur Augustin, to start -for Carhoët?"</p> - -<p>Monsieur Augustin came out of his momentary reverie. "Quite ready," -he replied. "Turn the animal round. I must mount on the wrong side -as before with your kind assistance. By the way, Grain d'Orge, do -you know what this creature's name is?"</p> - -<p>He was in the saddle before the Breton, with a grunt, replied in -a conclusive tone that it had no name.</p> - -<p>"There you are wrong, mon gars," retorted his leader, settling -his damaged foot as comfortably as he could. "Very wrong. We all -have names—you included. Heigh-ho . . . and so this interlude -comes to an end! Let us hope that we shall succeed in getting to -Carhoët this time."</p> - -<p>He gathered up the reins, and, with the old Chouan at the horse's -head, set his face inland. Not very far out from shore, in the -dwindling light, a little sail was bobbing to the waves.</p> - -<h3 id="c21">CHAPTER XXI<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">How Anne-Hilarion fed the Ducks</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">It may be judged whether Anne-Hilarion kept silence on his adventures, -either to his grandfather or to his admiring audience of servants. -The chief rôle in his recitals, however, was always assigned to -M. le Chevalier, and endless were the tales of his kindness, his -cleverness, and his strength. Mr. Elphinstone, though he would -not for anything check these outpourings, found means sometimes to -avoid them by diverting his grandson's attention to other subjects, -partly because he did not think it good for the child to dwell too -much on his recent past, partly because he himself found them so -painful. He had latterly lived through a time that he could never -forget, nor would he ever be able to forgive himself for letting -Anne go to Canterbury. But he would not now, thank God, have to -greet his son-in-law, on his return from Verona, with the terrible -news of Anne's disappearance.</p> - -<p>As it happened it was Anne himself who conveyed to his father the -first intimation of what had happened during his absence.</p> - -<p>The Marquis arrived unexpectedly one afternoon when Mr. Elphinstone -was closeted with his lawyer in the library. Nothing, therefore, -passed between them, for the moment, beyond the usual very cordial -greetings, and de Flavigny had the fancy to surprise his son -unannounced. He went up to the nursery, and, opening the door -noiselessly, became a surprised witness of Anne's powers of narration. -Baptiste was sitting rapt upon a stool, and Anne, perched upon -a window seat, was describing the midnight flight from Abbeville. -To his father, of course, this was merely an exercise in fiction.</p> - -<p>"And then we came to water and ships, and M. le Chevalier said I -must be his nephew, and we would go in one of the ships, and the -captain said Yes, though at first I think he said No, and he gave -me that shell I have downstairs, and after quite a long time we -came to—where did I tell you yesterday, Baptiste, that we came to?"</p> - -<p>"It would be Caen, I think, M. le Comte," replied the ancient -retainer, devouring the small narrator with his doglike gaze.</p> - -<p>("What game is this they are playing?" thought the unseen listener.)</p> - -<p>"Yes, that was the name. I liked Caen; it is a fine town, with -many churches. But you know, Baptiste, I think the country of -France round that place, Abbeville, not so pretty as England."</p> - -<p>"And pray what do you know of Abbeville, little romancer?" interrupted -his father, coming forward. "Or, for that matter, of any part -of France?"</p> - -<p>"M. le Marquis!" exclaimed Baptiste, jumping up from his stool.</p> - -<p>"Papa!" screamed Anne-Hilarion, and was off the seat like a flash -and had flung himself at him.</p> - -<p>But, embraces over, and Baptiste discreetly vanished, de Flavigny -repeated his question. "What do you know of France, baby?"</p> - -<p>"But—a great deal!" responded Anne-Hilarion with dignity. "I -have just been there—did Grandpapa not tell you? I went from the -house of the little old ladies at Canterbury; a horrid man took -me away in the middle of the night, but M. le Chevalier de la -Vireville came after me, and he—well, I do not know what he did -to that man, but we went away in the middle of the night again -from Abbeville, and were in a ship, and a postchaise, and a small -boat, and it was very cold, and a shot hit M. le Chevalier on the -head, and we hid in a cave, and then we were in a forest in -Brittany—there they wear such strange clothes, Papa—and then in -another ship, and at Jersey, and after that——"</p> - -<p>"Good God!" exclaimed the Marquis, rather pale. And he sat down -in a chair with the traveller still in his arms. "Now tell me -everything from the beginning, Anne, and not so fast. . . ."</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>M. de Flavigny heard it all again that evening from a narrator -much more moved than the first had been—principal actor though -that narrator was as well. Mr. Elphinstone was indeed so overcome -with self-condemnation for having allowed himself to be duped, -and the child to depart, that it was his son-in-law who had to -comfort him. In the end the old gentleman registered a firm vow -never to take any more French lads into his household from motives -of charity.</p> - -<p>"But I felt so sure that I had heard you mention the name of de -Chaulnes, René," he said in justification. "And she seemed, that -old she-devil, really to have known your family. For you say that -the incident of your being lost in a quarry as a boy is true?"</p> - -<p>His son-in-law nodded thoughtfully. "She must have got hold of -it somehow—though one would have thought that some fictitious -adventure of my youth would have served as well. But I never -remember to have heard my parents mention the name."</p> - -<p>"M. de la Vireville implied that it was not their own," murmured -the old man.</p> - -<p>"I think he knows more about them than I do," said René.</p> - -<p>"They were gone, at any rate, by the time I got a warrant out -against them, as he prophesied in his letter that they would be."</p> - -<p>"You have heard from him then!" ejaculated the Marquis. "Where -is he, sir? Have I no chance of thanking him in person?"</p> - -<p>"I am afraid not," said Mr. Elphinstone. "I would give a thousand -pounds to do it. But, after all, what are thanks?"</p> - -<p>"All that Fortuné would accept," said the Marquis quickly. "On -my soul, I don't know which has moved me more, Anne's danger or -<em>his</em> courage, address, and uncalled-for devotion. . . . But where -is he, and what of this letter?"</p> - -<p>"I believe," said Mr. Elphinstone, taking a paper from his desk, -"that he is either in Jersey or back among his Chouans in Brittany. -The letter, such as it is, he sent by Mr. Tollemache."</p> - -<p class="letter">"'I herewith return to you, sir,'" read René de Flavigny, "'my -charming travelling-companion, by the hand of a young man who -is, I suspect, as unused to acting the nursemaid as I was myself -a few days ago. I fear that Anne's apparel is not as Mme. -Saunders would wish to find it, but there was not time for -my mother completely to repair it, as I could see that she -was aching to do. I think that the child is mercifully none -the worse for his experiences, and I, for my part, am eternally -your debtor for allowing me to go after him.</p> - -<p class="letter">"'I return also, by the kindness of the same gentleman, the -residue of the sum which you entrusted to me for my mission—not -so large a balance as I could wish, but it was not possible to -conduct our tour on less expensive lines.</p> - -<p class="letter">"'Tell René, when he returns, that I hope to meet him, at no -distant date, with a contingent of the persons whose appearance -and attire has, I believe, made a deep impression upon Anne.</p> - -<p class="letter">"'I wager that you have already found the nest at Canterbury -empty.—Believe me, sir, yours—and particularly Anne's—always -to command,</p> - -<p class="rightalign">"'C. M. TH. F. DE LA VIREVILLE.'"</p> - -<p>"I shall meet him, as he says," said René de Flavigny, laying down -the letter, "in France, when the sword is drawn. I went to see Mr. -Windham directly I got back to London this morning. Preparations -for the expedition are already advancing, and it will start in a -few weeks' time."</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone looked at the enthusiasm in his face. Once again, -then, that fatal shore was going to take a member of his family -from him. And would it, this time, yield up its prey?</p> - -<p>"You are going to enlist in it, I suppose?" he said sadly.</p> - -<p>"I have already done so," replied the young man, his eyes shining. -"At least, I have this morning given in my name to the Comte de -Puisaye as a volunteer."</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>A few days after his father's return from a mission which did not -seem to have had any very tangible results, Anne-Hilarion, following -the example of his grandfather, definitely decided to write his -memoirs—a project which had been in his head since his own homecoming. -And since Mr. Elphinstone, a good draughtsman, was embellishing his -reminiscences with delicate sepia drawings of Indian scenes and -monuments, from sketches made on the spot, Anne-Hilarion resolved -that his too should have pictures—reconstructed in this case -entirely from memory.</p> - -<p>There were other difficult points to be settled. As, were these -annals to be written in a copy-book or upon loose sheets of paper? -The former was finally chosen, owing to the necessity of lines to -one whose pen did not always move in a uniform direction. Then, -were the records to be couched in French or English? After much -thought and discussion the diarist came to the conclusion, probably -unique in the history of autobiography, that the portion dealing -with his adventures in France was to be written in the Gallic -tongue, his doings in England in the English.</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone had done all in his power to encourage his small -imitator, and had bought him a box of paints for the purposes -of illustration which, in the first onset of delirious joy, had -caused the child entirely to forsake, for the time being, the -more laborious travail of the pen, and to cover his grandfather's -table with drawings of ships of no known rig, and renderings of La -Vireville's person which his worst enemy would not have recognised. -Mr. Elphinstone's reasons for this course were not far to seek. The -dark day of his son-in-law's departure for the shores of France was -drawing nearer more quickly than the former had at first anticipated, -and the old man hoped that when it had become an accomplished fact, -the new occupation would serve in a measure to absorb and distract -Anne-Hilarion. He and the Marquis alike had forborne to cast a -shadow on the child, so recently restored to them, by telling him -how short a time was his with his father. For René de Flavigny -was to join his regiment on the twelfth of June, and May was now -half over.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>And so, as late as June the sixth, a fine warm afternoon, the -diarist, who had not yet been told, was walking in St. James's -Park with his father, discussing the project which, near though -it was to his heart, had not as yet greatly advanced. It was their -last walk together, but only one of them guessed that.</p> - -<p>They stood a moment by the lake, where, later on, Anne proposed -to feed the wildfowl. At present literary cares were too absorbing.</p> - -<p>"I wish that M. le Chevalier were here, Papa," he observed. "You -see, I cannot remember the days of the month in France."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the Marquis rather absently, "it is a pity he is not -here to help you." For of La Vireville, since the day when he and -Anne had parted at St. Helier, not a sign.</p> - -<p>"And then there is another thing, Papa," resumed Anne. "I cannot -remember anything about the time when I was born."</p> - -<p>"That is not expected in a memoir, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon enfant,</span>" replied his father. -"You state the fact, that is all. You know when your birthday comes."</p> - -<p>"Yes," assented Anne. "And that part must be in French, because -I was born in France. '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Je suis né le 14 juillet 1789, au château -de Flavigny.</span>' You will tell me about that, Papa—about the château?"</p> - -<p>The young Frenchman did not answer for a moment. In place of the -ordered verdure of the London park, the lake, and the wildfowl, -there rose before his eyes the pointed roofs over the sea, the -fountains, the terraces, and Janet with the sunlight on her hair. . . .</p> - -<p>"Yes, I will tell you . . . some day," he said quietly. "Meanwhile -you could begin, could you not? with what you remember in England. -And for the present, don't you think, Anne, that you would like -to feed the ducks?"</p> - -<p>Rummaging in a pocket, his small son produced a paper of crumbs, -which, even before he could open it, was espied and loudly commented -upon by one of the denizens of the lake.</p> - -<p>"Oh, there's one coming already!" ejaculated Anne. "Do not be -in such a hurry, duck! Papa, I can't get this open. Please!" He -tendered the packet to his father.</p> - -<p>However, the expectant Muscovy drake at the edge of the water -was destined to disappointment, for just as de Flavigny took the -little parcel, Anne's attention was diverted to something widely -different. He gave a sudden exclamation of pleasure and surprise.</p> - -<p>"Papa, there is M. le Lieutenant coming—who brought me home from -Jersey, you know!" It was so. Along the path, the sun glinting on -his gold lace, accompanied by a fair damsel in cherry-coloured -muslin with a white Leghorn bonnet, Mr. Francis Tollemache of -H.M.S. <i class="name">Pomone</i> advanced towards the same goal.</p> - -<p>"May I speak to him, Papa?" inquired Anne earnestly.</p> - -<p>"Do, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon fils,</span> and make me acquainted with him," said the Marquis. -"I have much to thank him for."</p> - -<p>"Hallo, young 'un!" exclaimed the sailor, as Anne ran towards -the pair. He gravely stooped and shook hands. "Where did you spring -from? Cecilia, let me present the Comte de Flavigny."</p> - -<p>Miss Cecilia, with a smile which was advantageous to her dimples, -followed the example of her escort. "I have heard a great deal -about you," she said to the little boy.</p> - -<p>"You are M. le Lieutenant's sister?" suggested Anne-Hilarion. -But Miss Cecilia, with a laugh and a blush, shook her head, and -before Mr. Tollemache could define her relationship the Marquis -had come up.</p> - -<p>"I must introduce myself," he said with a bow, in English. "I -am Anne's father, Mr. Tollemache, and very glad to have this -opportunity of thanking you for your care of my boy."</p> - -<p>"There is really nothing whatever to thank me for, sir," returned -the young man. "Somebody else did the work and I got the credit—that -is what it amounts to."</p> - -<p>"On the contrary," said Rene de Flavigny courteously. "I have -cause to be deeply grateful to you for your escort and for your -interest in the child. I can assure you," he added, with a smile, -"that he amply returns the latter. I have learnt much in these -last few weeks about life on board a British frigate."</p> - -<p>Mr. Tollemache laughed, and looked at his admirer, to whom his -betrothed was talking a few paces away.</p> - -<p>"You will shortly have the opportunity, I fancy, sir, of making -a more personal acquaintance yourself with the frigate in question. -I don't know anything exactly official, and perhaps I should not -even refer to the rumour, but I think we shall leave Portsmouth -in company very soon."</p> - -<p>The Marquis, lowering his tone, so that his son should not hear, -asked the sailor a few questions. Meanwhile Anne and Cecilia, -laughing together, threw bread liberally upon the waters, and -caused a hasty navigation of wildfowl from all parts.</p> - -<p>A little more conversation, and Mr. Tollemache and his fair one -agreed that they must be going. A dish of tea, it appeared, awaited -their drinking at the house of some elderly aunt in St. James's -Square, and they dared not be late.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, Anne," said Francis Tollemache. "You and I must be -shipmates again some day." And he was, not very wisely, inspired -to add, "I will take good care of your father in France."</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>"What did M. le Lieutenant mean by saying that he would take care -of you in France, Papa?" came the inevitable question, as de -Flavigny knew it would, directly the pair were out of earshot. -"You are not going away <em>again</em>, are you?"</p> - -<p>Perhaps, after all, this was as good a moment as another for -telling the child.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my pigeon," he replied, trying to keep the sadness in his -heart out of his voice. "Look, you have dropped a large crumb on -the path, and that duck wants it."</p> - -<p>But Anne had no thought for ducks now. "Are you going soon?" he -queried, seizing hold of his father's hand.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am afraid so," said René, gripping his fingers.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Papa, why?"</p> - -<p>De Flavigny went down on one knee and put an arm round him. A -flotilla of disgusted argonauts watched his movements. "Because -it is my duty, Anne. You know that the little King is in prison, -and that wicked men have taken the throne away from him. But we -owe him allegiance just the same. You remember, when you were at -the meeting in April in Grandpapa's dining-room, where you sat on -M. de la Vireville's knee, how we talked about an expedition to -France? This is the expedition, and I must go with it, to fight -for the King—a little boy like you, Anne—and you must let me -go." His voice shook a trifle.</p> - -<p>The slow tears gathered in Anne-Hilarion's eyes and coursed down -his cheeks. Dropping his last bit of bread, he laid his head -against his father's breast, as the latter knelt there by the -lake. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Je ne peux pas le supporter,</span>" he said.</p> - -<p>The Marquis thought that they could both bear it better if he -carried him home, and did so—at least, to nearly the top of -Bond Street.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>"I have had to tell the child," he said to his father-in-law when -they got back.</p> - -<p>"I thought you had done so," returned the old gentleman with -melancholy. "Perhaps it is as well. I have a feeling that you -may be summoned even earlier than you think."</p> - -<p>He was right. About seven o'clock that evening his son-in-law -came to him in the library, an open missive in his hand.</p> - -<p>"It is obvious that you possess the gift of second-sight, sir," -he said, with a rather forced gaiety. "It has come, as you predicted, -earlier than I expected."</p> - -<p>"What, the summons already!" exclaimed Mr. Elphinstone, starting -from his chair.</p> - -<p>René nodded. "I must go immediately—to-night, directly I can -get my valise packed. It is almost in readiness," he added.</p> - -<p>"But why so suddenly?"</p> - -<p>"I look to you, sir, with your gift of prophecy, to tell me that," -said René, with a smile. "There is no reason given; but I must -be at Southampton to-morrow afternoon."</p> - -<p>"You will have time for supper?" queried the old man, his hand -on the bell-pull.</p> - -<p>It was a sad, hurried little meal on which Janet Elphinstone and -her deerhound looked down. Neither of the men spoke much, or ate -much either. At last the Marquis, looking at his watch, got up.</p> - -<p>"If you will excuse me, sir, I will go and say goodbye to Anne now."</p> - -<p>At the sound of his carefully-controlled voice Mr. Elphinstone -almost broke down. "Oh, René, René, if only you need not!"</p> - -<p>Very erect, at the other end of the table, the young man wore a -look which was doubtless on the faces of those of his kin who had -mounted the guillotine, as they went to death. He had, indeed, -for what he was about to do, almost as much need of courage as they.</p> - -<p>"God knows," he answered, "that I would give everything in the world -not to leave him." He looked up for a moment at the child-portrait -on the wall. "I think Jeannette too knows that. He is all I -have—except my honour."</p> - -<p>"And you must sacrifice him to that?"</p> - -<p>"Would you have it the other way round, sir?"</p> - -<p>"No—no! I don't think so . . ." gulped the old man. "Go, then. . . ."</p> - -<p>But as the door shut behind his son-in-law he sank back in his chair -and put his hand over his eyes. First Janet, then Anne-Hilarion, -then René—France had taken them all, and only the child had been -given back. René, he felt sure, would never return.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>The night-light was already burning, though there was yet daylight -in the room, when the Marquis came in to take farewell of all he -loved best on earth. He drew back the gay chintz curtains and stood -looking down on the treasure above all treasures which Jeannette -had committed to him, and which now he was going to forsake. For, -like his father-in-law, he felt that he should not return.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion was sound asleep, one flushed cheek on his hand, -after his custom, his hair tumbled, and his lips parted in the -utter abandonment of childish slumber. What a pity to wake him! -De Flavigny all but yielded to the impulse just to kiss him and -to steal quietly out of the room. But he knew that the boy would -fret afterwards if he went away without farewell. So with a heavy -heart he stooped over him and spoke his name.</p> - -<p>"Is it you, M. le Chevalier?" murmured Anne sleepily. "Oh, I was -dreaming that I was in France. . . . What is it, Papa?"</p> - -<p>"Shall I take a message from you to the Chevalier?" suggested -René, catching at this opening and trying to smile.</p> - -<p>Anne was still only partially awake. "Yes," he said drowsily. -"Tell him that I want to show him my new goldfish . . . and tell -him to come back soon to England. . . ." The words began to tail -off into sleep again. So much the better. The Marquis knelt down -and gave him a long kiss.</p> - -<p>"Good-bye, my darling, my darling!" he whispered.</p> - -<p>And instantly Anne was fully aroused. "Papa! you are not going -<em>now</em>—to-night?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said his father. "I start for Southampton to-night. Kiss -me, my son, and be a good boy while I am away—and a brave one now!"</p> - -<p>But really it was he—as he felt—who had need of courage then, -for next moment, releasing his hold of the child, as he knelt -there, he himself had buried his face in the coverlet.</p> - -<h2>BOOK THREE<br /> - -<small>THE ROAD THAT FEW RETURNED ON</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">They waded through red blude to the knee;</div> -<div class="verse">For a' the blude that's shed on the earth</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Rins thro' the springs o' that countrie."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap"><cite>Thomas the Rhymer.</cite></p> - -<h3 id="c22">CHAPTER XXII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">"To Noroway, To Noroway"</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">From the quarterdeck of His Britannic Majesty's frigate <i class="name">Pomone</i>, -which had recently come to anchor in the wide and placid bay of -Quiberon, Mr. Francis Tollemache gazed with interest on that portion -of the southern coast of Brittany which lay before him. The June -evening was calm and foggy, but not sufficiently so as to obscure -the nearer land. In front of the observer was the low, sandy shore -of Carnac; to the right the deeply indented coast, scarcely seen, -broke into inlets and islands till, passing the narrow mouth of -that surprising inland sea, the Morbihan, which gave its name to -the department, it swept round into the peninsula of Rhuis. But on -Mr. Tollemache's left hand, much nearer, curved the long, thin, -sickle-blade of the peninsula of Quiberon, with its tiny villages, -its meagre stone-walled fields, and its abundant windmills. About -two-thirds of the way up, at the narrowest part of the blade, the -threatening mass of Fort Penthièvre looked out on the one side over -the tranquil waters of the bay, on the other over the tormented open -sea, the '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mer sauvage,</span>' that broke against the very rocks on which -the fortress was built. And to this long natural breakwater was due -the shelter of that ample beach at Carnac, indeed the spacious -harbourage of the bay itself, where now the present squadron and -its transports rode in comfort this twenty-fifth of June.</p> - -<p>For the long-talked-of Government expedition had really sailed, and -the surmise made by Mr. Tollemache to the Marquis de Flavigny that -afternoon in St. James's Park had proved entirely correct. Not only -did his ship, the <i class="name">Pomone</i>, form part of the convoying force, but -she flew the flag of the commodore himself, that sterling sailor -and gentleman, Sir John Borlase Warren. Under his command there -had left Southampton on the sixteenth of the month a squadron -comprising two seventy-fours, the <i class="name">Thunderer</i> and the <i class="name">Robust</i>, -and seven vessels of lesser armament, which flotilla had the task -of convoying transports containing three thousand five hundred -French Royalists, all kinds of stores and uniforms, muskets to the -number of twenty-seven thousand, and ammunition to match. And it -was in vain that the Brest fleet, under Villaret-Joyeuse, had -tried to cut them off from the coast of France.</p> - -<p>As Mr. Tollemache, his telescope under his arm, thus gazed at -their destination—for he understood that the landing, which the -British would cover, but in which they would not participate, was -to take place on the easy sands of Carnac—it occurred to him, -tolerably free though he was from the curse of imagination, that -the unfortunate devils of Frenchies whom they were convoying must -feel rather queerish at seeing their native shores again. They were -in fact crowded now on the decks of the transports, gazing at the -coast through the mist and the failing daylight. M. de Flavigny, -for instance, that little boy's father, he was probably there, -doing the same, poor beggar . . . just like the two leaders of the -expedition here on the quarterdeck of the flagship. Out of the -corner of his eye the young lieutenant could see them, talking to -the commodore; the strutting, self-important, irascible little man -in the uniform of the troops in English pay, the Comte d'Hervilly, -and the would-be organiser of the Chouannerie, the Comte de Puisaye, -tall, awkward, and enigmatic. From what Francis Tollemache had seen -of these individuals during the voyage he had not formed a very -high opinion of their capacity. There did not seem to be much harmony -between them either, and their authority was strangely divided, for -d'Hervilly, who held an English commission, was supposed to be in -command when the troops were at sea, and Puisaye when they were -landed. For this extraordinary arrangement Mr. Tollemache had heard -that My Lords of the Admiralty were to blame, and he thought the -plan very foolish.</p> - -<p>He was to be confirmed in this opinion. That night it fell to him, -as officer of the watch, to witness the arrival up the side of the -<i class="name">Pomone</i>, from a tiny boat, of two Chouan chiefs, the Chevalier de -Tinténiac and the Comte du Boisberthelot, gentlemen of title arrayed -in dirty Breton costumes. As a matter of fact the young man had seen -them before, for they had boarded the frigate at Southampton before -she sailed, but he hardly recognised them now. They brought, so he -later understood, good accounts of the disposition of the countryside, -where all the peasantry were ready to rise, undertook to 'sweep' -the coast, and strongly pressed an immediate disembarkation. And -immediately the fruits of the divided command were made manifest: -the Comte de Puisaye and Sir John Warren were for following this -advice, but, since d'Hervilly objected, they had to give way to -the needless precaution of a reconnaissance, on which he insisted. -So next morning, at daybreak, the young sailor saw him embark in a -cutter and make a majestic tour of the bay—a proceeding which had -no effect save that of delaying the landing for twenty-four hours.</p> - -<p>"And," as Mr. Tollemache observed later in the wardroom to a friend, -"why give the beggars on shore longer warning of our arrival than -we need? They are not blind, I suppose; this little collection -can hardly be invisible to the crew in the fort over there, for -instance! Land 'em at once, say I!"</p> - -<p>The friend drew at his pipe. "Wish we were landing a party too -eh, Tollemache?"</p> - -<p>"Well, <em>we</em> aren't getting any fun for our money! I confess I would -rather like to have a smack at the sans-culottes before we leave. -Do you think the fellows we are landing have much of a chance, -Carleton?"</p> - -<p>"Devilish little, I should say," replied his laconic companion, -and knocked out his pipe.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>"Surely it must be a good omen!" thought René de Flavigny that -night, where he sat, with the other officers of the regiment to -which he was attached—du Dresnay's—in the flat-bottomed boat -approaching Carnac beach. For everything to-night—or rather, this -morning, since it was two o'clock—was made resplendent by the -glorious moon which seemed to be riding the heavens on purpose -to welcome these exiles in arms to the land of their birth. Behind -the steadily advancing boats the hulls of the English squadron -lay almost motionless on the breast of an unrippled sea of argent, -in front the wide, pale sands of Carnac stretched like a magic -band of silver. Yes, surely it was a good omen!</p> - -<p>Oh, if only some day his little son too could come back to the land -of his fathers, in no hostile or furtive fashion, but openly, as -of right—and if he might be with him too! Or might his own death -avail, if need were, to bring Anne there before he grew old! Such -was René de Flavigny's prayer in that speaking radiance. And the -sight of that shore and the beauty of the night itself made him -think also. If only one were not coming with a sword against one's -mother! There stole back to him too the remembrance of the day when -he had pointed out the oncoming shores of France to Jeannette—a -bride—and then of the day when they had left them behind in their -flight—the last time she was ever to see them. Yes, when last he had -looked on France she had been in his arms, and Anne in hers. . . .</p> - -<p>De Flavigny's meditations were suddenly checked. Orders were being -shouted; the boats came to a standstill on the silver tide. And, -peering forward, René could make out the cause.</p> - -<p>Drawn up on the beach in the moonlight was a small body of Republican -troops. Their white breeches and facings and cross-belts were -clearly visible. Between the shore and the now stationary craft -with their load were slipping the flotilla's half-dozen gunboats.</p> - -<p>"Oh, why are we not there!" sighed a young officer sitting by the -Marquis, bringing his hand sharply down on his knee.</p> - -<p>But before the English sailors could fire a shot the Blues began -to draw off in haste, and from the mainland behind them came the -rattle of musketry. The Chouans there were evidently driving out -the small Republican garrisons before them—sweeping the coast, -in short, as they had undertaken.</p> - -<p>"First blood to the Bretons!" said the young officer, with envy -in his tones. René felt some consolation in reflecting that La -Vireville had probably had a share in that honour.</p> - -<p>He began to talk to his companion as the boats resumed their shoreward -course. There was time enough indeed for any amount of conversation -before either of them set foot on the beach, for the régiment du -Dresnay was in the second detachment, and the first had yet to be -landed—the regiment of Loyal-Emigrant, mostly veterans from Flanders, -and d'Hervilly's own regiment, once Royal-Louis, the numbers of -which had been made up, most unwisely, by drafts from the French -Republican prisoners in England.</p> - -<p>But at last their turn came, and to cries of "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Vive le Roi</span>" and -the roll of drums du Dresnay's colours were unfurled, and, when -they were near enough, many an émigré jumped into the water and -waded to land. In du Dresnay many were actually Bretons, and for -them the shore in front of them was not only France, but their -own sacred corner of France, and several of them, when they reached -it, dropped on their knees and kissed the wet sand.</p> - -<p>René de Flavigny did not do that, but it was not for want of emotion, -for his heart was swelling painfully as he stood at last on the -earth that had borne him. "It is France, France!" he said to himself, -hardly believing it. And then he was swallowed up in the intense -excitement reigning on the beach, where two or three bands of the -victorious Chouans had suddenly streamed down upon the regiments of -the first detachment, embracing their compatriots and declaring that -the whole countryside was theirs—and filling some of the correctly -uniformed newcomers with surprise at their strange appearance. Even -their officers were little better clad. De Flavigny's eyes lit upon -one of these—a French gentleman from Jersey—and beheld a figure -attired in a little green vest, short breeches of the same, with -bare legs covered with mud, burst shoes, a three months' beard, and -a perfect armoury of weapons. But where was Fortuné? Had he been -delayed, or met with some mishap?</p> - -<p>And the scene became still more confused and further charged with -emotions, for there were now arriving not Chouans, but the peaceful -inhabitants of the districts round, bringing cattle, and carts loaded -with provisions, and all eager to help disembark the ammunition and -the cannon, and insisting on carrying through the water, on their -shoulders, those <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span> who had not yet reached shore. The noise and -tumult were indescribable, and at last, to complete the reception, -there advanced on to the beach, singing as they came, a procession -of priests preceded by crosses and the banners of their parishes.</p> - -<p>It was at these last that the Marquis was gazing, wondering for -the first time why the saintly old Bishop of Dol, Monseigneur de -Hercé, whom they had brought with them, had not been landed with -his ecclesiastics, when a hand fell on his shoulder, and he found -himself looking into the face of La Vireville, bronzed and not -overclean, his hair falling loose on his shoulders in the Breton -manner—differentiated indeed from his men only by his high boots -and the white scarf that crossed his breast.</p> - -<p>De Flavigny seized him by the wrists. "At last, at last, I am able -to thank you, Fortuné!"</p> - -<p>But the Chouan wrenched a hand free and put it over the Marquis's -mouth.</p> - -<p>"Don't speak of that now, as you love me, René! It is past history, -and we have more important matters to occupy us. And as for thanks, -it is I who owe them to you, as responsible for the child's -existence. . . . Is he well?"</p> - -<p>If the young man was not allowed to speak his thanks, he could -look them, there on the sandy beach amid the excited throng, the -east on fire with the coming day, and his friend's hand in his. -"I was to tell you, if I had the chance to meet you, that he had -got a new goldfish in place of the one he left at Canterbury, and -that he hopes to show it to you—some day."</p> - -<p>La Vireville smiled. "He shall bring it to France."</p> - -<p>"And show it to the little King at Versailles," interposed de -Flavigny, "when we have put him into his own again!"</p> - -<p>All the amusement died out of the Chouan's face. "You have not -heard then?"</p> - -<p>"What!" asked Rene in alarm.</p> - -<p>La Vireville took off his shabby, wide-brimmed hat. "Louis XVII. is -dead . . . he died before you sailed, on the eighth of June. I have -not long known it—my men do not know it yet. The Comte de Provence -will have to be proclaimed here. The Bretons, who know nothing of -him, will probably murmur. That poor child was often spoken of -amongst them, whereas the Regent—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Bon Dieu</span>, what is happening!"</p> - -<p>They both turned. At a little distance, where the new muskets -were being distributed to the Chouans, a sergeant of d'Hervilly's -regiment was having an argument of more than words with two or three -Bretons who had evidently precipitated themselves on to these new -possessions more quickly than he liked. Into the disturbance there -now entered a Chouan of Herculean proportions, presumably a leader, -who, seconded in his efforts by a young man of twenty with the face -of a girl, began driving off the excited gars with the butt-end -of a musket.</p> - -<p>"That is Georges Cadoudal and his friend Mercier la Vendée," -observed La Vireville. "Those must be his own Morbihannais that -he is disciplining!"</p> - -<p>He looked on rather amused, but suddenly his face clouded. The -Comte d'Hervilly had unfortunately hurried to the scene, and began -to rate the two Chouan leaders in no measured terms. The gigantic -Cadoudal—brutal, adored, and bravest of the brave—restrained -himself with evident difficulty, and finally went off, the little -figure of d'Hervilly following him with gesticulations. Meanwhile, -amid shouts of laughter, the sergeant and the too impetuous Bretons -were suddenly reconciled.</p> - -<p>La Vireville shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"I cannot congratulate you, René, on your leaders! That man d'Hervilly -is incompetent and ridiculous; Heaven send he do not make a mess -of everything! And as for Puisaye, who fancies himself the man to -stand in La Rouërie's shoes and to head the Chouannerie—I know -something of him and of his intrigues in Jersey. Well, I must be -getting back to my men over there, lest Grain d'Orge is letting -them also acquire firearms too quickly. Au revoir, my friend; I -trust not to be away more than a few days."</p> - -<p>"You are going then—but where?"</p> - -<p>"I am going to help Tinténiac and du Boisberthelot drive the -Blues out of Auray and Landévant. When I return I hope to see the -fleur-de-lys on Fort Penthièvre over there. Au revoir!"</p> - -<p>He wrung the Marquis's hand and departed, and René watched his tall -figure making its way through the scarlet-clad ranks of émigrés -(whose uniforms seemed to many of them to smack too much of English -patronage) ere he himself turned away.</p> - -<h3 id="c23">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Displeasure of "Monsieur Augustin"</span></small></h3> - -<p class="noindent">In a little wood to the south of Auray, and in an exceedingly bad -temper, the Chevalier de la Vireville sat on a fallen tree and -surveyed his small band of Chouans, who, lying, seated or crouched -round him on their heels, looked at him with the expression of -dogs who know that they deserve a beating—though wearing, indeed, -the appearance of dogs who have already received one.</p> - -<p>It was the evening of the third of July, six days after the landing -at Carnac. During those days Auray and Landévant had already been -taken by the Chouans and abandoned again for lack of support. Last -night had come peremptory orders from Carnac that they were to -be retaken; so the Comte du Boisberthelot and La Vireville had -set out at eleven that morning, without a single piece of artillery, -to recapture Auray, which was garrisoned by a thousand men under -the Republican adjutant-general Mermet. At the same time Tinténiac, -although he knew the task to be impossible, had attacked Landévant.</p> - -<p>Mermet's sentries were not on the alert, and so the Comte du -Boisberthelot, who was a sailor, came charging in at the head of -his men by the route de l'Eglise, and drove out the Republicans. -But outside the town was Hoche himself, who ordered them to retake -it at any price. Mermet, in obeying this order, fell into the neat -ambush which La Vireville had prepared for him in a copse by the -Faubourg St. Goustan, and his column was on the point of breaking -up in disorder when Hoche came quickly up with his grenadiers -and two pieces of artillery. To stop his advance—a hopeless attempt -it was—La Vireville transferred himself and his Bretons to the -bridge into the town, cast up a barricade with carts and casks -and beams, and could probably have held this obstacle for a long -time against hand-to-hand fighting, or if he had possessed the -smallest piece of artillery. It was the want of that which had -caused him to grind his teeth as his men fired and reloaded and -fired behind the rapidly vanishing barricade, their own numbers -dwindling in proportion. For it was Hoche who had the cannon.</p> - -<p>So he and his Chouans were driven from their position, and, penned -into the square by the church, were mown down by grapeshot till -he got them out of the town, when, in order to cover the wounded -du Boisberthelot's retreat to Locmaria, they returned to the -guerrilla fighting to which they were most accustomed, lying -hidden in the broom and picking off their men with the skill of -poachers. Unfortunately the Republican artillery discovered them -there also. . . . Nothing that La Vireville could say or do would -stop them this time; their abandonment of the position became a -rout, whose track was strewn with discarded sabots and knapsacks -and even with muskets. The émigré himself, swearing and furious, -was swept away on the flood, and finally, at dusk, fugitives and -leader found themselves in this little wood, not much more than a -coppice, but safe enough from pursuit, where the former had time -to draw breath and to reflect, and the latter to get rid of some -of the bitter anger and disgust which had prompted him, at first, -to leave them to their own devices and return alone to sell his -life at Auray.</p> - -<p>He took another look round his dejected followers, and propped -his head between his fists, his elbows on his knees, to think. -He knew that he could get these fierce and childlike natures in -hand again—that, ashamed and penitent, they were, in fact, already -in the desired condition. He had no right, after all, to be hard -on them for the shortcomings of others. It was not their fault -that they had no artillery, and that help had not been sent from -the émigré regiments at Carnac. Moreover, his men had done no -worse than the rest, for a rumour was already afoot that Tinténiac, -the reckless and irresistible, had been beaten back from Landévant, -and that Vauban with his supporting force of Chouans had fared -no better.</p> - -<p>Seeing his chief's attitude, Grain d'Orge, looking more than ever -ruffianly by reason of the filthy rag round his head, rose from -the ground and softly approached him.</p> - -<p>"Monsieur Augustin is not wounded?"</p> - -<p>"Si," retorted La Vireville without moving. "In my pride."</p> - -<p>An uncomfortable silence. Grain d'Orge rubbed his bristly chin.</p> - -<p>"If only the general had helped us a little," he grumbled. "If -some of those fine uniforms we saw at Carnac——"</p> - -<p>"If only we had had a gun——" said another.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps if we had prayed more to Ste. Anne," suggested a third, -thinking of the famous shrine of that saint so dear to all Bretons, -just outside Auray.</p> - -<p>La Vireville heard the last remark. He lifted his head.</p> - -<p>"On the contrary," he observed bitingly, "I should recommend a -little less rosary and a little more attention to simple military -duties. Where is the sentry I posted by that hedge a short time -ago?—Tudieu, this is a shooting matter!"</p> - -<p>Springing to his feet, he went over to the hedge in question, -where indeed no sentry was visible. But he was there for all -that . . . only the shooting seemed to have been done already.</p> - -<p>"He was hit at the barricade," said the croaking voice of Grain -d'Orge in La Vireville's ear as he stooped over the prostrate man.</p> - -<p>"Then why the devil didn't he say so!" retorted his leader. "Give -me a hand, someone, and let us find out what is the matter with -him. Ah, I see; fortunately nothing very serious."</p> - -<p>And having duly played the part of surgeon—a part to which he -was not unaccustomed—set another man at the fallen sentry's post, -and made some further dispositions, La Vireville stood a moment -looking through the tree-trunks towards Carnac, a little south -of the dying sunset, wondering what was happening in the peninsula -of Quiberon.</p> - -<p>"And what shall we do next, Monsieur Augustin?" asked a voice rather -timidly, the voice of Le Goffic.</p> - -<p>La Vireville turned round. "I suppose, my children," he said, more -kindly, "that unless M. d'Allègre holds Locmaria we shall have -to go back to Carnac and tell the general that we have not been -able to do what we were told to do. For the present, we will wait -here till morning."</p> - -<p>"If Monsieur Augustin would sleep a little . . .?" One or two of -them had spread an old cloak under a tree, and now with gestures -invited him to repose. They were like children; it was impossible -to be long angry with them. So he went and lay down on the cloak, -to find that in spite of disgust and anxiety he was ready to sleep. -His new sentinel by the hedge, his musket leaning against him, was -telling his beads, and all his men, directly he lay down, lowered -their voices. He was drowsy, and floated away on a half-dream to -Jersey. . . . Why on earth were they talking of Anne-Hilarion?</p> - -<p>"The little one, thou seest, when he was with us at Kerdronan, how -he was like the little Jesus Himself!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, one looked to see His Mother round every corner."</p> - -<p>"And as for him," said the first speaker, indicating his recumbent -leader, "he might have been St. Joseph!" But at this comparison -La Vireville was shaken with irreverent mirth.</p> - -<p>He began to be more drowsy. Grain d'Orge was saying something -about Carhoët—he could not catch what. But the mention of the -name brought back the swarm of little memories that clung round -it, that had had their birth in so small a space of hours. His -foot was healed, the business of leader of that division passed -on, at his request, to someone else, but he had not forgotten -Mme. de Guéfontaine. On the contrary, he had found himself often -thinking of her during the few weeks that had elapsed since she -had made her somewhat sensational entry into his experience. He -was aware now of the sleepy conviction that she ought to have had -some part in this adventure—not indeed in the present sorry episode -of defeat, but in the landing the other night under the moon. Or -she might have stood, at daybreak, holding aloft the banner with -the lilies on the prow of one of those incoming boats. . . . She -would, surely, have been in her element. . . .</p> - -<p>Then, with the rattle of beads and the murmur of the Ave Maria -in his ears, La Vireville went off into slumber, and dreamt -that Mr. Tollemache, whom he believed to be in the English flotilla, -was telling Mr. Elphinstone (the latter in a cocked hat and -epaulettes) by the barricade at Auray, that it had been arranged -for the English soldiers to land, and the Frenchmen to man the -English ships. But, Anne-Hilarion appearing suddenly in a boat, -and signifying that he wished to have Grain d'Orge for a nurse -instead of Elspeth, the conversation became entirely occupied with -this startling proposal—which did not, however, strike La Vireville -in his dream as being anything out of the common.</p> - -<h3 id="c24">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Creeping Fate</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="letter noindent">"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon cher beaupère,</span>" wrote the Marquis de Flavigny, "my former -letter (if you ever get it, which I should think doubtful) -will have told you of the incidents of our landing at Carnac. -I have now to inform you that we are in complete possession -of the peninsula of Quiberon, the fort which commands it having -surrendered, on being summoned, three days ago. In consequence -all the émigré regiments have left their temporary quarters -on the mainland, round Carnac, and are bivouacked in the peninsula -itself. I myself write actually in Fort Penthièvre, and at this -very moment I hear the sound of pick and spade, for the engineers, -who have hopes, they say, of making it into another Gibraltar, -are hard at work this morning throwing up fresh entrenchments."</p> - -<p>The young man broke off, and looked down from the embrasure of the -surrendered fort, where he was sitting, at the work to which he -had just referred. For three days, as he had said, the fleur-de-lys -had floated over Fort Penthièvre, having been hoisted there, in -fact, on the very day of the failure of the Chouan attack on Auray. -What wonder if the enheartened Royalists had toasted the future that -night, in the poor little villages scattered among the stone-encircled -fields, or that they saw in a bright vision not only the restored -splendours of Versailles—the triumph of a cause—but the tourelles -of the château or the little manoir, long in alien hands, which -they had left for poverty and exile . . . recovered homes where now, -after all, their children and their children's children might play.</p> - -<p>But to-day the white and gold standard hung in heavy, listless -folds from the flagstaff, for it was a hot, close morning, of the -kind that saps the energies and is tinged besides with a suggestion -of unpleasant auguries, the sensation of waiting for something -to happen, one knows not what. . . . A scarcely visible sun sent -down a surprising heat, and haze lay over the sea on either side. -Even the throb of the Atlantic sounded sullen and remote, for -all its nearness.</p> - -<p>René de Flavigny, who was sensible to atmospheric conditions, felt -a fresh welling up within him of a vague uneasiness that had been -his all morning, an uneasiness which the two or three other little -groups of officers, mostly engineers, on the platform of the fort -did not appear to be sharing. Instead of going on with his letter to -his father-in-law he allowed himself to wander off into speculations -and apprehensions which could scarcely with prudence have been -committed to paper. He thought bitterly, regretfully, of the insane -jealousies and incompetence of the Comtes de Puisaye and d'Hervilly, -which, during the past days of inaction, had been growing more -manifest every hour. And why had there been those days of inaction? -Why was he, an officer in an émigré regiment, sitting idly here -in safety on the peninsula writing a letter, when they all knew -that the Chouans whom they had not been allowed to support had -been beaten off from Auray, and were, if reports were to be trusted, -faring none too well in other portions of the mainland? What madness -possessed the generals to keep them, regiments in the main of -trained men, doing nothing, while the irregular peasant levies -were pitted against the now reinforced Republican garrisons of -the interior? It was surely all too probable that these, gathering -in force, would utterly crush the brave but undisciplined guerrilla -troops. In that case, what of Fortuné de la Vireville, who had -gone off so gaily with his Bretons ten days ago?</p> - -<p>The Marquis got up from the embrasure, and, despite the heat, -began to pace up and down. Surely the proper course was to push -on into the interior, while the dismay which their coming had -undoubtedly spread amongst the Blues was still fresh, and before -the latter had time to discover that the Royalist invaders were -numerically not so strong as they had imagined. Puisaye indeed -was credited with the desire for such a course, but, owing to -the equivocal instructions of the English Government, his will -was not paramount. It was quite true that their present position -was strong; this very fortress on whose upper works he now meditated -formed an almost impregnable defence to the amazingly narrow -entrance of the lower part of the peninsula, and out there, half -seen in the haze, was the friendly English squadron to protect -them against any attack by sea on their rear. But René and his -friends were all impatient to do something more than merely create, -in this favourable position, a dépôt for supplies with which to -replenish the Royalists of the interior. Why, in God's name, did -they not press on, and strike while the iron was hot . . . and -why also had they not with them a French prince of the blood? Of -what use to say that the Comte d'Artois was following? He was -wanted now!</p> - -<p>M. de Flavigny tried to put a term to his impatient thoughts, and, -sitting down again, attempted to go on with his letter to Mr. -Elphinstone, keeping it free of indiscreet criticisms. But his -head was too full of these inopportune questionings; they threatened -to find an outlet by means of his fingers, and that would never -do. So he took a fresh sheet of paper, and began a letter to his -son, telling him under what circumstances he had met his friend -the Chevalier, how he had even, he believed, set eyes on the famous -Grain d'Orge of whom the child had talked so much, how——</p> - -<p>He had got so far when he heard a sudden violent exclamation burst -simultaneously from a couple of officers talking near him. Jumping -up, he, like them, looked hastily over the nearest parapet.</p> - -<p>The sandy waste between the fort and the mainland had miraculously -become alive with quickly moving figures, groups of people running -towards the fort in the greatest disorder. René could hardly believe -his eyes. Children, women, old men, cattle, carts laden with household -goods, on they came, a confused horde streaming down the top of -the peninsula like affrighted locusts. It was only too clear what -had happened—the Chouans, left without support, had been driven -from their untenable positions, and were even now falling back on -Quiberon, while before them poured the panic-struck inhabitants -of the villages round, terrified at the prospect of being left at -the mercy of the victorious Blues. As they came nearer, it was -obvious that there were flying Chouans also in that advancing flood.</p> - -<p>"Good God!" exclaimed the Comte de Contades, Puisaye's chief of -staff, hurrying past, "they will take us by assault! There are -only fifty men on guard. M. d'Hervilly must be informed at once!"</p> - -<p>René watched, horrified and fascinated, from the embrasure. As yet -there was no sign of an enemy—only this panting multitude full of -one desire, to find safety. And soon some of the younger and more -agile fugitives were swarming unchecked over the palisades of the -newly erected entrenchments, clambering up the counterscarps of -the fort itself. They clung weeping round the legs of the officers -whom they encountered, having completely lost their heads; and in -the midst of the confusion arrived the Comte d'Hervilly, who seemed -as completely to have lost his. At any rate he was in his usual -state of ineffective irritation.</p> - -<p>"In God's name, get rid of all these people!" de Flavigny heard -him cry, striking out right and left. But thousands of terrified -fugitives were not so easily to be disposed of, especially when -all the passages were blocked up by the carts which they had brought -with them. And on d'Hervilly's sending for the régiment du Dresnay -to come in haste and turn them out, he learnt that his command could -not be at once obeyed, since the regiment was dispersed securing -provisions. The mixture of calamity and farce reached its climax -when some of the invading fugitives cried out, "There are the -Blues!" on which all who possessed muskets instantly fired them -off in every direction, to the no small danger of everybody else. -In fact, the Comte de Vauban, an officer of high rank, who was at -the bottom of the revetments at the moment, had only just time -to save himself by throwing himself off his horse.</p> - -<p>At last appeared, marching in good order, the Chouans of Tinténiac -and Cadoudal, who had not broken, then their rearguard, and finally, -a good distance behind, a hundred or so of Republican sharpshooters. -A salvo from the fort dispersed these latter, and mingled with -its echoes came the sound of the drums of du Dresnay, arriving to -bring some order into this scene of confusion. And thus, at last, -the crowd of fugitives was expelled, and driven down towards the -southern extremity of the peninsula.</p> - -<p>During all this affair the Comte de Puisaye sat very composedly -at his dinner.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>When René de Flavigny was able to get free of the fort, thus carried -by its own defenders, he went anxiously in search of his friend -among the Chouan troops. He found him, but too busy to do more -than exchange a word with him.</p> - -<p>"Hoche attacked all along our line with about thirteen thousand -men," said La Vireville, wiping the sweat off his forehead with -the back of his hand. "Ouf, what an infernal day for a retreat! -Well, I am afraid we have brought you no welcome present in all -these useless mouths!"</p> - -<p>"Why, oh why, were we not allowed to come to your support!" cried -the Marquis.</p> - -<p>La Vireville shrugged his shoulders. "Why indeed! At any rate I -see the lilies, as I had hoped, blooming on Fort Penthièvre. Only -the gardener, you know, is not far off. . . ."</p> - -<p>Indeed, every émigré knew by nightfall that the victorious Republicans -had established themselves in the important position of Ste. Barbe, -a village which commanded the entry into the peninsula, where they -could be seen feverishly working at entrenching themselves. The -invaders were in danger of being penned, like trapped creatures, -into that tongue of land on which they had attained a foothold.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>The Marquis de Flavigny never sent his unfinished letters to -England. If he had completed them they would not have been very -pleasant reading. Even the Comte d'Hervilly realised the disastrous -consequences of being shut into Quiberon. The night after the -influx of the fugitives he attacked the Republicans (who were taken -by surprise), pushed his onset up to their very outworks, lost -his head, and abandoned the attack, for no apparent reason, just -at the very moment of success. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quem Deus vult perdere</i> . . .</p> - -<p>After that abortive attack on Ste. Barbe things went quickly from -bad to worse. The sixth of July had been on all counts an unmitigated -disaster; the Chouan defeat did not fail to have a bad moral effect -on the Bretons of the interior, and the useless mouths, as La -Vireville had only too truly called them, brought the number of -souls on the narrow strip of land up to fourteen thousand. It -became a difficulty to feed the refugees; and most of them were -not of the slightest military value. Old men, women, and children, -they had to subsist as best they were able, shelterless, and cooking -what they could get on fires of dung and seaweed. And even the -Chouans were sullen and discontented; it was hard to make them -work at the entrenchments with any zeal, and if they were reproached -with their idleness they invariably replied that they had had -nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. In fact, a small ration of -salt meat and biscuit did seem insufficient to a peasant accustomed -to more solid nourishment. The Comte de Puisaye, indeed, announced -in the order of the day that he wished the brave Chouans, those -dauntless supporters of the altar and the throne, to be particularly -well treated, but as, this order once promulgated, he took no steps -whatever to see that it was carried out, it frequently happened -that the supporters of the altar and the throne went very hungry.</p> - -<p>The Chouans of the Chevalier de la Vireville's little band, however, -never suffered from that particular privation; their leader saw -to that. How he managed it, by what system of combined begging, -storming, and cajoling, the young Le Goffic knew, but to de Flavigny -it was a marvel how he contrived to procure rations for them. The -two friends did not very often meet, for though de Flavigny, who -was only attached to the régiment du Dresnay, had more leisure -than most officers, La Vireville, whose men called for constant -attention of a kind that disciplined troops hardly needed, had -less. Yet, curiously enough, in those few days of breathing-space, -while the Royalists were awaiting the moment for another attempt -to free themselves of the snare in which Hoche held them, when -the young Republican general indeed was writing, with cruel and -justified metaphor, "The enemies are in the rat-trap, and I with -divers cats at the door of it."—in those days, when every man's -private affairs had sunk into relative unimportance, de Flavigny -was to learn that concerning his comrade's personal history which, -in spite of occasional speculation, he had never really sought -to know. He was, in fact, himself an agent in the chance encounter—if -there be such a thing—which brought about the disclosure.</p> - -<p>It befell as follows: One afternoon, de Flavigny, who was billeted -with some other gentlemen of like standing with himself in a cottage -in the tiny village of Clouarnet, found himself in his quarters -with a couple of these, and, in addition, an officer whom they had -brought with them, a M. de St. Four, of the régiment de la marine, -usually known, from the name of its colonel, as the regiment d'Hector. -M. de St. Four was a person of agreeable address and appearance, -about forty years of age, who, when younger, had evidently been -very handsome. He had, it seemed, already '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chouanné</span>' a little -in southern Brittany under Cadoudal.</p> - -<p>The Marquis was standing talking to the newcomer by the big, -projecting, smoke-blackened hearth, when a tall figure suddenly -darkened the doorway of the cottage.</p> - -<p>"Is M. de Flavigny within?" it inquired, and René recognised the -voice as La Vireville's.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am here. Do you want me, Fortuné?" he asked, turning round -from the hearth. The visitor did the same. And, as La Vireville -stooped his head to enter, it occurred to de Flavigny to introduce -him and St. Four, Chouans both of them.</p> - -<p>"Let me make you and this gentleman known to each other first," -he began. "M. de St. Four of the régiment d'Hector, M. le Chevalier -de la Vire——"</p> - -<p>The name died on his lips. La Vireville's eyes were not on him -at all, but on the stranger, yet the look he wore was enough to -slay instantly any attempt at introduction. The naked hatred and -contempt on his face seemed to have frozen equally the other man -and himself; then, after two or three seconds of an intolerable -silence, he turned without a word and walked straight out of -the cottage.</p> - -<p>The two other witnesses of this scene were also stricken dumb. -M. de St. Four was the first to recover himself. He gave an uneasy -laugh. De Flavigny, overwhelmed by the suddenness and inexplicability -of the incident, began to stammer out some apology.</p> - -<p>"It is of no consequence, Monsieur," said St. Four, shrugging his -shoulders. "Your friend does not wish to know me, that is all." -And he made an attempt to resume their conversation where it had -been broken off, but, as was hardly surprising, without any marked -success, and shortly afterwards he took his leave. De Flavigny -also, as soon as he could, made an excuse to the others, and went -in search of his friend.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>La Vireville was not at his quarters, and it took some half-hour's -search before the Marquis found him, sitting on a rock that faced -the Atlantic on the side of the '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mer sauvage,</span>' his chin on his -clenched fists, staring out to sea.</p> - -<p>At the sound of a step he turned round, and showed de Flavigny a -face no longer, at least, like the Medusa's mask.</p> - -<p>"Have you come for an apology, René? I owe you one, I admit."</p> - -<p>"No; it is for me to apologise," said the Marquis, stepping on -to the rock. "But I did not know——"</p> - -<p>"Of course you did not. How could you? Fate is pleased to be humorous, -but you could not realise to what degree. It was something of a -pity that you could not." He laughed, a hard, mirthless laugh, -and tearing off a piece of dried seaweed from the rock on which -he sat, cast it towards the waves. The wind carried it away.</p> - -<p>De Flavigny sat down by him. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon ami,</span> the last thing I wish to do -is to pry into your affairs. I can only repeat that I am exceedingly -sorry I was so clumsy as to cause you pain, and that, since his -presence is displeasing to you, I will make it my care, as far -as I can, that you do not meet the gentleman in question again."</p> - -<p>"I don't suppose," said Fortuné de la Vireville between his teeth, -"that he will seek for a repetition of the interview."</p> - -<p>He looked out to sea again in silence. René glanced at his set -mouth. His friendship was of too recent a date for him to know -much of La Vireville's private history, but he, like others, had -heard the rumour of a tragedy in his past, and he guessed that -he now stood on its threshold. He was silent, while the sea, all -a-sparkle in the sun, came splashing in a little below them, and -the gulls, uttering their fine-weather chuckle, sailed slantwise -in the wind.</p> - -<p>"I never thought I should see him again," said La Vireville to -himself, after a moment "—least of all here." And he pulled off -another piece of seaweed and examined it minutely.</p> - -<p>"You need never come into contact with him," repeated the Marquis.</p> - -<p>"A woman asked me not long ago," observed La Vireville inconsequently, -still examining the seaweed, "whether I could readily forgive a -mortal injury. I told her . . . the truth. Yes, by God, it was -the truth! . . . I think you have never had cause to hate anyone -overmuch, René? Destiny, perhaps"—his face softened for a moment -as he glanced at him—"but not a man—nor a woman."</p> - -<p>"No," answered the Marquis. And he added, "Thank God!"</p> - -<p>La Vireville threw him another glance, satirical this time. "Your -pious ejaculation is quite justified. It is not an emotion to -cultivate. Well, I suppose I ought to return to my flock, having -sat on this promontory long enough." He dropped the piece of seaweed -carefully into a pool. "Where is . . . your protégé gone to?"</p> - -<p>"Back to his regiment, I presume," answered de Flavigny. "Hector -is quartered at Port Haliguen, as you know." He hesitated, then -laid his hand on the Chouan's shoulder. "Fortuné, my dear friend, -forgive me for saying it, but if you meet him again you will not -quarrel with him? After all, every man here——"</p> - -<p>La Vireville's face hardened again as he broke in. "My dear René, -I know perfectly well what you are going to say. Private enmities -must be sunk for the common weal, is it not? I assure you I am -fully of your opinion. And, to reassure your scrupulous mind, -let me tell you that M. de St. Four and I settled our score in -that way ten years ago. You see that mark?" He touched his cheek. -"That is the proof of it. Come, let us go back." He scrambled to -his feet, and Rene de Flavigny followed him.</p> - -<h3 id="c25">CHAPTER XXV<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">History of a Scar</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">The gods, however, had not finished amusing themselves with the -situation they had brought about, and planned an improvement on -it. The very next day La Vireville was summoned to d'Hervilly's -headquarters.</p> - -<p>He found the general alone, in a room in a little house in Quiberon -village, whose comfortable furniture, of English make, had obviously -appeared there synchronously with its present occupant. The walls -were impressively studded with maps, plans, and diagrams; the -greatest military leader could not have got more of these into a -smaller space. Unfortunately, La Vireville knew that M. d'Hervilly -had never seen a shot fired until he came to Quiberon.</p> - -<p>"I have sent for you, Monsieur," said the general, with the English -accent that he always affected, "because I have come to the conclusion -that the Chouan commanders who remain on the peninsula must have -an officer from one of the émigré regiments attached to their corps -to act as aide-de-camp, and, if necessary, as <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">officier de liaison.</span> -I conceive that this plan will give more homogeneity to our forces, -especially in view of the attack we shall shortly be making on the -Republican position at Ste. Barbe."</p> - -<p>He looked at the Chouan commander in question with angry eyes, as -though both anticipating a criticism he would instantly resent, and -demanding an approval he would consider impertinent. La Vireville -lifted his eyebrows a trifle, and said nothing, but amid the surprise -and distaste which this announcement roused in him he was visited -by a consoling thought. The general could impose one of his nominees -on him, but could not ensure his making use of that nominee unless -he wished. Perhaps, too, he could ask for de Flavigny in that -capacity.</p> - -<p>"I have naturally selected for this post," went on d'Hervilly, -"gentlemen who have some acquaintance with the Chouan methods of -warfare. As you may imagine, this considerably restricts my choice. -Your aide-de-camp, as we may call him, will be"—he turned to a -list on the table—"an officer who has spent some weeks with the -Chouans of the Morbihan—M. de St. Four of the régiment d'Hector."</p> - -<p>His hearer suddenly clenched his hands.</p> - -<p>"Well, M. de la Vireville?"</p> - -<p>"You cannot, I suppose, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon général,</span>" said the émigré, speaking with -great deliberation, "consider individual preferences in this matter?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly not, sir," snapped d'Hervilly. And he added, not -unreasonably, "For one thing, I have no more suitable candidates -available." With a tapping forefinger he drew the objector's -attention to the scored-out list, whereon his name and his worst -enemy's figured alone, the last of their respective columns.</p> - -<p>"Very good, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon général,</span>" said La Vireville impassively. "And what -do you want me to do with this gentleman who has spent some weeks -in the Morbihan when I have got him?"</p> - -<p>D'Hervilly glanced at him sharply, but except that the tone was -certainly not obsequious he could find nothing to take hold of. -"I will tell you," he said; and proceeded to give a short summary -of the duties which he expected the Chouan to assign to this new -subordinate, ending by saying pompously, "And in view of the fact -that when we attack Ste. Barbe I shall probably put most of the -Chouan troops with Hector on the right wing, it will be very valuable -to you to have an officer of Hector as your aide-de-camp."</p> - -<p>"Certainly," agreed La Vireville. "And I am sure that I shall -find M. de St. Four's services valuable in every respect. As soon, -therefore, as you see fit to send him to me, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon général,</span> I shall -be ready to give him his instructions. May I ask if you have -already informed him of his appointment?"</p> - -<p>"No, not yet," replied d'Hervilly, running a pen through the two -names. "That will do, M. de la Vireville."</p> - -<p>But, happening to look up as La Vireville was saluting and turning -away, he suddenly thumped the table and demanded in a furious voice, -"What are you smiling like that for, sir?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville committed the military and social breach of going -out without answering.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>About two hours afterwards, Charles le Goffic, former law-student, -clad, as usual, in Breton costume, with an officer in English -uniform behind him, knocked upon the door of a shed in the Chouan -cantonments at St. Pierre, at the lower end of the peninsula, and, -receiving a command to enter, did so. Inside were a trestle table, -a couple of chairs, a bed of dried seaweed, and La Vireville.</p> - -<p>"Monsieur Augustin," said Le Goffic, "here is M. le Capitaine de -St. Four, sent by the Général Comte d'Hervilly."</p> - -<p>His leader, seated at the table in this his headquarters, looked -up from his writing.</p> - -<p>"I will see him at once," said he. "Be sure that the door is shut, -Charles, and put a sentry outside."</p> - -<p>And so Fortuné de la Vireville's one-time best friend, who had done -him the worst injury, almost, that one man can do another, came in -and saluted him, and they confronted one another as they had done -ten years ago, when the scar on La Vireville's face was a bright -wound. But if the thought of that meeting was in both their minds, -La Vireville at least gave no sign of it. Standing by the table he -punctiliously returned the newcomer's salute.</p> - -<p>"I am glad to see you, M. de St. Four," he said, in level tones, "so -that we can settle the little matter of our relations to each other -at the outset, and have done with it. We shall almost certainly be -attacking the Republican position in a day or two, therefore it is -as well to have them defined, if only for that reason."</p> - -<p>"You can disembarrass yourself of me then," said the other, in a -scarcely audible voice.</p> - -<p>La Vireville shook his head. "If you are going to have those ideas -we shall never get on. As you may imagine, this situation is none -of my seeking, as I am sure it is none of yours. But since we are -now in an official relation to each other, I should wish, for the -sake of our common aim, to behave to you exactly as I should to -any other officer who had been assigned to me in this capacity. -If I am always to feel that you are expecting to be treated as -Uriah was treated by David, the state of affairs will become very -difficult. Of course, I quite understand that you suspect me of -such a design . . . though you must admit that I should not stand -to gain, now, what David gained by it." A flash of bitter mockery -passed over his face, and, brief as it was, seemed to sear the -other's into agony.</p> - -<p>"Yes!" he broke out passionately, "if you lost, I lost too! A -year was all I had—and for that I threw away my honour—and your -friendship. And then I in my turn was thrown away. God! God!" He -turned away, shaking.</p> - -<p>La Vireville stood like a statue, as he had stood all along, his -finger-tips just resting on the table. His eyes indeed followed -St. Four, who went at last to the little window, and stood by it -with his back to him, pulling at a piece of loose planking. But -the life in them was of an icy quality, and when he spoke it was -as if the other man's outburst had never been.</p> - -<p>"I am making for you, Monsieur," he said, "a memorandum of what -the general tells me I may expect of you. I regret that it is not -ready, but M. d'Hervilly somewhat sprang this upon me. My lieutenant, -Le Goffic, will show you your quarters. That is all for the present." -He sat down again at the table, and pulling his papers towards -him bent over them.</p> - -<p>St. Four stopped fidgetting with the woodwork and turned round. -But he did not go. On the contrary, he came a little nearer, and -spoke, not without dignity. "La Vireville, you were generous once. -I acknowledge it. You gave me my life. . . . Is it any solace to -you to know that I have often wished you had not made me that gift? -I am not surprised that you would not take my hand. But is it -possible that some day . . . for the sake of the cause, and because, -as you know, I have suffered too . . . horribly . . . you might -be able to forgive me, Fortuné?"</p> - -<p>"I am not aware, Monsieur," returned La Vireville without looking -up, "that I have authorised you to use my Christian name. There -is, however, no objection to your calling me Augustin, as my men do. -You will find Le Goffic outside."</p> - -<p>And St. Four, making a hopeless gesture, turned and went out without -a word. La Vireville looked after him a moment, dipped his pen in -the ink, and resumed his writing.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>That evening, as he was eating his solitary meal by the light -of a candle stuck in a bottle, René de Flavigny suddenly appeared -in the doorway of the shed.</p> - -<p>"Come in, my friend," cried the Chouan cheerfully. "Are you proposing -to share my modest repast?"</p> - -<p>"No," replied the Marquis, entering. "I only came to ask you if -this extraordinary report is true, and that the general has given -you M. de St. Four, of all men, as an aide-de-camp?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, it is quite true," replied La Vireville composedly. "I have -seen M. d'Hervilly and I have seen St. Four—quite a peaceable -interview, the latter, on my honour. Have some of this cheese, -Marquis!"</p> - -<p>"But—but it is intolerable!" stammered de Flavigny, sinking into -the other chair.</p> - -<p>"What—the cheese? Not at all; it is English. Try it!"</p> - -<p>René looked at him, but could gather nothing. The single candle -by his friend's elbow, ineffectual at its best in that dark place, -flickered woefully in the strong draught. The Marquis had left the -door of the shed ajar, and through it came, on the wind that smelt -of seaweed, the sound that day and night was ever in their ears—the -eternal recurrent plunge and retreat of the tide—and the glint of -stars. He got up, shut it, and came back.</p> - -<p>"Fortuné, what are you going to do with him?"</p> - -<p>"Set him in the forefront of the battle, of course!"</p> - -<p>This statement was to de Flavigny not susceptible of belief, though -the speaker's smile in the now steadied candlelight was enough to -give it credibility.</p> - -<p>"At least, that is what he seems to expect," went on La Vireville, -proceeding also with his meal. "And surely I could not do better -than emulate the Psalmist King. I am sorry I have no wine to offer -you, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon ami.</span> Perhaps you have already supped, however. By the -way, have you heard anything about the approaching arrival of a -fresh division of émigré troops—Sombreuil's?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have heard something," answered the Marquis absently. "I -see that you do not want to speak of this business, Fortuné; you -must forgive me for having referred to it."</p> - -<p>La Vireville laid down his knife. "On the contrary, I am minded to -tell you once for all why I do not find M. de St. Four's company -congenial. Figure to yourself, my dear René, that ten years ago -he ran off with my affianced wife."</p> - -<p>"Bon Dieu!"</p> - -<p>"It has occurred before in the history of the world," said La -Vireville coolly and with a curling lip—sneering at himself, so -de Flavigny thought. "Only he happened to be my best friend. That, -as you may guess, made it much more . . . interesting. Also, it -was but the day before my marriage. Now you know why I did not fall -into his arms a short time ago when you wanted me to."</p> - -<p>Beyond the fact that he was unusually pale, one thing alone betrayed -that he was on the rack—his voice. Not that it was unsteady. René -was almost as much in torture as he, but it seemed best to follow -his lead and avoid at least the expression of emotion.</p> - -<p>"You called him out?" he hazarded after a moment, thinking of the -scar whose half-revealed history was now clear to him.</p> - -<p>La Vireville nodded. "He gave me this memento, as I told you the -other day." He poured out some cider, and added, "As for me, I was -fool enough to fire in the air."</p> - -<p>"You loved—<em>her</em>—as much as that!" cried the Marquis before he -could stop himself.</p> - -<p>The little remaining colour ebbed slowly from La Vireville's face, -and, like a palimpsest, all the suffering written below its sardonic -gaiety was abruptly visible. He did not answer, and René, ashamed -to have unveiled it, put his own hand over his eyes as if to shade -them from the candle. "He loves her still," he said to himself.</p> - -<p>La Vireville suddenly laughed, and the sound made his companion jump.</p> - -<p>"I might as well have shot him after all," he said, with cold levity.</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"She left him after a year for another man. Dramatic justice, was -it not?—and a lesson to me always to follow my first impulses! -But I have bored you with my affairs long enough. As I have no -wine, will you drink a glass of cider? There is little variety of -vintage on this damned peninsula."</p> - -<p>But René de Flavigny refused and, rising, flung his cloak about -him. La Vireville surely was better alone. He longed to ask if -the woman were still alive, but dared not.</p> - -<p>La Vireville's face, however, was an enigma once more. He took the -Marquis's outstretched hand across the table.</p> - -<p>"You, at least, cannot betray me in that way. I am not affianced -now!" he said; and with that bitter jest, which René pardoned for -the pain still alive in the speaker's eyes, they parted.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Going back in the summer starlight, thinking of what had just -passed, he overtook another officer of the régiment du Dresnay, -also returning from St. Pierre.</p> - -<p>"Have you heard," asked the latter, "that the attack is fixed for -the night of the fifteenth?"</p> - -<p>"But there is a fresh division on its way," objected de Flavigny—"the -regiments with the black cockade. D'Hervilly will wait for them, of -course."</p> - -<p>His companion put his hand on his arm. "Young Sombreuil, who is -in command, is senior in the English service to d'Hervilly."</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"D'Hervilly will find that he cannot wait for them!"</p> - -<p>"I cannot believe that!" exclaimed the Marquis, shocked.</p> - -<p>"You will see," said his brother officer.</p> - -<h3 id="c26">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Ste. Barbe—and Afterwards</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Just as on the day when he had first entered the cottage in Clouarnet -village to look for his friend, and had met his deadly foe, so now -Fortuné de la Vireville stood hesitating on the same threshold, -because he feared to find, already in possession, a Foe more deadly -still. As on that day, too, it seemed dark within, coming from -the brilliant sunshine outside. Was that why he put his hand for -a moment over his eyes?</p> - -<p>On the floor by the wall, at the left of the door, under a cloak, -could be dimly seen the figure of an officer, lying very still. -Another sat by the empty hearth with his head between his hands. -Fortuné straightened himself, went in, and touched the man by the -hearth on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>And René de Flavigny lifted the face of one who has come from a -great distance, across centuries of time, and saw him standing -there, powder-grimed, with sand on his clothes and in his hair, -and carrying his left hand thrust into his short blue embroidered -Breton vest. The sleeve of his coat bore, high up, a dark red stain.</p> - -<p>"I was afraid for you," said La Vireville abruptly and rather -hoarsely. "I knew that your regiment. . . I went to Fort Penthièvre. -I had to step over the wounded, they are lying so thick there. . . . -Well, thank God you are safe!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I am safe," responded de Flavigny, in a dull voice.</p> - -<p>"You are not touched at all?"</p> - -<p>The Marquis shook his head. "What of you?" he asked.</p> - -<p>La Vireville gave a sort of laugh. "Oh, as for us Chouans," he -said, replying in general terms, though he must have known that -the inquiry was particular, "those of us who did not run shared -the fate of Hector, and you know what that fate was. . . . We had -to go back with them under the range of the guns. God alone—if -He—knows what possessed d'Hervilly to give that order. He is -dying, they say——"</p> - -<p>"Your arm!" exclaimed his friend, pointing to it. He seemed incapable -of prolonged speech.</p> - -<p>"Only a flesh wound," replied La Vireville, glancing down at it -indifferently. "A splinter of shell, I think; I was knocked down -by one." He went and looked down at the dead officer by the wall, -and came back without saying anything. "I must get back to what -is left of my men. Poor Le Goffic is badly wounded. I only came -to make sure of your safety, René."</p> - -<p>The Marquis was on his feet now. "But for one thing," said he, -suddenly finding speech, and pointing to the quiet figure under -the cloak, "I would rather be in his place."</p> - -<p>"I can guess what that thing is," returned La Vireville, making -to go; "but though I have no son, like you, to live for, and the -man I have hated so long is dead—I think he saved my life—yet -I want to live . . . for to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"<em>Will there be a to-morrow?</em>" asked the Marquis de Flavigny, -with sombre emphasis.</p> - -<p>La Vireville, who was already half-way to the door, stopped dead, -and turned to face that question.</p> - -<p>"No, René, perhaps not," said he very gravely, and there was a -silence.</p> - -<p>"There is now only the fort between us and Hoche's advance," went -on the Marquis. "If that goes, we shall be swept into the sea."</p> - -<p>"I know," replied the Chouan. He seemed to be waiting still for -something else to be said.</p> - -<p>De Flavigny came up to him and took his hand. "Fortuné, I have -a great favour to ask of you, and I must ask you now, for I have -a presentiment that I shall never have another chance to make -the request."</p> - -<p>"Ask," said his friend.</p> - -<p>"I do not think that I shall ever see England again," went on the -Marquis. "If I do not, and you escape, I want you to promise me to -look after Anne. Don't refuse me, Fortuné! Mr. Elphinstone is an old -man, and when he dies there will be nobody of my blood—nobody of -our nationality even—about the boy, and he is French, and I should -wish him to remain French, although in exile. By my will he inherits -all I have, and nearly all his grandfather's property will eventually -come to him, so he will be well provided for. There is no one in the -world, after his grandfather, to whom I would rather commit him than -you. He is very fond of you—and, Fortuné, he has a kind of claim on -you already, since you did that for him which can never be forgotten, -though you will not allow me even to thank you for it!"</p> - -<p>La Vireville had heard him silently to the end, looking down at -the beaten earth of the cottage floor. "But if we come to final -disaster, which, God knows, seems probable enough," he said quietly, -"it is not likely that I shall see England again either. Not that -I have any special presentiments about my own fate—one soon gets -rid of those <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en chouannant</span>—but because I think, with you, that -we are in a desperate strait. Unless Puisaye, now that d'Hervilly -is dying . . . though I do not believe that Puisaye is the man to -save us. Yet we <em>may</em> beat them off."</p> - -<p>"Will you promise me, then, to do your utmost, if the worst happens, -to save yourself, for Anne's sake, if not for your own? Will you -promise me that, Fortuné?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville looked him in the eyes and gripped the hand he held. -"Yes, I promise you that, René. So it be not inconsistent with -honour, I will do my best to save myself—and if you are killed, -and I live to return, Anne shall be my . . . son."</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>But how far off, how incongruous, in the midst of this welter of -blood and catastrophe, was the thought of that little boy, with -his confiding ways! Outside his own quarters at St. Pierre, Fortuné -met the surgeon who was attending to the Chouan wounded, and, going -in with him, displaced Grain d'Orge, who, looking like a necromancer, -was giving attentions of very doubtful value to the moaning Le -Goffic on his heap of seaweed.</p> - -<p>"Monsieur Augustin," whispered the self-constituted leech, while -the surgeon examined the young Breton, "this is not a good place, -this Quiberon!"</p> - -<p>"Your remark is very just, mon vieux!" returned La Vireville, half -sadly, half humorously. "You are not the first to make it, either. -Do you want to go back to the Côtes-du-Nord? There is the devil -of a deal of fighting before you if you wish to do that."</p> - -<p>"Ma Doué, I am sure of it!" said Grain d'Orge with a chuckle. He -rubbed off some blood, presumably Le Goffic's, from his hands on -to his baggy breeches. "You and I, Monsieur Augustin, have seen -much of that—and of this too," he added, laying a grimy finger -on La Vireville's wounded arm. "And I know that <em>I</em> shall see my -parish again, because the wise woman told me so before I left. -But not many of the others, perhaps."</p> - -<p>A sudden compunction invaded La Vireville. It was his influence -which had led these children of Northern Brittany away from their -homes to perish in what was, to them, almost a foreign land.</p> - -<p>"Listen to me, mon gars," he said. "If ever I give the word for -a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sauve qui peut,</span> for disbandment, in short, remember it is because -I am convinced that each man, separately, has a better chance for -his life than with the rest. If you gained the mainland, it would -be difficult to distinguish any of you from the inhabitants there, -to prove, indeed, that you had ever been in Quiberon at all."</p> - -<p>Grain d'Orge's little eyes twinkled. "That is very true, Monsieur -Augustin. I will remember."</p> - -<p>And La Vireville, as he bent down to hear what the surgeon thought -of Le Goffic, had a conviction that the wise woman had not been -wrong about Grain d'Orge, who, of incorruptible fidelity though -he was, had too much innate cunning not to succeed in saving his -own skin.</p> - -<p>"I think he will do," said the surgeon, and gave directions. "The -rest—ah, but what have you there yourself, Monsieur? We will have -your coat off at once, if you please!"</p> - -<p>"I am not made of porcelain," protested La Vireville. "I know what -it is—a flesh wound merely. I want my men all seen to first."</p> - -<p>But to this the surgeon only responded by starting to slit up the -stained sleeve himself.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Shortly afterwards, when his wound had been probed and dressed, -and he found himself set, by the surgeon's orders, to sit a little -beside Le Goffic, La Vireville had time to think—or rather, the -scenes and sensations with which his brain was spinning began to -unroll themselves before him again.</p> - -<p>And first, he was marching with his men over the sand and coarse -grass up towards Ste. Barbe. It was one o'clock in the morning, -and very dark. Six hundred Chouans they were altogether, with the -other bodies of the same composition, and, as d'Hervilly had told -him it would be, they were on the extreme right of the émigré -regiments. The régiment d'Hector—the régiment de la Marine—was -next them, on their left.</p> - -<p>The sand, fine and white, muffled their footfalls, light, in any -case, as became those of intermittent poachers. Just behind La -Vireville was St. Four, who never spoke, in his British uniform. -But La Vireville had not thought of him; his brain had been busy -with what they were doing, or hoping to do.</p> - -<p>And hope, indeed, had obstacles to surmount. Where, for instance, -were the large bodies of Chouans under Tinténiac and another, who -had been despatched several days ago into the interior for the -purpose of attacking Ste. Barbe simultaneously from the rear? To -anyone who knew Tinténiac as La Vireville did, their non-appearance -was very strange. They might yet come up in time. If they did not, -then d'Hervilly's refusal to postpone the attack for twenty-four -hours in order to allow of the landing of Sombreuil's division—still -out there in their transports in the bay—was deprived of its only -justification.</p> - -<p>They marched on. Far away the fires of the Republican bivouacs were -visible through the darkness, at the foot of the rising ground -of Ste. Barbe. . . .</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>The scene shifted. It was dawn now. They were still advancing, having -passed the Republican outposts with scarcely a struggle, for the -enemy, acting no doubt on instructions, had abandoned them and had -fallen back on the strong entrenched camp. In that uncompromising -light of dawn La Vireville could see how strong they were—a long -line of entrenchments with two redoubts and several batteries, -bristling with four-pounders, and well provided with heavy guns and -mortars. And he knew instinctively that his Chouans were casting -sidelong glances at those sinister black mouths. It was not the -kind of thing that they liked or were accustomed to.</p> - -<p>But he also perceived, with a leap of the heart, that there was a -much better thing to be done than attacking these in front. The -tide was out, and for that reason they had only to go on as they -were going, and they could turn the batteries and take them in -the rear. If only d'Hervilly would send orders to that end! For -d'Hervilly was away on the left with his own regiment, while Puisaye, -strangely enough, was with the rearguard.</p> - -<p>He was just thinking of communicating his hopes to St. Four when -orders to halt came down from the head of the combined column, -where the officer in command, a grand seigneur, the Duc de Lévis, -could be seen on his horse. They halted.</p> - -<p>La Vireville turned with a frown to St. Four, and read his own -uneasiness in his enemy's eyes. He nodded, and the officer of -Hector, saluting, disappeared.</p> - -<p>"Are we going to attack now, Monsieur Augustin?" whispered Grain -d'Orge, coming up, carrying his musket in a fashion peculiar to -himself. "The sooner the better."</p> - -<p>La Vireville knew that as well as he. He was quite aware that -you must keep the Chouan on the move, or watching from behind a -hedge—but not in the open, doing nothing, where his thoughts get -too much for him.</p> - -<p>"I expect so," he returned. "Go back to your place."</p> - -<p>Minutes passed. The dawn grew brighter in a pale, clear, tender -sky. The men began to fidget. Then—a relief—the order came to -march on. The column moved on a little, then stopped again.</p> - -<p>Le Goffic came up—he who lay, looking like death, beside him now. -"Monsieur Augustin, the men are getting impatient—that is to say——"</p> - -<p>"Tell them," interrupted La Vireville brutally, "that I have given -you orders to shoot instantly anyone who either stirs now, or who -refuses to stir when he is told to!"</p> - -<p>For he knew what Le Goffic's euphemism meant.</p> - -<p>And then at last St. Four came hurrying back, the sweat on his -face and tears of wrath in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"D'Hervilly is mad—mad!" he gasped. "He is going to attack away -there on the left front by himself—with the left wing only. He -says Hector can 'come on afterwards!' Hector will be wiped out -if they go back now under the fire of the batteries to rejoin the -left wing . . . and so shall we be! But go back they will—there -is nothing else to do. My God, what insanity!"</p> - -<p>If Hector went back, so must the Chouans, or be left in the air. -It was the death-knell of the little irregular force. Both men -knew it, and their faces were very grim as they stared at one -another for a moment. Then La Vireville turned away to give his -orders. So much for the sound, the obvious, plan of attacking -the batteries in the rear!</p> - -<p>Before he had finished, the drums of the régiment d'Hector, on -their left, were beating the charge. . . .</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Le Goffic groaned. His leader got up, and, as well as he could -with one arm in a sling, gave him a drink.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Merci, maman!</span>" said the young man, without opening his eyes.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>There was a depression in the dunes, a sort of corridor between -two little eminences. Every clod of it, every blade of grass against -the young sky, La Vireville could see now if he shut his eyes. For -it was into that little sandy hollow of death, dominated as it -was by three batteries at half-cannon shot, that he and his men -had been obliged to follow the régiment d'Hector.</p> - -<p>For a moment its image, as it rested with him, was blotted out -by the picture of a whirlwind, the flying Chouan column, broken -at the first thunder of the Republican guns. Fortuné saw again -the Duc de Lévis on his horse in the midst of the torrent, trying -vainly to rally the distracted peasants, and literally unable to -keep up with them at the gallop, so fast did they flee. How La -Vireville himself had succeeded in keeping his contingent together -he scarcely knew—yet they <em>had</em> followed him. . . . There was cover -of a sort here, in the ravine, and cover they knew instinctively -how to utilise. But the fire was murderous.</p> - -<p>"Courage, mes gars, this will soon be over, and then we can advance -again!" he had shouted, believing anything but what he had said. -It was worse, far worse, than the cannonade at Auray, but this time -his men could not run. They fell instead, and, raging inwardly, -he had watched one after another go down. . . . At last he saw Le -Goffic throw out his arms and stagger. Hastily he threw down his -empty musket (for he was firing like the rest) to go to him, and -as he did so, heard a cry behind him:</p> - -<p>"Look out, La Vireville, look out!" The voice was St. Four's. -Concurrently there came the whistle of a shell, and Fortuné was -sent reeling a couple of yards forward—the result, as he instantly -realised, of a very rough push from his aide-de-camp. The next -moment there was a violent explosion, and, amid showers of sand, -he was hurled on to his back.</p> - -<p>Half buried in sand and rubbish he struggled as quickly as he could -to his feet, and, rather dazed, looked round. Several of his men -began to run towards him, but his own gaze was fixed on the figure -of St. Four in his red uniform, lying motionless a few yards away. -La Vireville hurried to him. But there was no need of haste, nor -possibility of aid. The back of his head was blown away.</p> - -<p>Whether St. Four had actually saved his life or no, his intention -of doing so seemed clear then to La Vireville, remembering how his -enemy had thrown himself against him when he had heard the shell -coming. He stood a second or two looking down at the man whom he -could not forgive. The brain that had planned and carried out his -betrayal now lay spilt on the sand at his feet. "But that does -not undo what he did?" Who was it had said that? . . . He stooped -and covered the terrible evidence of mortality with his handkerchief, -a red trickle coursing down his own wrist the while. . . .</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Le Goffic in his unconsciousness was moaning and muttering again. -This time it was something about "Yvonne."</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon pauvre gars!</span>" murmured La Vireville, bending over him. "I am -afraid you have your marching orders, whatever the surgeon may say."</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>How had Le Goffic been got here—how had any of them come alive -out of that place, where the sand was pitted with grapeshot like -dust after a thunderstorm? He could hardly tell even now. Long -after the order to retire should have come, the régiment d'Hector -and the little Chouan contingent, both fearfully reduced, had gone -on stoically firing and falling. . . . La Vireville had heard since -that d'Hervilly, the author of the disaster, had given the word -for retirement earlier, but that aide-de-camp after aide-de-camp -to whom it was entrusted had been shot down, and then d'Hervilly -himself received his own mortal wound. And when at last the order -reached them, the régiment d'Hector, whose losses had already been -so great, was obliged to sacrifice its company of cadets, boys of -fifteen and sixteen, before the manœuvre could be carried out.</p> - -<p>Well, somehow they had got out of the slaughter. And, afterwards, -the cost of failure was counted—du Dresnay (René's regiment) -fearfully cut up, its lieutenant-colonel in command killed; -Hector—so valuable a corps by reason of the experienced naval -officers which it contained—reduced to half its effectives; and -in Loyal-Emigrant, out of a hundred and twenty veteran chevaliers -de St. Louis, only forty-five returned from the attack. Other -regiments had been less exposed—but all had suffered. . . .</p> - -<p>La Vireville, still kneeling by Le Goffic, passed his hand over -his eyes as though to wipe away a vision. Seasoned as he was, the -past twelve hours had provided him with rather more in the way -of sensation than he could stomach. St. Four was dead. He himself -had promised, in certain circumstances, to be responsible for -Anne-Hilarion. Lastly, irretrievable disaster was moving swiftly -upon them. There was only Fort Penthièvre, as René had said, between -them and Hoche's advance.</p> - -<p>And, suddenly, a couple of snatches of Anne-Hilarion's favourite -ballad floated up to Fortuné's brain from the region where, all -unconsciously, he must have stored them that afternoon when he -had heard it from the child's lips in the cave by Kerdronan. The -first related to some man, whose name did not revisit him, lying -drowned, fifty fathoms down, 'with the Scots lords at his feet.' -The second brought with it the same picture which it had conjured -up for him then—of the fisherman's young wife waiting in vain, -in her cottage on the shore, for the husband who had been sacrificed, -really, on the same altar as to-day's victims—and to-morrow's.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"O lang, lang may the maidens sit</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Wi' their gowd kames in their hair,</div> -<div class="verse">A-waiting for their ain dear loves!</div> -<div class="verse indent2">For them they'll see nae mair."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>He cast a last look at Le Goffic, and, going to the door of the -shed, went forth into the sunshine and the suffering outside.</p> - -<h3 id="c27">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">La Vireville breaks his Sword</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">The hour when their last defence should fail them was nearer even -than any of the Royalists had imagined. All next day, and the next, -while Sombreuil's contingent—the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span> with the black cockade, -the regiments who had fought side by side with the British in the -Netherlands campaign of 1794-95, and had endured with them the -terrible retreat of that winter—were being disembarked on to a -shore which was all too likely to be their grave, the garrison -of Fort Penthièvre was leaking away to the enemy. And on the night -of the twentieth, a dark night of rain and tempest, three hundred -of Hoche's grenadiers, led by one of these deserters, came creeping, -knee-deep in water, round the base of the fort on the side of the -'<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mer sauvage,</span>' and men of d'Hervilly's own regiment helped them -over the parapet. . . .</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>At half-past one on the morning of the twenty-first of July the -sound of a cannon, indistinctly heard amid the howling of the wind, -came to the ears of the wounded Le Goffic, where he lay wakeful -on his couch of seaweed in the lantern-light. He put out a feverish -hand and touched his leader, stretched out in sleep beside him.</p> - -<p>La Vireville started up instantly. "What is it, my boy? Do you -need anything?"</p> - -<p>"I heard a cannon-shot, Monsieur Augustin," replied the young man -in his weak voice. "It must have been from the fort, I think."</p> - -<p>"Then it is being attacked—or, more probably, surprised," said -Fortuné, reaching for his pistols. Almost at the same moment Grain -d'Orge, a lantern in his hand, appeared in the doorway.</p> - -<p>"The Blues have got the upper part of the fort, Monsieur Augustin," -he shouted. "They are killing everybody inside——"</p> - -<p>"Get the men ready—those that are able-bodied," said La Vireville, -snatching up his sword. "I will be with you in an instant."</p> - -<p>"There is such a cursed wind!" grumbled the Chouan, disappearing -with his lantern.</p> - -<p>La Vireville knelt down by Le Goffic. "Good-bye, Charles! If the -worst come to the worst, and if I do not return, there are plenty -of slightly wounded men here in St. Pierre who can take you off -to the English squadron. I have seen to that already."</p> - -<p>The young man looked up at his leader with undimmed affection and -trust shining out of his sunken eyes, and put his hot hands over -La Vireville's right, that held the sheathed sword.</p> - -<p>"If you do not come back, I would rather have died with you, Monsieur -le Chevalier! Let me fasten on your sword for you . . . you cannot -do it with your arm thus."</p> - -<p>The feeble fingers fumbled with the buckle, but Fortuné, guessing -what the rendering of that last service meant to his young lieutenant, -waited patiently till they had accomplished their task. Then he -stooped down and kissed him, French fashion, on both cheeks.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Outside was darkness, confusion, and violent wind. But his men -were marshalling. Already Vauban's Chouans, in disorder and with -recriminations, were setting out up the peninsula towards the scene -of the fresh disaster.</p> - -<p>"Are all here who should be?" shouted Fortuné in Grain d'Orge's ear.</p> - -<p>The old Chouan held a half-cocked pistol in his other hand. He -nodded. "All but Yannik. He said he would not go, so I——" He -lifted the pistol.</p> - -<p>La Vireville nodded. "Give me the lantern." And with it he went -forward to the little ranks, now pitifully depleted. "Mes gars," he -cried, holding the lantern high, and running his eyes over the rows -of familiar faces, "this is our last chance. We must help retake -the fort. If it is not retaken, all is finished. But listen now. -If I think that to fight any further is useless I shall give the -word—Every man for himself." And he explained, as he had explained -to Grain d'Orge, his reason for this course. "Do you understand, -<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mes enfants,</span> and will you follow me till I give that word?"</p> - -<p>He was not sure that they would. But they had known and trusted -and somewhat feared him long before their recent unforgettable -experiences of artillery outside Auray and at Ste. Barbe. They -shouted back their acquiescence.</p> - -<p>"And then," yelled Grain d'Orge, putting in his word, "if M. Augustin -is pleased with you, he will come back to us at Kerdronan, and we -can go on again with <em>that</em> kind of fighting——"</p> - -<p>"I wish to God that I had never brought them away from Kerdronan," -thought La Vireville, as he turned away and put himself at their head.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>They never reached the fort. The way towards it was blocked with -the fruit of past mistakes, with masses of fugitives—mainly the -dispossessed Bretons of the mainland, that unpropitious flotsam which -the events of July the sixth had swept on to the peninsula—pouring -away from the scene of calamity. The difficulty of struggling with a -handful of men through this flood, all setting in the opposite -direction, was enormous. It was almost impossible to keep together. -However, they fought their way on, their heads down, buffeted by -the wind and by the bodies of the fugitives, physically and morally -disheartened, till at last the light of the wet, cheerless dawn -was strong enough to show, in the distance, the grey bulk of Fort -Penthièvre, looking doubly massive and formidable now that it was -no longer in their hands. For, as La Vireville realised with a -pang no less keen because it was anticipated, the golden lilies -floated there no more. In their stead, flaring defiantly out in the -wind and rain over counterscarp and glacis, was the red, white, and -blue of the Republic.</p> - -<p>"Halt!" cried La Vireville, and remained a moment staring at that -significant sight. Then he called for Grain d'Orge.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mon vieux</span>, the moment has come," he said sadly. "I give the word to -disband. It is not right to sacrifice the rest of the men uselessly. -Remember what I told you about the mainland. Try to get them all -taken off in the boats of the English squadron, which will be -possible if the wind goes down."</p> - -<p>"But you, Monsieur Augustin, what will you do?" asked the old Chouan, -seizing him by the hand. His eyes were glistening in most unfamiliar -fashion, while with his other hand he fumbled inside his embroidered -vest, finally drawing out thence a long, reddish-brown, hairy object, -somewhat shrivelled, and tufted at the end.</p> - -<p>"Take this, Monsieur le Chevalier," he urged, pressing it into his -leader's hand. "It will certainly bring you back safe to Kerdronan. -The wise woman gave it to me."</p> - -<p>"No, no, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon gars,</span>" said La Vireville, rather touched, but not -altogether taken with the appearance of the gift. "Keep it to ensure -your own safety. But . . . what the devil is it?"</p> - -<p>"A cow's tail that has been offered to St. Herbot at his chapel -in Finistère," replied the Breton. "You will not take it, Monsieur -Augustin? It has great virtue."</p> - -<p>But La Vireville was firm in his refusal, and Grain d'Orge, replacing -his talisman, moved off to convey his orders to the already melting -band of Chouans. He came back, however, in a moment or two to repeat -his question.</p> - -<p>"What will you do, Monsieur Augustin?"</p> - -<p>"For the present," replied his leader composedly, "I am going to -offer my sword to anyone here who will accept it."</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>And that was why the Chevalier de la Vireville found himself, half -an hour later, under the command of the Comte de Contades, trying, -with Loyal-Emigrant and the remnants of d'Hervilly's regiment, to -stem the steady advance of Hoche's forces, that outnumbered the -Royalists by three to one. But everything was against them. The -little eminence on which they fell back might well have been defended -had not the Blues already got possession of the park of artillery -at Portivy, which, owing to lack of horses, had not been removed -in time. So they fell back once more, in good order, not a man of -them attempting to join the throngs at Port d'Orange, where the -sick and wounded, and some of the regimental colours, were, despite -the tempest, being embarked on the boats of the English flotilla.</p> - -<p>It was now about four o'clock in the morning, and the rain had -returned to mist. It was in this mist that, still retiring before -the relentless pressure of the Blues, the two regiments came to -the knoll by the hamlet of St. Julien, where the troops of the -second division were quartered under their commander, the young -Comte de Sombreuil, the brother of the heroine of the 'glass of -blood.' Here, on his horse at their head, a gallant figure in his -hussar's dolman of chamois colour faced with red, his high shako -looped about with cords and decorated with the black cockade, -was Sombreuil himself.</p> - -<p>And La Vireville heard him say to Contades, his handsome young -face contracted with pain, "Puisaye told me to remain here, and -Puisaye himself has embarked!"</p> - -<p>For some time Fortuné had been asking himself what had become of -the general-in-chief, and yet the answer, now that it had come, -seemed incredible. But it was confirmed by the lieutenant-colonel -of the régiment de Rohan, when he came up with his men, who had -been ordered to hold the little battery at Port d'Orange, and could -not, because the battery consisted merely of one small cannon -without ammunition or even a gun-carriage. La Vireville began to -see why Puisaye, a moral if not a physical coward, had fled from -a situation which he was incompetent to control, and disasters of -his own making which it was too late to repair.</p> - -<p>There was no time to do more than to curse this extraordinary -defection. The mist was breaking before the full daylight, and -turning once more to rain, as the Comte de Sombreuil took command, -disposing his little force in line, from the régiment de Rohan on -the extreme right, the side of the sea, to du Dresnay (de Flavigny's -regiment) on the left, by the windmill. He threw out, too, a company -of the newcomers in advance, and posted two regiments of them -in the rear. But some of these just-landed corps had not more than -three cartridges to a man; one of the rearguard regiments, in fact, -had none at all until its neighbour shared with it. And they were -not the only bodies either who had to share their ammunition. -Cartridges there were in plenty for all, but their distribution -had not been finished before the surprise of the fort. . . .</p> - -<p>La Vireville, in the ranks of that veteran corps, Loyal-Emigrant, -learnt this fact with a sort of resignation. And what were they -waiting for now? he asked himself. With the brave and disciplined -troops at Sombreuil's command he might well have attacked Humbert's -cautiously advancing column with the bayonet. When he at last -ordered the advance it was too late, for hardly had the émigrés -begun to go forward when an officer, arriving in haste from the -left wing, announced that the soldiers of du Dresnay and d'Hervilly, -after killing some of their officers, had gone over to the enemy. -The Republicans were in possession of the windmill height, and -indeed their guns were already beginning a murderous cannonade from -that eminence. The Royalists had therefore no choice but to beat -a retreat. Word spread that Sombreuil intended to retire to the -Fort Neuf, on the shore south-east of Port Haliguen, and there -surrender upon terms. When La Vireville heard this he made a -grimace, for he happened to know what the 'fort' was like.</p> - -<p>So they began their last withdrawal, still slowly and in good -order, but forced all the time by the lack of cartridges to go -through the bitter farce of taking aim without firing; and were -thus driven gradually down to the extremity of the peninsula and -the sea. The shore was covered with fugitives, mostly peasants -and Chouans, running towards the Fort Neuf or trying desperately -to get a place in the overcrowded boats of the English squadron, -which, despite the high sea that was running, had been hard at -work, but were now being obliged to abandon their efforts. And it -was now that La Vireville, sword in hand—for he could not use a -musket—came suddenly on an officer lying, wrapped about in a -cloak, in a little dip in the sandhills. Two soldiers stood near -him, looking down at him. Fortuné had no time to wonder who it was, -for he saw at once the drawn features of René de Flavigny.</p> - -<p>He stopped and knelt down by him among the coarse grass and the -sea-pinks. On the scarlet of the English tunic, with its black -facings, no blood was visible, but the grey of the Marquis's face -was evidence enough of what had happened. His eyes were closed, -and La Vireville half thought him unconscious.</p> - -<p>"Where are you hit, René?" he asked quietly.</p> - -<p>De Flavigny opened his eyes. "Shot in the back," he said in a faint -voice. "But . . . it would be of no account . . . if only . . . O -my God! It was my own men!" He raised a trembling hand and put -it over his eyes. "O my God!" he said again.</p> - -<p>"You must be got off to the English fleet without delay," said -La Vireville with decision, though his heart sank. "How did you -come here?"</p> - -<p>"We carried him, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon officier,</span>" replied one of the soldiers, coming -forward and saluting, and La Vireville saw that he was a sergeant -of du Dresnay. "We will try to get him into a boat—but it will -be very difficult. They are nearly all gone back to the ships."</p> - -<p>"For God's sake do your best, however!" urged the Chouan.</p> - -<p>"It is useless, Fortuné," whispered de Flavigny. "You see I was -right. Remember your promise. . . . Kiss me . . . and kiss Anne -for me." And, as La Vireville bent and kissed him, he relapsed -into unconsciousness.</p> - -<p>There was not a moment to lose. Already the little group was isolated -between the retiring Royalists and the oncoming Republicans. La -Vireville hastily thrust some money into the soldiers' hands, saw -them raise their insensible burden, picked up his sword, and ran -back to the retreating ranks.</p> - -<h4>(4)</h4> - -<p>And by the crumbling, four-foot walls of the little fort—a veritable -children's citadel of sand—with its one rusty cannon that pointed -seawards, amid the roar of the waves, the cries of the drowning, -and the persistent booming of the guns of the English corvette, -the <i class="name">Lark</i> (which, by firing steadily on the stretch of beach and -sandhills between the defeated and the conquerors, was retarding -rather than averting the inevitable), the last words were written -on the fatal page of Quiberon.</p> - -<p>First of all, from the grenadiers drawn up behind their artillery -among the dunes, where the corvette's fire could not touch them, -came Rouget de Lisle, his scarcely three-years-old immortality upon -him, to parley with Sombreuil. When he went back, Hoche, for the -first time, showed himself, and Sombreuil rode out of the fort to -meet him.</p> - -<p>From just within the low wall La Vireville watched the interview -of the two young soldiers, the victor and the vanquished. No one -of either force was near enough to hear what they said to each -other. But reiterated shouts came from the Republican ranks: "Lay -down your arms, comrades!" "Surrender, and you shall be safe!" The -rain, falling, falling, seemed a fit pall for the broken hopes that -were going down in night, the melancholy cry of the gulls that -wheeled overhead a fit requiem. The golden lilies were in the dust, -and all was vain—ardour and sacrifice and devotion—as vain as the -fury and despair that saw them wither, watered though they were -with the best blood of France.</p> - -<p>Sombreuil came back from his brief interview. It went instantly -through the lines of waiting Royalists that he had bargained with -Hoche for their lives—for all their lives except his own—at the -price of capitulation. And indeed he was heard to say to those who -pressed round him, "My friends, save yourselves, or else surrender!"</p> - -<p>But there was no possibility of saving themselves now. The English -ships, having done all they could, had withdrawn into the middle of -the bay; not a boat was visible. Only the corvette still continued -her stubborn fire. . . . And suddenly the unfortunate young leader -realised that the last door was closed, for La Vireville saw him, in -a paroxysm of despair, strike spurs into his horse and try to force -him over the rocks into the sea—not the only man there to prefer the -Roman ending. But the animal, rearing violently, refused the leap, -and in a moment or two his rider had regained his self-command, had -dismounted, and was attempting, with his handkerchief, to signal the -<i class="name">Lark</i> to cease firing.</p> - -<p>Evidently the signal was not seen, for the corvette's guns still -thundered away at the beach, and Hoche, coming up with the two -'representatives of the people,' Tallien and Blad, in their plumed -head-dresses, seemed to be expostulating with Sombreuil on the point.</p> - -<p>"He says that if a man of his is killed——" reported a youth near -enough to hear, and left the sentence significantly unfinished.</p> - -<p>"A lieutenant of the régiment de la Marine is going to swim off -to the corvette."</p> - -<p>"Then he will be drowned for certain," muttered La Vireville, -turning and looking at that wild sea which must have put an end -to René's last faint chance of escape.</p> - -<p>(But he was wrong about the swimmer, for Gesril du Papeu not only -accomplished his mission, but swam back again—to another kind -of death.)</p> - -<p>And soon to those in the little fort, when the thud and reverberation -of the <i class="name">Lark's</i> cannon had ceased, came insistently that sound which -in all this desperate business had never been absent from their -ears—the great voice of the sea, counting out the hours that were -left, till those ears should be deaf to tide and wind for ever. So, -after all the hours of tension (for it was now nearly one o'clock -in the afternoon), the supreme moment of humiliation and disaster -came at last. Charles de Sombreuil slowly detached his sabre, -half-drew the blade from its sheath, kissed it reverently, and -gave it into Tallien's hands, and Tallien put it into those of -Rouget de Lisle. Then the soldiers surrounded the young hussar, -and he was lost to sight. The expedition to Quiberon was over.</p> - -<p>And as the grenadiers in their blue and white came pouring into the -enclosure of the fort, La Vireville (like not a few others) broke -his sword under his heel and flung it over the wall into the sea.</p> - -<h3 id="c28">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Mr. Tollemache as an Archangel</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">"Grandpapa," said Anne-Hilarion, "please to tell me what is -'ven-al-ity'?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone looked up. "Eh, what, child?"</p> - -<p>"I read in this great book," proceeded Anne-Hilarion, "This -ven-al-ity co-in-cid-ing with the spirit of in-de-pend-ence and -en-cro-ach-ment common to all the Pol-y-gars pro-cur-ed them——"</p> - -<p>"God bless my soul, what book have you got hold of?" demanded -the old man; but before he could pull himself out of his arm-chair -to see, there was a knock at the library door, and Elspeth stood -revealed.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Maister Anne's bedtime,</span>" she observed severely, and stood waiting.</p> - -<p>Almost at the same moment Baptiste appeared at her side, in his -hands a salver, and on the salver a china bowl. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">M. le Comte -mangera-t-il avant de monter, ou dans sa chambre?</span>" he inquired.</p> - -<p>M. le Comte looked from his retainers to his grandfather. His -preference was so clearly visible in his expression that Mr. -Elphinstone, whipping off his spectacles, said:</p> - -<p>"He will have his bread-and-milk down here to-night, Baptiste. -I will ring for you, Elspeth, when he has finished."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Saunders retired, with a tightening of her tight lips, and -the old valet, advancing victoriously, placed the steaming bowl -on the table beside the volume of Orme's <cite>British India</cite> which -had been engaging the child's attention. Anne-Hilarion, who had -screwed himself round in his chair, turned his dangling legs -once more tablewards.</p> - -<p>For a few minutes nothing was heard in the large, book-lined room, -this July evening, but the noise of a spoon stirring the contents -of a bowl, and the old gentleman by the fireless hearth went on -with his reading. But presently the spoon grew slower in its rounds, -and Mr. Elphinstone, looking up, beheld a large silent tear on its -way to join the bread-and-milk.</p> - -<p>"My child, what is the matter?" he exclaimed in dismay. "Is it -too hot?"</p> - -<p>The Comte de Flavigny produced a handkerchief, not too clean. -"I think," he said falteringly, "that I want Papa to-night."</p> - -<p>"My poor lamb!" murmured the old man. "I wish to God that I could -give him to you. See now, my bairn, if you were to bring your bowl -here and sit on Grandpapa's knee?" He held out his arms, and the -small boy slipped from his chair, went to him, and, climbing to -his lap, wept a little silently, while his bread-and-milk steamed -neglected on the table, and the deep frilled muslin collar round -his neck was crumpled, unregarded, against Mr. Elphinstone's breast.</p> - -<p>"I wish I could go to France and see Papa!" said Anne-Hilarion -presently.</p> - -<p>"My lamb!" repeated Mr. Elphinstone, his cheek pressed against -his grandson's head. He did not think it necessary to combat -this aspiration.</p> - -<p>"If M. le Chevalier were here he could find him, Grandpapa. M. -le Chevalier is so clever at finding people, is he not?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed," assented the old man. "But you know, Anne, that -M. le Chevalier too is fighting for the King over there." And he -did not explain that, so far as he knew, it was hardly a question -of 'finding' the Marquis de Flavigny.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion gave a great sigh. "Perhaps M. le Chevalier will come -back with Papa," he suggested. "And I can show him my new goldfish."</p> - -<p>"And your memoirs, my bairn, with all the pictures you have made -of him!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," agreed the artist. "But, Grandpapa, when <em>will</em> they come -back?"</p> - -<p><em>They!</em> Mr. Elphinstone seemed to see a tall figure standing by -the door, with a face full of grief—alone. Of the two men who -shared, in different degrees, this child's heart, one might return, -but it would not be the better loved. Why had he this conviction -about René, if not to prepare him for the reality? He made a great -effort over himself, and said, "They will come back when it pleases -God to send them, my child. Now eat up your bread-and-milk."</p> - -<p>Anne raised a doubtful face. "Perhaps," he objected, "it will not -please God for a very long time."</p> - -<p>"If He sends Papa back in the end, we should not mind waiting -even a very long time, should we?"</p> - -<p>"No-o-o," said the little boy, still dubiously. He got down from -his grandfather's knee, and went slowly back to the table. Yet, -as he gained his chair, by a means peculiar to himself, he murmured -again, "But I <em>should</em> like to see Papa soon."</p> - -<p>And, with his eyes fixed on some vision of his own, he resumed -operations on the contents of his bowl, now somewhat cooled by -time and tears.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>It was not till next day that Anne-Hilarion, sitting on the -window-seat of his nursery, revolving anew the question of seeing -his father, hit upon the idea of consulting M. de Soucy. For M. de -Soucy, lame, as always, from the wound he had received at Thionville -when he fought in the army of the Princes three years ago, had not -been able to join the expedition, and he was still in his lodgings -in Golden Square eking out a living by teaching music. And it -appeared to Anne that M. de Soucy, who had seemed so disappointed -at having to remain behind, might be induced to go, privately as it -were, and to take him, Anne-Hilarion, with him—not, of course, to -fight, but merely to see Papa. They might even see M. le Chevalier -as well. . . . Having already travelled on the Continent, Anne felt -that the actual journey presented few difficulties; but it would, -he supposed, cost money, and the Vicomte de Soucy, ruined by the -Revolution, was very poor. Grandpapa said so, and indeed M. de -Soucy himself, always with a laugh. But if he, Anne-Hilarion, -proposed such an expedition, it was surely his duty to defray its -cost. Could he do this? He had, in his money-box, a crown piece -which would not go through the hole in the lid, and which Grandpapa -had introduced by means less legitimate, means which had revealed -the presence of many other coins in the receptacle. There might -be as much as a guinea there by this time. This wealth was not -exactly accessible to Anne-Hilarion, since he could not open the -repository, but if he went to interview M. de Soucy he could take -the box with him, and doubtless M. le Vicomte would unfasten it.</p> - -<p>The preliminary step was certainly to consult M. de Soucy. But how -was he to do that? How was he to get to Golden Square without the -escort of Elspeth or of Baptiste? Elspeth in particular had, as he -knew only too well, a wary eye and a watchful disposition. He looked -at her now, as she sat not far from him mending a little tear in -his coat, with so meditative an air that Mrs. Saunders asked him -what he was thinking of—and was no wiser when he replied, truthfully -enough, "M. le Vicomte de Soucy." Yet before he returned to his -contemplation of the Duke of Cumberland's equestrian statue in the -Square, Anne-Hilarion had come to the conclusion that the only way -to evade Elspeth was to call in celestial intervention.</p> - -<p>Little, however, did Elspeth Saunders, that staunch Calvinist, -imagine, as she impatiently surveyed the child at his 'Popish -exercises' that evening, what it was which caused their unusual -prolongation, nor what forces were being invoked against her. -Little did she realise to what heavenly interposition was due, at -least to Anne-Hilarion's thinking, the fact that next afternoon, -at half-past one precisely, she slipped on the stairs and twisted -her ankle rather severely, so that she had to be conveyed to her -room and Baptiste despatched to fetch the doctor. M. le Comte had -not in his orisons specified the hour of the miracle—nor, of -course, the form that it should take—but he was on the alert. Mr. -Elphinstone was nowhere about, so his grandson slipped into the -library, and penned, not without labour, the following note:</p> - -<p class="letter">"DEAR GRANDPAPA,—I think to go to France with M. le Vte. de -Soucy, if God permits and there is mony suffisant in my box, -to see Papa. I will not be gone for long dere Grandpapa. I -love you alwaies."</p> - -<p>He stood upon a chair and put this communication on the library -mantelpiece; then, clutching his money-box, he struggled successfully -with the front door, and set out towards the hackney coaches -standing for hire on the other side of the Square.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion met no dragons on his adventurous way—which, after -all, was very short. The hackney-coachman—who may have had qualms -about accepting so immature a passenger—was most agreeable, and -willingly agreed to wait, on arrival at Golden Square, in case -he should be wanted again. The only obstacle to progress was the -purely physical barrier of a stout and slatternly woman who, at -that unusual hour, was washing down the dingy staircase, and whom -Anne-Hilarion was obliged to ask to let him pass.</p> - -<p>"Bless my soul!" ejaculated she, turning in clumsy surprise. "And -what are you doing here by yourself, my little gentleman?"</p> - -<p>"I have come to see M. le Vicomte de Soucy," answered Anne-Hilarion. -"He is above, is he not?"</p> - -<p>"The French gentleman? Yes, he is. I'll go first, dearie; mind the -pail, now. To come alone—I never did! And who shall I say?"</p> - -<p>"The Comte de Flavigny," responded the little boy, with due gravity.</p> - -<p>Strange to say, M. de Soucy, in his attic room, did not hear the -announcement, nor even the shutting of the door. He was sitting -at a table, with his back to the visitor, his head propped between -his hands, a letter open before him. There was that in his attitude -which gave Anne-Hilarion pause; but he finally advanced, and said -in his clear little voice:</p> - -<p>"M. le Vicomte!"</p> - -<p>The émigré started, removed his hands, and turned round. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Grand -Dieu, c'est toi, Anne!</span>"</p> - -<p>His worn face looked, thought Anne-Hilarion, as if he had been -crying—if grown-up people ever did cry, about which he sometimes -speculated. But he was too well bred to remark on this, and he -merely said, in his native tongue, "I have come to ask you, M. le -Vicomte, to take me to France to see my Papa."</p> - -<p>M. de Soucy, putting his hand to his throat, stared at him a moment. -Then he seemed to swallow something, and said, "I am afraid I -cannot do that, my child."</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion knew that grown-up people do not always fall in at -once with your ideas, and he was prepared for a little opposition.</p> - -<p>"Your health is perhaps not re-established?" he suggested politely -(for he was master of longer words in French than in English). He -did not like to refer to M. le Vicomte's lameness in so many words. -But M. le Vicomte made a gesture signifying that his health was -of no account, so Anne-Hilarion proceeded.</p> - -<p>"I have brought my money-box," he said, with a very ingratiating -smile, and, giving his treasury a shake, he laid it on the table -at the Vicomte's elbow. "I do not know how much is in it. Will -you open it for me?"</p> - -<p>M. de Soucy snatched up the letter that was lying before him, got -up from his chair, and limped to the window. He stood as if he -were looking out over the chimney-pots, but as he had put his hand -over his eyes he could not, thought Anne-Hilarion, have seen very -much. And gradually it began to dawn upon the little boy that the -Vicomte must be offended. He remembered having heard Grandpapa -once say how impossible it was to offer to assist him with money, -and he felt very hot all over. Had he, in merely mentioning the -money-box, done something dreadful?</p> - -<p>But M. de Soucy suddenly swung round from the window. His face -was as white as paper.</p> - -<p>"Anne," he said, in a queer voice, "money will not bring you to -see your father. He . . . my God, I can't tell him. . . . Come -here, child. Bring your money-box!"</p> - -<p>Anne obeyed.</p> - -<p>"First, we must see whether there is enough in it, must we not? -It costs a great deal of money to go to France, and, as you know, -I am poor."</p> - -<p>"I think there is a great deal, but a great deal, in it," said -Anne reassuringly, shaking his bank. "Will you not open it and -see, M. le Vicomte?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I will open it," replied M. de Soucy. "And if there is enough, -we will go to France. But if there is not enough, Anne—and I fear -that there may not be—we cannot go. Will you abide by my decision?"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Foi de Flavigny,</span>" promised the child gravely, giving him his hand.</p> - -<p>How wonderful are grown-up people! M. le Vicomte had the strong-box -open in no time. Together they counted its contents.</p> - -<p>"Seventeen shillings and fourpence—no, fivepence," announced M. -de Soucy. "I am afraid, Anne . . ."</p> - -<p>M. le Comte drew a long breath. The muscles pulled at the corners -of his mouth.</p> - -<p>"It is not enough?" he inquired rather quaveringly.</p> - -<p>"Not nearly. Anne, you are a soldier's son, and you must learn -to bear disappointment—worse things perhaps. We cannot help your -father in that way." Again M. de Soucy struggled with something in -his speech. "I do not know, Anne, how we can help him."</p> - -<p>It was, fortunately, not given to the Comte de Flavigny to read -his friend's mind, but he perceived sufficiently from his manner -that something was not right. He reflected a moment, and then, -remembering the celestial intervention of the afternoon, said:</p> - -<p>"Perhaps I had better ask la Très-Sainte Vierge to take care of -him. I do ask her every day, but I mean especially."</p> - -<p>"You could ask her," said de Soucy, bitter pain in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"You have no picture of our Lady, no statue?"</p> - -<p>"Not one."</p> - -<p>"It does not matter," said the little boy. "Elspeth sometimes -takes away my image of her too. They do not know her over here, -but that," he added, with his courteous desire to excuse, "is -because she is French. . . . M. le Vicomte, I think that after all -I had better ask St. Michel, because he is a soldier. It would -be more fitting for him, do you not think? Yes, I will pray St. -Michel to take great care of my Papa, and then I shall not mind that -the money is not enough and that I cannot go to France to see him."</p> - -<p>So, standing where he was, his eyes tight shut, he besought the -leader of the heavenly cohorts to that end, concluding politely -if mysteriously, "Perhaps I ought to thank you about Elspeth."</p> - -<p>"I had better go back to Grandpapa?" he then suggested.</p> - -<p>M. de Soucy nodded. "I will come with you," he said.</p> - -<h4>(4)</h4> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion had been gone for so short a time that he had not -even been missed, for the domestics were still occupied about -Elspeth's accident, and Mr. Elphinstone, though returned to the -library, had not found the farewell letter. The only surprise, -therefore, which the old gentleman showed was that his grandson -should be accompanied by M. de Soucy. He got up from a drawing of -one of the gates of Delhi that he was making for his memoirs, and -welcomed the intruders.</p> - -<p>"Anne has been paying me a visit," said the Frenchman. "He wanted -to go to France again, but I have persuaded him to put it off for -a little. Can I have a word alone with you, sir?"</p> - -<p>"Did you not get my letter, Grandpapa?" broke in Anne-Hilarion, -clinging to Mr. Elphinstone's hand. "I left it on the mantelpiece, -behind the little heathen god. I did not run away, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">foi de gentilhomme!</span>"</p> - -<p>"Send him out of the room!" signalled the émigré. But Anne-Hilarion, -having perceived his grandfather's occupation, was now in great -spirits. "Let me look at the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">livre des Indes</span>, Grandpapa!" he -exclaimed. "I so much love the pictures. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Faites-moi voir les -éléphants!</span>" And he jumped up and down, holding on to the arm of -his grandfather's chair.</p> - -<p>But the old man had followed M. de Soucy to the window.</p> - -<p>"What is it, Monsieur?" he whispered. "Bad news from France?"</p> - -<p>"Read this," said the Vicomte, thrusting the letter into his hands. -"It could hardly be worse. D'Hervilly attacked the Republican -position at Ste. Barbe five days ago, and was beaten off with -frightful loss. God knows what has happened by now, what has happened -to René—the worst, I have small doubt. . . ."</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone unfolded the letter with shaking hands. But ere -he had got to the bottom of the first page, Anne-Hilarion was at -his side, pulling at his sleeve.</p> - -<p>"Grandpapa, I want to tell you a secret!"</p> - -<p>"In a moment, child," said Mr. Elphinstone, his eyes on the letter.</p> - -<p>"But it is very important," persisted Anne. "It is about Papa—at -least it is about Elspeth."</p> - -<p>For once he was not to be put off. The old man yielded.</p> - -<p>"Well, my bairn?"</p> - -<p>"I want to whisper," said Anne.</p> - -<p>So his grandfather bent down and received the following revelation, -"I prayed to my <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ange gardien</span> about Elspeth."</p> - -<p>"To make her better, do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"No—it was before she fell down—to make her let me go and see -M. de Soucy."</p> - -<p>"Well?" said Mr. Elphinstone, still more perplexed.</p> - -<p>"Eh bien, he arranged it," said the successful petitioner, in a -tone of satisfaction. "He pushed Elspeth, no doubt, that she slipped -on the stairs, and so I was able to go. I did not <em>ask</em> him to make -her slip, Grandpapa," he hastened to add.</p> - -<p>But still the old man did not realise whither all this was tending. -The Vicomte de Soucy also, his threadbare coat showing very greenish -in the strong light near the window, was looking at the little boy -with puzzled, unhappy eyes.</p> - -<p>"So now," proceeded Anne, "since I have asked St. Michel himself -to take care of Papa—did I not, M. le Vicomte?—he will be quite -safe, and I do not want any more to go to France. That is the secret, -Grandpapa—and when you have finished reading that letter will you -show me the elephants?"</p> - -<p>"If Elspeth can be disposed of by the heavenly powers, even the -Blues are not beyond their control—is that it?" observed M. de -Soucy with a grating laugh, half to Mr. Elphinstone and half to -the child. "Good God, if only one could believe it!"</p> - -<p>As Anne, his mind at ease, climbed up into his grandfather's chair -by the table with a view to the elephants, Mr. Elphinstone finished -and let fall the letter, his apple cheeks gone grey. Then he turned -without a word to the window and stood there, his back to the -room, while into the silence came, with a strange little effect -of calamity, the sound of a scud of summer rain beating against -the glass.</p> - -<h4>(5)</h4> - -<p>And the rain was falling steadily on the white sand of Quiberon -Bay also, on the low dunes, on Hoche's triumphant grenadiers, on -the little fort, now abandoned, on the useless English ships, and -on the upturned face of René de Flavigny, who lay, wrapped in a -cloak, a short stone's cast from the rising tide. All about him -were the evidences of the great disaster, but he had never heeded -them, lying where the two soldiers had left him, by a little spur -of rock that had its extremity in the sea. It had proved impossible -to get him off to a boat; there was no chance for an unconscious -man when even good swimmers perished. So his bearers had laid him -down by the rock; he was no worse off than hundreds of others, and -neither the cries of the drowning nor the boom of the English -cannon had wakened him.</p> - -<p>But now he had drifted back to pain, and the thirst of the stricken, -and the numbing remembrance of catastrophe. He had tried to raise -his head, but desisted from the distress of the effort. The fingers -of his left hand ploughed idly into the sand. As it dribbled through -them, white as lime, he remembered everything. . . . His eyes, so -like Anne-Hilarion's, darkened. Since there was no one to make an -end of him, he would do it himself, not so much to ease the pain -and to hasten an otherwise lingering death as because everything -was lost. And he would go to Jeannette.</p> - -<p>Yet his senses were playing him tricks again. One moment he was -here, a piece of driftwood in the great wreck; the next, he was -kneeling by Anne-Hilarion's bed, going again through that dreadful -parting, promising that he would soon return, and the boy was -clinging to him, swallowing his sobs. He could hear them now, blent -with the plunge of the tide. He could not keep that promise. Better -end it all, and go to Jeannette.</p> - -<p>René thrust down a hand, tugged a pistol out of his belt, cocked -it, and put it to his head.</p> - -<p>But ere the cold rim touched his temple, sky and sea had gone black. -Flashes of radiance shot through the humming darkness, steadying -at last to a wide sunflower of light, and then . . . he saw -distinctly Anne-Hilarion's terrified face, his little outstretched -hands. His own sank powerless to the sand, and he was swept out -again on the flood of unconsciousness.</p> - -<h4>(6)</h4> - -<p>"Not a single blessed patrol, by gad!" thought Mr. Francis Tollemache -to himself. "That means they have got at the port wine and beer we -landed at Fort Penthièvre: trust the sans-culottes for scenting it -out! But, O gemini, what luck for us!"</p> - -<p>For Mr. Tollemache was at that moment—midnight—steering a small -boat along the shore of Quiberon. On his one hand were the lights -of the English squadron, still in the bay; on the other, the -Republican camp-fires among the sandhills. The files of Royalist -prisoners had started hours ago on their march up the peninsula, -but Sir John Warren was still hoping to pick up a fugitive or two -under cover of darkness, and Mr. Tollemache's was not the only boat -employed on this errand of mercy. But it was emphatically the most -daring; nor had Sir John the least idea that Mr. Tollemache was -hazarding his own, a midshipman's, and half a dozen other lives in -the search for one particular Royalist. Mr. Tollemache, indeed, -never intended that he should have.</p> - -<p>A rescued Frenchman sat already in the sternsheets—the sergeant -of du Dresnay, picked up earlier in the day, who had helped to -carry de Flavigny down the beach. Truth to tell, Mr. Tollemache -had smuggled him into the boat as a guide, for the task of finding -the wounded man in the dark would otherwise have been hopeless. -But the sergeant could direct them to the little rock by which -his officer had been laid, and, rocks being uncommon on that long -sandy shore, he did so direct them. Unfortunately, since Mr. -Tollemache, no expert in tongues, could not always follow his -meaning, they had not yet found it. Already, indeed, had they -made hopefully for some dark object at the water's edge, only to -ascertain that it was a dead horse, and Mr. Tollemache's flowers -of speech at the discovery had not withered till the body of a -drowned Royalist slid and bumped along the boat's side. But meanwhile, -even though the shore was unguarded, it was getting momentarily -more difficult to see, the tide was rising once again, the men -were becoming impatient. After all, it <em>was</em> rather like looking -for the proverbial needle.</p> - -<p>The French soldier tugged suddenly at the Englishman's arm. "V'là, -m'sieur!" he whispered. "There is the place—that is the rock!"</p> - -<p>The young lieutenant peered through the gloom, gave a curt order -or two, and then, lifted on the swell, the <i class="name">Pomone's</i> boat greeted -the sand of Quiberon Bay. Another moment, and Englishman and Frenchman -had found what they sought. But only Mr. Dibdin's special maritime -cherub averted the discharge of the cocked pistol which the Marquis -de Flavigny still grasped in a senseless hand, and which Mr. -Tollemache had some difficulty in disengaging before they got him -into the boat.</p> - -<p>The middy, now in charge of the tiller, desired, as they pulled -away, to be informed why his superior officer had been so set on -saving this particular poor devil.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I met him once in England," replied Mr. Tollemache carelessly, -and, as far as the bare statement went, quite truthfully. "Here, -give me the tiller now! It makes a difference when you have actually -known a man, you see."</p> - -<p>For he was ashamed to avow the real motive power—his acquaintance, -much more intimate and cogent, with a younger member of the family. -At any rate, it was not a safe thing to let a midshipman know.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>They were nearing the <i class="name">Pomone</i> when the Marquis de Flavigny, his -head in his compatriot's lap, began to mutter something. The middy -bent down.</p> - -<p>"The poor beggar thinks he's talking to his wife—or his sweetheart," -said he, pleased at being able to recognise a word of French. -"'Anne,' her name seems to be."</p> - -<p>Mr. Tollemache, in the darkness and the sea-wind, turned away -his head and smiled.</p> - -<h3 id="c29">CHAPTER XXIX<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap" lang="la" xml:lang="la">Væ Victis!</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">All that night Fortuné de la Vireville sat in the desecrated church -of St. Gildas at Auray, his back against a pillar. Hundreds of his -comrades were there with him, so crowded together that it was -difficult to find room to lie at length. He was fasting, as they -all were, since the evening before, his wounded arm was inflamed -and aching, but his thoughts were with René, stiff and stark by -now, most probably, on the sandhills or the shore; with Le Goffic, -helpless at St. Pierre; with his scattered and leaderless Bretons. -Before his eyes, in that encumbered church, lit only by a single -lamp, rushed in a stupefying panorama all the events of that long -day of disaster, from his ominous waking in the early morning to -the last scene in the little fort—and its aftermath. He remembered -how, as the grenadiers drew up their long column of prisoners on -the shore, the rain had ceased, and the sun had come out; even the -wind, which had wrought them so much calamity, seemed, too late, -to be abating. But by three o'clock in the afternoon, when, faint -with hunger and fatigue, they arrived at Fort Penthièvre, the -downpour had begun again, and it rained in torrents as they marched, -for eight hours or more, towards Auray. At the head of the column -walked Sombreuil, supporting the old Bishop of Dol, who, on account -of his age and infirmities, had not been able to embark for the -English fleet, and who, in any case, as he said, had made the -sacrifice of his life. And because, before they started, every man -had given his parole not to attempt escape, they marched for all -those weary hours through a strongly Royalist countryside, half -of the time in the friendly darkness, with an insufficient and -fatigued escort, and not one broke his word. Thus, in the dead -of night, they had reached Auray, and had been huddled into its -various churches.</p> - -<p>Here in St. Gildas were massed all ages and ranks, veterans and -boys, officers and private soldiers alike, and the wounded, of -whom there were not a few, lay in their rain-soaked clothes on -the stone floor with no care but what their empty-handed companions -could give them. Here was Gesril du Papeu, the brine scarcely -dry in his hair, who had swum back again from safety to share -the fate of his comrades; and Charles de Lamoignon, who had carried -his wounded younger brother to a boat, himself forbearing to embark; -and men with names like Salignac-Fénelon and Broglie, and the -seventeen-year-old Louis de Talhouët, who had passed, a prisoner, -through the estates of his own family on the way to Auray; and -many another. . . .</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Somewhere between three and four in the morning an émigré named -de Manny, whom La Vireville had known some years previously, came -past, and, finding a little vacant space by the Chouan leader, sat -down, and recalled himself to his memory.</p> - -<p>"You have been in Holland since then?" inquired Fortuné, looking -at the faded sky-blue uniform with its orange cuffs. The fact was -equally proclaimed by the black cockade which marked him as one of -the second—Sombreuil's—contingent.</p> - -<p>"Yes; I was—and am—in the Légion de Béon, and had the luck to -escape when the Republicans massacred eighty of us as we marched -out at the surrender of Bois-le-Duc. This time——" he shrugged -his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"We surrendered on terms, even if the capitulation was only verbal," -said La Vireville, without much conviction. "There are plenty of -witnesses to that."</p> - -<p>"Yes," retorted de Manny; "and what are the chances of the capitulation -being observed?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville said nothing.</p> - -<p>"There is one man who will not escape in any case," went on the -lieutenant of Béon, looking towards the tombstone a little way -off where Sombreuil sat talking to some of his officers. "He is -exempt from the capitulation—he exempted himself. And do you know, -La Vireville, that he was summoned by the English Admiralty to -Portsmouth, to take command of us of the black cockade, on the very -eve of his wedding day? The summons came at midnight, and he obeyed -it instantly; but he was to have been married on the morrow to a -lady whom he adored."</p> - -<p>La Vireville made a sudden movement, as if his posture irked him.</p> - -<p>"How very dramatic!" he observed drily. "Was the lady sorry or -relieved, I wonder?"</p> - -<p>De Manny looked at him, astonished at the tone, but the speaker's -face was now in shadow from a neighbouring pillar.</p> - -<p>"I understand that she was heart-broken—that they both were. But -what makes you ask such a question? Have you anything against M. -de Sombreuil?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing whatever," replied the Chouan, shifting his wounded arm -to a more comfortable position. "I pity him from the bottom of my -heart. But the lady will marry someone else, you may be sure."</p> - -<p>"Sombreuil will be difficult to replace, however," said de Manny -meditatively, looking again at the young colonel of hussars, who -had indeed every gift of mind and body to commend him both to man -and woman.</p> - -<p>La Vireville gave a smothered laugh. "Good heavens, man, have you -not yet learnt that to a woman's heart no one is irreplaceable? She -can always find somebody else . . . if she have not already found -him," he added, almost inaudibly. "But it is half-past three; if -you will excuse me I shall try to sleep a little." And, putting -his head back against the stone, he closed his eyes.</p> - -<p>The officer of Béon studied him for a moment, in the dim light, -with a curiosity which even the desperate nature of their common -situation could not blunt, before he, too, settled himself to -snatch a little repose.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Next morning some charitable hand threw in a little bread through -the ruined windows of St. Gildas. Later, the muster-roll was called, -and the officers, separated from the men, were marched to the town -prison, though some eighteen hundred émigrés were drafted off to -Vannes and other places.</p> - -<p>La Vireville was among those who remained at Auray, to witness the -indefatigable devotion of the women of that town to the prisoners. -These cooked for them, brought them food, running the gauntlet of -the pleasantries of their guards, took messages for their families, -and tried—in a few cases successfully—to smuggle them out of -prison. The days passed. Time was punctuated by the summons to -go before the military commission, by batches of twenty, every -morning and evening. Few came back. Sombreuil, the old Bishop of -Dol, and twenty priests were shot at Vannes on the twenty-eighth -of July, just a week after the surrender, and it was abundantly -clear that the capitulation, if it had ever existed save as a -tragic misunderstanding, would not be observed. It was for this -that they had given their paroles, that those who from fatigue had -fallen out during the march from Quiberon had voluntarily come into -Auray next morning and surrendered themselves. . . . Even before -trial, therefore, they all prepared for death, and since, against -all expectation, a priest was allowed them, they went to their last -confessions in a little bare room at the top of the prison—the -only room that could boast a chair.</p> - -<p>One of the military commissions to try the prisoners sat over the -market of Auray, that remarkable building with the great roof which -La Vireville remembered well enough, having seen it when, at the -head of his gars, he had helped to take the town a few short weeks -before. But the other was in the little chapel of the Congrégation -des Femmes, and it was here that he was tried, and condemned, as -an émigré taken with arms in his hand. No reference was made by the -tribunal to his exploits in the Chouannerie of Northern Brittany; -it was not necessary.</p> - -<p>There was still a picture over the altar in the other little chapel -to which he was taken, with the rest of that day's condemned, -for his last night. A few mattresses, even, had been put in the -sacristy, but most of the prisoners were of the mind of the old -Breton gentleman, M. de Kergariou, and needed nothing save a light -to pray by. Scattered about the chapel was a pathetic flotsam, -the possessions of former occupants who also had spent here their -last night on earth; and La Vireville, picking up a little book -of prayers marked with the name of a boy of fourteen, Paul Le -Vaillant de la Ferrière, a volunteer in du Dresnay, who had been -wounded, like him, at Ste. Barbe, knew by it that, despite his -extreme youth, he too had been sent to the slaughter.</p> - -<p>In this little place Fortuné lay down for his last living sleep. -He had no desire to meet death with bravado; it was, he felt, -more seemly to meet it with devotion, as so many had done, and -were doing now. If he could not compass that he had been too -long accustomed to the daily thought of it to fear it. Everything -had ended for him on the morning when he broke his sword. He -wished, it was true, that he could have left his mother in better -circumstances, but before he quitted Jersey he had had the Prince -de Bouillon's promise of a pension for her if he did not return. -She would grieve for him, yes; but she would not have had him -outlive his comrades. And she, too, would sleep soundly soon.</p> - -<p>Poor little Anne-Hilarion! For him he was really sorry. The child -loved his father so much; he would find it hard to believe that -he would never see him again. (For he was certain now that René de -Flavigny, even if he had survived, had never reached safety.) And -there had been no chance of fulfilling his own promise; escape -had never even looked his way. . . . After all, Providence had -been merciful to him, just where it had seemed most merciless. . . . -He had no son, and therefore no anguish of farewell.</p> - -<p>And so, disturbed neither by thoughts of the morrow, by the low-voiced -conversation of two friends near him, nor by the prayers of others, -Fortuné de la Vireville slept soundly, as has happened to not a -few in like circumstances.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>He woke a little before four o'clock, and heard an old émigré, M. -de Villavicencio, standing under one of the windows, read the -prayers for the dying to two others, much younger. The old man -was beginning the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Profisceretur</i> when the tramp of feet was heard -outside. The chapel door was opened, letting in the air of the -early morning; soldiers stood there with packets of cords. Just -for one moment there was silence, and, in it, the rapturous song -of a thrush; then M. de Villavicencio finished the prayer.</p> - -<p>Fortuné got to his feet and tried to put some order into his attire. -As he did this he cast a sudden keen glance at the captive who -happened to be nearest to him, a man a good ten years younger than -himself, fair-haired and slim, and pitiably nervous.</p> - -<p>"I believe they have recently adopted the happy plan of tying us -together two and two," he said to him quietly. "Might I have the -honour of being your companion?"</p> - -<p>The young émigré was obliged to put his hand over his mouth to -steady its traitorous twitching before he could reply. Then he -said, out of a dry throat:</p> - -<p>"You are very good, Monsieur, but surely there is someone else -you would rather . . . die with? . . ."</p> - -<p>The Chouan shook his head with a little smile, and as they stood -side by side waiting for the soldiers to tie them together, the -younger man pulled out from his breast the miniature of a girl, -and showed it to him without a word.</p> - -<p>"Believe me, it will not hurt," said La Vireville in a low voice -as their turn came. "I have seen men shot by a firing-party before -now. It is over so quickly that they know nothing about it." (Perhaps -the youth would have the luck never to find out that this statement -was not always true.) "It is nothing near so painful as being tied -up like this when one is winged.—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">De grâce,</span> corporal, put that -cord round my right arm instead, if my friend has no objection!"</p> - -<p>The two changed places, and La Vireville restored his wounded arm -to the sling. Before the cord was knotted the officer in charge of -the party began to read out the names. Every man answered to his own.</p> - -<p>"La Vireville, Fortuné."</p> - -<p>"Present."</p> - -<p>The officer looked up from the list. "You are not to go with this -batch. Why the devil have you tied him up, corporal?"</p> - -<p>"<em>Not to . . . not to go . . .</em>" stammered La Vireville, thinking -he must be already dead—and dreaming. "It must be a mistake—you -are confusing me with someone else!"</p> - -<p>"Untie him!" said the officer briefly, offering no explanation; -and the corporal, grumbling a little, obeyed.</p> - -<p>"This is horrible!" said La Vireville to his comrade, a comrade -no longer. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Dieu,</span> why did I answer to my name! If I had had the -least idea, you should have answered instead."</p> - -<p>"You are wanted to give somebody else the courage you have given -me," answered the young man with an attempt at a smile. "You permit, -Monsieur?" And he kissed him.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>A little later—it was still not much after sunrise—they were -marched off, two and two, through the quiet streets of the little -town towards the red meadow, the 'martyrs' field,' without him, -and he sat alone in the deserted chapel, stunned, emptied of any -conscious feeling, even of relief. And later still he heard, over -the mile or so of distance, the volley which told him that they had -reached their journey's end. Fortuné de la Vireville bowed his head -and prayed for their souls as he had never prayed for his own—as -he would not have prayed, perhaps, had he shared that volley.</p> - -<h3 id="c30">CHAPTER XXX<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Atropos</span></small></h3> - -<p class="noindent">La Vireville reprieved was much less composed than La Vireville -condemned. For about half an hour, it is true, he sat motionless -on the steps of the desecrated altar in the little chapel-prison, -a prey to the most acute feeling of loneliness he had ever known in -his life. The place was so horribly empty now that it was unbearable. -But after a while he rose and began to walk up and down. The harvest -of relics which he had seen last night was this morning a little -more plentiful, but most of this morning's victims had taken their -last precious things with them to the place of death. That young -man, his erstwhile comrade, with the miniature—who had that now? -he wondered,—how had he, in the end, been able to face the levelled -muskets? . . .</p> - -<p>As Fortuné paced to and fro, he naturally came before long to the -thought of escape. He had promised to try. . . . But a very cursory -survey of the improvised jail, with its windows high up in the wall, -quite out of reach, convinced him of its efficiency in that respect. -And, Royalist in sentiment though the people of Auray were, had he -succeeded in breaking out he would hardly find safety by broad -daylight in its streets full of soldiers. These things needed some -previous arrangement. It wanted someone ready to receive and hide -him, someone to—yes, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">parbleu,</span> someone to gallop up with a horse, -unlock the door, and then . . . For his mind, by no very subtle -ways, had leapt back to the captive of Porhoët, reversing the part -he had played in that episode of deliverance. Now was the time for -Mme. de Guéfontaine to appear and save him in her turn. It was, -alas! a most unlikely consummation. Away in Guernsey, no doubt, she -was quietly mending her brother Henri's uniform. But she would have -made the attempt, had she been here; of that he was sure.</p> - -<p>La Vireville sat down once more on the altar steps, and leant his -head against the chipped and discoloured plaster rail upborne by its -short, stout columns. Two instincts were beginning now to torment -him, hunger and curiosity, and neither could he satisfy. From -whatever angle he looked at the postponement of his fate—for he -never judged it to be more than that—he was baffled. <em>He</em> had no -friend in the ranks of the foe. The only thing that occurred to -him was that, since his appearance before them, his judges had -discovered his identity with that sought-for chief, Augustin of -Kerdronan, and wished to question him further—a nuisance, if it -were so, and a proceeding likely to be of advantage to neither -party. He profoundly wished, however, that something would happen.</p> - -<p>Yet he was half dozing against the rail when, about nine o'clock, -he heard a key thrust into the chapel door, and beheld the entrance -of a grizzled sergeant of grenadiers, with a couple of soldiers -behind him. Others were visible in the sunlight outside. Fortuné -got up and stretched himself.</p> - -<p>"What the devil is the meaning of this, I should like to know?" -he inquired. "Is the Citizen Hoche desirous of offering me a post -under him? It is lost labour on his part; I shall not take it."</p> - -<p>"It is orders, neither more nor less," replied the sergeant briefly. -"All I know is—yes, you had better tie him up—that you are not -going to join the others to-day. Afterwards, perhaps—I don't -know. At present I am to take you to a house in the town."</p> - -<p>And so, with his wrists lashed together behind his back—a posture -which secretly caused him not a little pain—La Vireville set off in -the midst of his escort. This could hardly mean release, still less -escape. Besides, except that a natural revulsion had left him a -little doubtful as to what he really did wish, he was not sure that -his desire was towards release if he could have it. But why this -house in the town, and who—or what—could be awaiting him there?</p> - -<p>In Auray streets, where he had twice fought, and which were full -this morning of sunshine and bright air, and of peasants with -baskets, leading cows or driving pigs (for it was market-day), -La Vireville was looked at with curiosity and pity. Probably, he -thought, recognising the fact, because he was a solitary prisoner -in the middle of his guards. They were used to batches at a time -now in Auray. . . . And, passing once again by the Halles, he met -the glance, brimming with a beautiful compassion, of a young -countrywoman in a wonderful wide coif, who held a child in her -arms. Indifferent though he was to his own fate, Fortuné felt -that look like a benediction, and he wished that he could have -kissed her hand. All he could do was to smile at the child, who -was waving a small delighted arm to the soldiers.</p> - -<p>Auray is a little town, and it was not long before the guard halted -in front of a house taller than its elder neighbours, having a -passionless female head in the Græco-Roman style and a frieze of -acanthus leaves above the door. La Vireville particularly noticed -them. In the large well-furnished room on the first floor, looking -out on to the street, to which he was conducted, was a silver-haired -old lady seated in an arm-chair, reading, whom he noticed with even -more particularity. It was Mme. de Chaulnes.</p> - -<p>He was hardly astonished, in a sense. After all, it was ridiculous -to suppose that his escort would have conducted him to anything -agreeable. But he could not conceive what she wanted with him.</p> - -<p>On their entry Mme. de Chaulnes looked up, closing the book over -her finger, for all the world like a woman suffering a trivial -interruption which she also intends shall be brief.</p> - -<p>"You can remove your men, sergeant," she said calmly. "I have a -moment or two's private business with this gentleman, and I do not -doubt the security of your knots."</p> - -<p>The soldier had presumably no fears on that point either, and in -another instant the former antagonists were alone. La Vireville -had no difficulty in recalling their last meeting. Now he was a -beaten man, wounded and fettered, but he stood before her very -composedly, and waited. He had to wait some time, too, while Mme. -de Chaulnes studied him. But there was no vulgar triumph visible -in her look.</p> - -<p>"You are wondering," she said at last, "why I have had you brought -here?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville assented.</p> - -<p>"You are possibly thinking, Monsieur Augustin, that I am about to -heap coals of fire on your head by putting the means of escape -within your reach, like other charitable ladies of this place?"</p> - -<p>"I am sorry if it disappoints you, Madame," returned the captive -politely, "but that is the last idea that I should entertain."</p> - -<p>"Or to offer you your life on terms, then?"</p> - -<p>"They would undoubtedly be terms that I could not accept."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes smiled slightly, and laid down her book on a little -table near her. "That is a good thing, then, for indeed I have no -terms to offer to a person of your integrity, Monsieur. Though, if -I had, perhaps you might find them tempting for the sake of the -little boy—now, I presume, fatherless—for whom you once risked -that life so successfully."</p> - -<p>The émigré was silent.</p> - -<p>"You are right to give me no answer," went on the old lady, "for -really I have no proposition of any kind to make to you. I merely -wish to ask you a question, which you will not, I think, find it -inconsistent with your honour to answer. But I cannot force you -to give me a reply, nor (as you see) do I seek to bribe you into -doing so."</p> - -<p>"I will answer your question if it be in my power, Madame," said La -Vireville, outwardly unmoved and secretly curious.</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Monsieur. It is merely this—did you, or did you not, -bribe my agent Duchâtel when you took the child from him at Abbeville?"</p> - -<p>"No," replied the Chouan on the instant, "most certainly I did not. -The only intercourse of any moment that passed between us was a blow."</p> - -<p>"Ah," said Mme. de Chaulnes, with an air, real or fictitious, of -relief, "that interests me very much. I am greatly indebted to -you for your frankness, Monsieur Augustin. Since you can have -no motive in protecting Duchâtel—rather the reverse—I believe -you unreservedly. He is a useful tool, but there have been moments -when I was tempted to consider that transaction at Abbeville a -farce. I am glad to learn, on the best authority, that it was -not." And taking up a tablet that hung at her waist she scribbled -something on it with a silver pencil.</p> - -<p>"And it was in order to discover this," broke out the prisoner -in spite of himself, "that you were barbarous enough to have me -reprieved at the last moment, to——" He pulled himself up, for -he had no wish to exhibit his emotions to this woman.</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes finished writing. "And you would really have -preferred to go with the rest this morning?" she asked.</p> - -<p>La Vireville bowed. "Your occupation, Madame, has very naturally -blunted your perception of what a French gentleman would prefer."</p> - -<p>"On the contrary," retorted Mme. de Chaulnes, sitting up in her -chair, her old eyes flashing, "it has greatly enlightened me as to -his preferences. It has taught me that he considers it consistent -with that honour of which he talks so much, to make war on his -native land for the sake of his own class, and for a discredited -dynasty—you see that I place these in the order in which they -appeal to him—and that for his own ends he will not scruple even -to call in the assistance of his country's enemies, the Prussians, -and her hereditary foe of foes, England."</p> - -<p>La Vireville shrugged his shoulders (thereby causing himself a -violent twinge of pain). "On that point, Madame, we shall never -agree. In return for the question I have answered, may I now ask -one of you? . . . How do you reconcile your own position as a -French gentlewoman with—the use to which you put it?"</p> - -<p>Mme. de Chaulnes' smile was insolent. "Quite easily, Monsieur. I -fight for my country—at the cost, I grant you, of my class; you, -for your class, that degenerate, self-seeking class, at the expense -of your country. To me it seems the more patriotic course to -sacrifice the part to the whole, whatever it may cost one personally. -I had a nephew in this morning's batch, but I would not have saved -him if I could. Yes, it is rotten, this aristocracy of ours, and -the sooner France is purged of it the better."</p> - -<p>That smile had maddened La Vireville. She was a woman, and his hands -were tied behind him, but he still had the means of striking. "Ah -yes," he said, in his most careless voice. "And when your misguided -father was shot by order of Montcalm for his treachery during the -siege of Quebec, you approved even then, no doubt, of the process -of purgation, and applauded its beginning. He also, if I have heard -rightly, had the same fancy for the assistance of the English against -his own country."</p> - -<p>Not a muscle of Mme. de Chaulnes' face had quivered, but its faint -colour had faded to grey, and La Vireville saw the small knotted -hands in her lap gripping each other till the knuckles stood out -white. And he was pleased.</p> - -<p>"You think, Monsieur, that this forty years' old story is the -reason for my present actions? It is not, I assure you." And, -seeing the smile on his face, she added with more warmth, "No, -you would never understand that a woman could have conviction, -apart from personal animus, in a matter of this sort."</p> - -<p>"You misjudge me, Madame," retorted the Chouan. "I am quite sure -that Delilah, for instance, had convictions of the same kind. No -doubt your unfortunate father had them too when he invited the -English into Quebec. One may say, in fact, that it was a sort of -family conviction that upheld you in your spider's web at Canterbury. -But if the blood of those you have betrayed could speak, I think -it would cry out less against a renegade who acted from revenge, -than against one who made a trade of treachery from 'conviction'!"</p> - -<p>Light and intentionally wounding as his tone had been at the -beginning of this brief speech, a passion of loathing had slipped -into it by the end. A flush crept into the grey old face opposite -him, and the blue eyes hardened. But, a condemned man, La Vireville -knew himself beyond any vengeance of hers. She could not touch -him now.</p> - -<p>"If our not very fruitful conversation is at an end, Madame . . ." -he suggested.</p> - -<p>There was a little bell on the table near her, and to this she -put out a still shaking hand. But before she rang it she showed -herself not unconscious of his thought.</p> - -<p>"You owe me something, Monsieur, for your triumph over me in the -matter of the child. I dare say you think that since this is to -be your last day on earth you have paid me that debt. You are -wrong." She rang the bell. "You have not paid it yet!"</p> - -<p>As his guards took La Vireville away he saw that she had returned -to her book, but one hand was pulling at the lace round her wasted -throat, and she looked very old. He flattered himself that he had -contributed something towards that effect of age.</p> - -<h3 id="c31">CHAPTER XXXI<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">The Paying of the Score</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Quiberon once more, place of intolerable memories, that Fortuné -had thought never to see again, and the sea, blue and sparkling, -breaking idly on the white sand that a few days had sufficed to -wash clean of blood and tears.</p> - -<p>It was thus that it had greeted La Vireville's eyes this afternoon, -at the end of the long and dusty march back along that <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">via dolorosa</i> -from Auray. For when he left Mme. de Chaulnes' presence he was -included in a draft that was being taken back to Quiberon to be tried -by a commission there. It was in vain that La Vireville had protested -that he had already been judged and condemned—that he had, in fact, -a right to be shot at Auray. It was useless, and he had to go.</p> - -<p>He found himself this evening herded for the night, with these fresh -comrades marked for death, in a stone-walled field, with a sentry at -every ten paces outside. They were to appear before the commission -next morning. Most of them had in their pockets a hunch of bread, -but the long hot march had made them very thirsty, and water was -hard to come by. La Vireville contrived to procure some, and shared -it with a grey-haired émigré of Loyal-Emigrant from Poitou.</p> - -<p>"To our last night on earth!" said the old man tranquilly as he -took it, and thanked him.</p> - -<p>"I have already had one 'last night,'" replied the Chouan, with -rather a wry smile. "I did not expect another. But at least it is -under the stars this time."</p> - -<p>He settled himself under the lee of a wall to sleep. The stars -indeed were very bright, save just near the moon. In the silence -he could hear the surf breaking on the rocks of the western shore. -He was tired, but he did not sleep as he had slept last night at -Auray, after his condemnation. This place was too bitterly full of -memories. One in particular, that of his lost friend, haunted him, -and he recalled his promise to him here, where it was made—the -promise he could not have kept, the promise he did not even want -to keep, for he had no wish to live now. But for Mme. de Chaulnes -he would be sleeping at this moment with the others, in the meadow -at Auray. And yet his fury at her cruelty had died already into -ashes, for she had given him this night under the stars, a night -like many he had passed among the broom with his men . . . a -whole lifetime ago. . . .</p> - -<p>That he should have recognised this for a boon, and felt thankful -for it, might have told Fortuné de la Vireville that the unquenchable -instinct of life was not really dead in him, though he thought it -was. But he was not given to self-analysis. This only he was aware -of, as he lay there, that whereas at Auray he had been genuinely -resigned to his fate, and would hardly have looked at the chance -of escape if it had been offered to him (save perhaps for Anne's -sake), now some obscure process of the mind, in stirring up a -profound annoyance at the way in which he had been treated by Mme. -de Chaulnes, had also stirred up the desire to live, and cheat her -of her vengeance. Only now there appeared no means of putting that -desire into practice.</p> - -<p>And had Providence been as merciful as he had thought? Ah, if after -all he had had a son—if he were not going down into the dust, -leaving no trace and no memorial behind him! But that thought -brought him face to face with the tragedy of his life. He flung his -arm over his eyes, and so lay, motionless, a long time. . . . The -stars moved on; the sea-wind swept, sighing, over the prone figures -which would lie yet more still to-morrow, and at last La Vireville, -rousing himself, came back to the present.</p> - -<p>Should he try to save himself, this time, at his trial? There was -just a chance of doing so if, as was probable, the tribunal had -not the minutes of the court at Auray. Could he gull his judges -with some story of his being just a Breton peasant, as his dress, -or at least the chief part of it, proclaimed him? They were showing -more mercy to the Chouans than to their leaders. He could take off -his high boots and go barefoot, leave here in the field his sling -which, though no longer white, had obviously once been a leader's -scarf, untie his hair once more and wear it loose on his shoulders. -Among so many, his guards would hardly notice the transformation, -and his judges would not have seen him before. Was it worth trying?</p> - -<p>Yes, for the sake of the promise to the dead, for Anne-Hilarion's -sake, and because, at thirty-five, it is not easy to be twice -resigned.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>The military commission began its work at eight next morning. La -Vireville, appearing before it at about half-past eleven, found it -to consist of a captain of artillery, a sous-lieutenant and a -corporal of sharp-shooters, and a sergeant, under the presidency -of a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chef de bataillon.</span></p> - -<p>It was very soon evident that this commission, as he had hoped, had -no record of the proceedings of its fellow at Auray. La Vireville's -statement that he was a peasant of the Morbihan passed practically -unchallenged, helped by the changes he had made in his appearance -and by the Bas-Breton with which he interlarded his replies. How -then had he come to be taken at Quiberon? Why, because when Hoche -had driven in the Chouans from their positions on the mainland, -quantities of the peaceable peasants there, as his interrogators -knew, had fled to the peninsula with their families. Indeed, warming -to his work as he went on, as once before on a less serious occasion -at St. Valéry, here in the little bare room in Quiberon village, -with his life at stake, Fortuné began in his own mind to invest -his supposed family with many likely attributes, and went so far -as to tell the commission that one of his brothers had been drowned -in trying, most foolishly, to escape to the English fleet.</p> - -<p>So he had not borne arms against the Republic? <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ma Doué,</span> certainly -not! Nothing was further from his thoughts; he was a peaceable -cultivator, and only wanted to be left alone to cultivate. He had -never emigrated? Dame, no! Why should he leave his family, his -parish, and his <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">recteur?</span></p> - -<p>The commission conferred together. The <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chef de bataillon</span> seemed to -be studying some paper in front of him, glancing off now and again -to look at La Vireville very keenly from under his grey eyebrows.</p> - -<p>"You have never been in North Brittany then?"</p> - -<p>No; he had never in his life left the Morbihan.</p> - -<p>"Then you do not know Erquy and Pléneuf?"</p> - -<p>Not if those places were in North Brittany. For his part, he did -not know where they were.</p> - -<p>"Then," inquired the president suavely, "you have never met or -even heard of the North Breton Chouan leader called Augustin?"</p> - -<p>And in that moment, as La Vireville realised that he was lost, -he realised also what Mme. de Chaulnes had meant when she said -that the score was yet to pay. This was her real vengeance.</p> - -<p>But he made a fight for it. "How could I possibly say that, mon -commandant?" he asked, with an air of puzzled innocence. "I do not -wish to tell a lie. I may have seen him here at Quiberon. Is that -what you mean?"</p> - -<p>The president laughed, not unappreciatively. "I suggest to the -prisoner that he can indeed see Augustin at Quiberon this very -moment, if he will be at the trouble of looking in a mirror."</p> - -<p>La Vireville assumed the most bovine air of stupidity at his command, -and shook his head. "I do not understand," he answered.</p> - -<p>"I think you understand only too well, Monsieur Augustin, otherwise -La Vireville," said the <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chef de bataillon</span> sternly. "Courtois, -oblige me by reading out the description of the Chouan Augustin."</p> - -<p>The sous-lieutenant read it out slowly and clearly—a damning -document enough, not the old incorrect Government '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">signalement,</span>' -but the one, drawn from the life, which Mlle. Angèle had penned -that evening at Canterbury.</p> - -<p>"The scar on the left cheek—put back that long hair of his!"</p> - -<p>The wheel had come full circle. What he had had to submit to, in -order to save Anne-Hilarion, months ago, had proved fatal to him -himself now, as he had always known it would some day. Well, Anne -could live without him.</p> - -<p>"I do not think," observed the president, folding up the paper in -front of him, "that there is anything more to say. Take him away. -The next, sergeant!"</p> - -<p>So La Vireville lost the throw, for the dice were loaded against -him. He had no doubt that Mme. de Chaulnes had sent the '<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">signalement</span>' -down with him to Quiberon, and that the president had been ordered -to keep it back till the last moment, as he had done, so that he -could delude himself that after all he was going to escape. She had -a pretty taste in vengeance, that old woman!</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>At half-past nine that night seventy of them were marched out to -die. It was a beautiful and serene evening, light enough to slay by. -Over the quiet waves the just risen moon made a wide golden highway. -They went four abreast along the sandy track till they came, among -the barley-fields at the edge of the sea, to a stony, uncultivated -meadow with a fringe of wind-sloped and stunted trees behind one of -its encircling stone walls. There they were halted and their sentences -read to them, and after that stationed, thirty at a time, a few paces -apart, against this low barrier. To each was told off a firing-party -of four. La Vireville had been speculating how it would be done; at -Auray he had heard that they had arranged otherwise. He himself was -placed among the first thirty, the last but one of the line.</p> - -<p>He had shaken hands with his right-hand neighbour, the Poitevin -from Loyal-Emigrant, and was turning to the one remaining victim -on his left, when his own four soldiers closed upon him. One of them -drew out a handkerchief to bandage his eyes. Fortuné did not think -it worth protesting that he should prefer not to be blindfolded, -and submitted without a word to the operation. Another man held his -unbound wrists, but La Vireville had no intention of struggling, -though all the time he was thinking, "If I had a chance, even now, I -would take it—were it only to spite that she-devil!" The handkerchief -smelt strongly of brandy.</p> - -<p>"Citizen," suddenly said a husky voice in his ear, and he felt the -rough hands still fumbling behind his head with the knot of the -handkerchief, which he was sure was already tied—"Citizen, we are -very sorry, but it is the law. So if you have any money about -you, give it to me now!"</p> - -<p>La Vireville gave a laugh. Could they not be at the trouble of -searching him afterwards?</p> - -<p>"I have several louis left, as it happens," he said, "but it would -not be fair to give them all to you, my friend. If I am to pay for -the privilege of being shot . . .! Shall I throw them to you all?"</p> - -<p>"<em>No!</em>" said the first applicant, with emphasis. "No, divide them -now!" cried two of the others; but this altercation on the brink -of the grave was broken into by an angry order from the officer -commanding the party: "You there at the end, get to your places -instantly!" And the hands, unwillingly, left Fortuné alone in the -darkness, on the bank of the same river whose fording he had tried -to make easier for that unfortunate young man at Auray yesterday -morning. For himself, he had always known and expected that he -would end like this, with his back to a wall and a firing-party -in front of him; the only feeling which remained, now that the -moment had actually come, was a hope for accurate aim.</p> - -<p>Down the line in front of him he heard the click of cocking hammers. -The voice of the old Poitevin a little way off on his right began, -firm and clear, to repeat a response from the Burial Mass: "<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Libera -me, Domine, de morte eterna, in die illa. . . .</i>" The man on his -left was murmuring over and over again a woman's name. . . . All -that Fortuné himself thought was, "They might as well have it, the -rascals, if I can get it out in time!" He thrust his right hand -into his breeches pocket.</p> - -<p>"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Apprêtez armes!</i>" shouted the officer.</p> - -<p>And La Vireville, drawing out his hand full of gold pieces, threw -the money from him with a gesture half-tolerant, half-contemptuous.</p> - -<p>But all that he had played for and lost, much that he remembered, -much that he had forgotten, surged like a tumultuous mist before -him, in those two or three seconds that he folded his arms on his -breast and waited for the final order. . . .</p> - -<p>"<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Feu!</i>"</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>In Quiberon village the peasants crossed themselves at the sound -of the volley.</p> - -<h3 id="c32">CHAPTER XXXII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Dead Leaves</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">In the Square garden, behind the statue of Butcher Cumberland, the -leaves fell early that year. Anne-Hilarion, Comte de Flavigny, -playing under their fading splendour, daily collected those he -most esteemed, and bore them indoors to hoard in a rosewood box, -lined with tartan, that had once been his mother's. Alas, like many -other of this world's treasures, these precious things proved very -evanescent. Either they fell to pieces, so brittle was their beauty, -or else Mrs. Saunders, declaring that she would not have a rubbish -heap in her nursery, threw them implacably away.</p> - -<p>Those were rather sorrowful days altogether in Cavendish Square. -It had seemed at first, when August was beginning, that Anne's -father had been snatched by a British naval officer's pertinacity -from that shore of death in the Morbihan only to die in England. -And the Chevalier de la Vireville, like so many others, had never -come back at all. . . . Ere August was over M. de Flavigny, it is -true, was out of danger; now, by mid-October, he was mending fast. -But he was very sad; and of M. le Chevalier no one ever spoke to -Anne-Hilarion, since a certain dreadful fit of crying, occasioned -by his queries about his friend—or rather, by the answers which -had to be given to those queries. And all the tragedy of Quiberon, -its waste of life and loyalty and devotion, lay heavy over that -London house, though no English existence or interests had suffered -loss there.</p> - -<p>All the more, therefore, did it seem good to the powers governing -Anne-Hilarion's days that he should frequent the Square garden -this autumn more than in previous years. And this morning he was -doing so, unattended, too, since John Simms, the gardener, was -there sweeping up the leaves, and the child was under engagement -not to go outside the enclosure. Elspeth had therefore left him for -a space to his own devices, and Anne was supremely happy, transporting -fallen leaves from one side of the garden to the other, in a little -painted cart indissolubly united to a horse of primitive breed. The -lack of playmates did not trouble him, and indeed his experience of -these had not been uniformly happy. There had been the episode of -Lord Henry Gower's two little boys, who also, as dwellers in that -house overlooking the garden where the Princess Amelia had used to -hold her court, sometimes took their pastimes therein. To them, on -one occasion, 'French and English' had seemed a highly suitable -game, and since Anne-Hilarion bore a Gallic name, it was quite clear -what part he was to sustain. He sustained five distinct bruises -also, and relations with the Masters Gower languished a little in -consequence.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">A'll lairn them play <em>Scots</em> and English!</span>" had threatened Elspeth, -on discovering these evidences of realism; but the culprits never -gave her the chance.</p> - -<p>To-day, however, there was no one in the garden but John Simms and -Anne himself; and John Simms, though amenable and ready to reply when -addressed, never bothered him with tiresome questions, as strangers -were apt to do, nor exercised an undue control over the dispositions -of his game, like Elspeth. He was a person of intermittent spasms of -labour, alternating with intervals of reflection, during which he -scratched his head, and silently watched whatever was going -forward—in this case Anne-Hilarion busily conveying to and fro -minute quantities of dead leaves, under the impression that he was -helping him.</p> - -<p>Accustomed to these periods of inaction, Anne, as he passed the -clump of laurels on the other side of which John Simms was at the -moment working—or meditating, as the case might be—would have -paid no attention to the cessation of the sound of the broom, had -he not just then heard the gardener thus deliver himself to some -person or persons unknown:</p> - -<p>"The Markis dee Flavinny, the French gentleman? Why, Mam, he -lives over there, just by where Cap'n Nelson used to live. But -the 'ouse ain't the Markis's, though, 'tis the old gentleman's, Mr. -Elphinstone's. And as it 'appens, the Markis's little boy's here -in the garden along o' me at this very minute—him with the gal's -name, Master Anne."</p> - -<p>Taking this as a summons, Anne-Hilarion at that came round the -laurel bush, his horse and cart behind him, to find that John Simms' -questioner was a lady in deep mourning, with a long veil.</p> - -<p>"This 'ere's the Markis dee Flavinny's little boy, Mam."</p> - -<p>Anne could not remove his hat, as he had been taught to do in the -presence of ladies, since he was already bareheaded. "Did you wish -to see my Papa, Madame?" he inquired rather diffidently. "Because -he is ill. . . ."</p> - -<p>The lady had never taken her eyes off him since he first appeared. -Even through the veil, Anne thought she was very beautiful.</p> - -<p>"I should like to talk to you a little first," she said, in a sweet -voice, speaking French. "Shall we go and sit on that seat over there?"</p> - -<p>They went over to it, and she sat down; but Anne, still a trifle -doubtful, stood in front of her clutching the string of his horse.</p> - -<p>"And what have you in your cart?" inquired the lady, putting back -her veil.</p> - -<p>"Leaves," replied the little boy. "I fetch them from <em>there</em>, and -I empty them out <em>there</em>. It is to help John Simms, but it takes -a long time."</p> - -<p>A pause, and then the visitor observed, "Did you say that your -father was ill, Anne?"</p> - -<p>The child nodded. "He was wounded over there in France, at -Qui—Quiberon, Madame. He has been very ill, but he is going to get -better now."</p> - -<p>"And is——" began the lady, and then seemed to change her mind -about what she was going to say. "I suppose he had friends who -went to Quiberon too?" she suggested.</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Anne. "But M. de Soucy could not go," he volunteered, -and contributed the reason. The lady, however, did not appear to -be in the least interested in the Vicomte de Soucy, indeed she -scarcely seemed to hear. She looked as if she were seeing something -a long way off.</p> - -<p>"My child," she said at last, bringing back her gaze to him, "you -remember the gentleman who fetched you back from France in the -spring?"</p> - -<p>A quiver went through Anne-Hilarion. "Oh yes," he replied.</p> - -<p>"I must ask," said the lady to herself; "I cannot wait." She looked -hungrily at the little figure with the cart, her hands gripping -each other, and as Anne had averted his head she did not see how -the young roses had faded from his cheeks. "Anne," she said, -finding her voice with difficulty, "has he come back—the Chevalier -de la Vireville?"</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion shook his head, and then, collapsing on to the grass, -put his curls down on the unyielding neck of his toy horse and -burst into tears.</p> - -<p>The lady covered her own face for a moment with her hands, the -next, she was kneeling beside him in her black draperies. "Mon -petit, don't cry so—don't, don't, you break my heart!"</p> - -<p>But Anne sobbed on as if his own heart were breaking, till the -zebra-like stripes on the little horse were all sticky with the -tokens of his grief.</p> - -<p>"Dear little boy," said the lady beseechingly, putting her arms -round him. "I should not have asked you—I ought not to have -mentioned him." Her own voice was by no means steady.</p> - -<p>"He said," gulped Anne, without raising his head, "that he would -be my uncle . . . in England too. But he has never come back . . . -and I want him. . . ."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Anne, so do I!" said the lady. "But don't cry so, darling! -Perhaps he will come back one day. Let me wipe your face . . . look!"</p> - -<p>"I thought you were going to say . . . that he was not killed after -all," sobbed Anne.</p> - -<p>"But we do not know, mon chéri, that he is killed, do we?" said -the lady, whose own face was now much the paler of the two. "You -see, Anne, he has perhaps gone back to his Chouans—to Grain d'Orge. -You remember him, my child? Do you know, Anne, that I once rode -on a horse behind Grain d'Orge?"</p> - -<p>She beguiled him at last into submitting to be detached from his -steed, and having his smeared countenance wiped with her fine -cambric handkerchief (much pleasanter than Elspeth's towels), and -finally, on the grass of the Square garden, she got him into her -arms and kissed and comforted him.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>All this time the broom of John Simms had been silent, and if he had -heretofore stood and scratched his head and watched Anne-Hilarion -at play, with how much more abandonment did he not now give himself -to this occupation! So absorbed was he in the spectacle before him -that he fairly jumped when he heard a fierce voice at his elbow, -and perceived Mrs. Saunders, come to fetch her charge to the house, -and, equally with him, amazed at what she saw.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Wha's yon wumman?</span>" she repeated. "What for did ye let her in here, -John Simms?"</p> - -<p>"I dunno who she is," responded he weakly. "She's furrin, that's -all I know, and asked queer-like wheer the Markis dee Flavinny -lived. So I tells her, and I says, 'This here's his little boy!'"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Ye doited auld loon!</span>" ejaculated Elspeth. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">'Tis anither French -witch, as A'm a sinner, come after the wean. John Simms"—she shook -him by the arm—"gang till yon gate, and dinna stir frae it—she'll -hae him awa gin ye dinna! A'll sort her!</span>"</p> - -<p>But though she advanced towards the unconscious little group upon -the grass with that intention, she changed it en route. Glenauchtie -should deal with this intruder.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">A'm gaein' for the maister,</span>" she announced, as she passed John -Simms, who was slowly and reluctantly gravitating from his post -of vantage to the gate, as he had been bidden. "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Hasten noo, ye -gaberlunzie!</span>"</p> - -<p>So Mr. Elphinstone, having for once contrived a comfortable morning -with his books, was disturbed by a tempestuous knock at the door, -and the entrance of his highly discomposed countrywoman.</p> - -<p>"Glenauchtie," said she breathlessly, "<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">there's a wumman—a French -body, in the garden, crackin' tae the bairn. She's gar'd him greet, -and noo she's at rockin' him in her arrms. A'm thinkin' she'll be -anither o' they deils frae Canterbury. Come awa quick, sir!</span>"</p> - -<p>"Dear, dear!" exclaimed her master, catching her alarm. "Fetch me -my hat,—tis in the hall,—and let us go at once!"</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>"There's Grandpapa," said Anne, detaching himself from the warm and -consolatory embrace. The lady rose from her knees as Mr. Elphinstone, -closely followed by Elspeth, came hurrying towards them over the -grass. But when he saw her Mr. Elphinstone mitigated his haste. She -was not, somehow, what Mrs. Saunders had led him to expect.</p> - -<p>"Madame?" he began, removing his hat.</p> - -<p>"You are Mr. Elphinstone, Monsieur?" asked the lady, stumbling a -little over the difficult, only once-heard name. "Forgive me that -I have made acquaintance with your grandson before waiting upon -you, Monsieur. I came in here to ask the gardener the number of -your house. Forgive me, too, that I have made the little boy to cry."</p> - -<p>Despite the consciousness of Elspeth, breathing out slaughter behind -him, Mr. Elphinstone felt calm. This was some émigré's widow, -perhaps (unaccustomed to the depth of French mourning, he would -never have imagined it assumed for a brother) but she had certainly -not come to beg financial assistance. Her air, even more than her -dress, assured him of that. As to spiriting away the child——</p> - -<p>"In what can I be of service to you, Madame?" he inquired.</p> - -<p>"I came to ask news of someone," replied the stranger. "But"—she -looked a moment at Anne—"I have had my answer."</p> - -<p>"<span lang="sco" xml:lang="sco">Come awa', Maister Anne!</span>" whispered Elspeth, gesticulating from -behind.</p> - -<p>Mr. Elphinstone began to understand. "Yes, go with Elspeth, my -bairn," he said. And Anne-Hilarion went, first saluting the hand -of the lady, who thereafter bent and kissed him, and watched him -as he departed.</p> - -<p>"Madame, will you not come into the house?" suggested Anne's -grandfather.</p> - -<p>She shook her head with a little sigh. "Thank you, no, Monsieur. -I will not detain you a moment. You can tell me what I want to -know only too quickly, I fear."</p> - -<p>"It is about the Chevalier de la Vireville?" queried Mr. Elphinstone.</p> - -<p>She bowed her head without answering.</p> - -<p>A look of pain came over Glenauchtie's ruddy features. "Madame," he -said, "it is best to be frank with you. We have no news of him since -that fatal day of the surrender—no certain news, that is. We have -made every inquiry in our power. My son-in-law was his friend, as -you may have heard, and he was severely wounded at Quiberon. As it -happens, almost the last thing he remembers is bidding a hasty -farewell to M. de la Vireville, who was then with the retreating -troops. He himself knew nothing more till he found himself that -night on board the English frigate, one of whose boats had rescued -him. We fear the worst now on M. de la Vireville's count, and it is -a great grief to us. We owed him much, my son-in-law and I. In fact," -finished Mr. Elphinstone not very steadily, "we owe him <em>that</em>!" -He indicated the departing figure of Anne, now just disappearing -with Elspeth through the garden gate.</p> - -<p>"I know," said the lady. "And I owe him much too—though we only -met once. But what did you mean, Monsieur, by saying you had no -'certain' news? Have you any then that is uncertain?"</p> - -<p>"It is so untrustworthy," said Mr. Elphinstone, hesitating, "that -I would rather not tell you."</p> - -<p>"I would rather hear it, Monsieur!"</p> - -<p>The old man still showed reluctance. "It is only this, Madame," -he said at last, "that a friend of ours, a naval officer—he, in -fact, who saved my son-in-law—met an émigré who said that he had -seen M. de la Vireville's name in a list of those who were shot at -Auray or Quiberon on a certain date in August. But indeed, Madame, -that is not evidence—still less so because this officer's informant -affirmed that he had seen the name in both lists—which is surely -impossible."</p> - -<p>"I thank you, Monsieur," said the lady, putting down her long veil. -"I had not really any hope. You will pardon me for having troubled -you? Your son-in-law will, I trust, soon be restored to health. -I am glad I have seen the little boy."</p> - -<p>She was extraordinarily calm, the old man thought. He went with her -to the gate. For one moment, forgetting that she had confessed to -having only once seen him, he wondered whether she had been La -Vireville's wife.</p> - -<p>"May I know your name, Madame?" he asked, as he bowed over her hand.</p> - -<p>"The Comtesse de Guéfontaine," said she, and was gone.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>René de Flavigny, lying wearily in his mahogany fourposter, was -a little reproachful when he heard of this visit, showing, in -fact, some of the petulance of the convalescent. He asked why his -father-in-law had not brought Mme. de Guéfontaine in to see him.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry, my boy," said Mr. Elphinstone. "I thought it would -be too much for you. Still, it might have been a consolation to -her to talk with you."</p> - -<p>"Not that I could have told her anything consoling," said the -Marquis dismally. "Fortuné is engulfed with the rest—we shall -never see him again. Did you tell her what Tollemache said?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said the old man, with a sigh. "She took it, I think, as -conclusive. She had great self-command."</p> - -<p>His son-in-law sighed too, a sigh of utter weariness and depression. -"I wonder what she was to M. de la Vireville," said Mr. Elphinstone, -pursuing his train of thought, as he stooped to mend the fire.</p> - -<p>René started. He was back suddenly at Quiberon, on the rocks in -the sunshine, in his friend's quarters by candlelight. "Bon Dieu!" -he murmured to himself. "I have only once—no, twice—heard him -speak of a woman," he added aloud. "Surely it cannot have been she!"</p> - -<h3 id="c33">CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">The Man she would have Married</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">So he was dead—was lying with his comrades in a hasty trench -at Auray, or under the bloodstained sand of Quiberon itself. -Sometimes—for she had heard that many had been drowned—Raymonde -de Guéfontaine had fancied that the sea, out of which he had come -to her, had claimed him again, and that his body lay forgotten on -some lonely Breton beach, or swayed gently, far down, with the -drift of the full Atlantic. It was not so; French soil held him, -as she hoped it would hold her some day. Yet, no more than the -little boy, should she look on him again.</p> - -<p>The October sunshine seemed to hurt her eyes as she went along -Oxford Street. These English people too, prosperous and indifferent, -who walked the streets of their dull city without a care, with such -satisfied faces, such garish-coloured clothes—she hated them! -Why had not England done more, lent the full weight of her arm -to that doomed enterprise? England had not shed a drop of her blood -for it. There were even those who said that she was not sorry to -know that so much French blood had flowed, and was glad to have -rid herself so cheaply of some of her pensioners. Raymonde de -Guéfontaine had too generous a nature herself to lend a ready -credence to that rumour, and yet she felt that the country which -sheltered her had wounded her too. For someone had told her that, -to England, the main significance of the expedition which had meant -so much to her and hers was that it had served as a diversion in -favour of England's ally, Austria; and seeing how, at the end, it -had been hurried forward, she did not wholly disbelieve this.</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine had come over to London from Guernsey, where -her brother Henri was stationed, to visit an old aunt who, unlike -most of her compatriots, had succeeded in saving no inconsiderable -sum from the wreck of her fortunes, and was now enjoying life -and society in an atmosphere perhaps greyer, but certainly less -inflammable, than that of Paris. Mme. de Nantillac was fond of her -niece, and, being one of those to whom bodily comfort is paramount, -was set upon driving Raymonde into giving up the lodging she shared -with her brother at St. Peter Port and living with her in comparative -affluence in Sloane Street. She had even selected a parti for her, -the most eligible of her circle. And for these reasons Mme. de -Guéfontaine felt a strong repugnance towards returning immediately -to her society. Instead of summoning a hackney coach she would go -into this great park, and sit there a little under the trees, alone -with the strange guest that had lodged all at once like a bird in -her heart—grief.</p> - -<p>She should never see him again. Now she realised that all the early -summer, when she had been in Guernsey, she had felt that only a few -miles of sea sundered them, were he in Brittany or in Jersey, and -that perhaps some day he would fulfil his promise, and come to St. -Peter Port. And then, on that day, she could try again to convince -him that, once that wild moment of fury and pain and vengeance past, -she had not even in will betrayed him. For it haunted her sometimes -that she had not really persuaded him, though she could point to no -look or word of his to prove it.</p> - -<p>Then had come Quiberon—yet she had hoped, and hoped . . .</p> - -<p>But now she could never plead her cause—now she could never convince -him. She could never have again that moonlit vigil at L'Estournel, -nor their twilight parting above the little bay. . . . But it was -only now that she really knew—only now, in this stinging, choking -mist of pain and regret, that two things, the most simple and -ordinary and terrible in the world, were made plain to her: that she -loved him, and that he was dead.</p> - -<p>And Raymonde de Guéfontaine, a Catholic, was transported in mind -from the bench in Hyde Park to the little church of her faith in -Guernsey, where every day she went to pray for André's soul. It was -unfamiliar to her, and she always found it stiff and new-looking, -with its pews and whitewash and self-complacent plaster saints. The -feet of her spirit faltered now upon its threshold. No, better far -to be in that little old pinnacled chapel in Finistère where she -and André had knelt as children, a marvel of delicate and lovely -tracery, set away from mortal haunts in a world of shining chestnut -trees—the little chapel where woodland beasts and grotesques chased -each other about the intricate carving of the ancient painted screen; -where St. Christopher, uncouth and truly gigantic, looked across at -St. Roch, whose dog no longer possessed tail or ears; where the floor -was worn by generations of use, and the pillars green with damp. -There, before the rude wooden Pietà, wrought centuries ago with much -love if with little skill, she could have prayed indeed to the Mother -who knew, if ever woman did, what loss meant. . . . And there, in -spirit, she did so pray, while her bodily eyes, long exiled from that -shrine, watched the fans of the alien horse-chestnuts flutter to -the ground about her.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>The Vicomtesse de Nantillac was stout, she wheezed when she spoke, -and was sometimes besprinkled with snuff; but she had been a beauty -at the court of Louis XV., and did not forget it.</p> - -<p>"You know, child," she said that evening, as they awaited a guest -in her comfortable drawing-room, which faced the fields towards -Westminster, "it really is time that you were <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rangée.</span> You have been -in that barbarous island since the spring, and Henri might well -part with you now. What further do you propose to do there—or -he with you?"</p> - -<p>"I may find means of making myself useful," said her niece placidly. -Having not the slightest intention of yielding to these attacks, -she was not disturbed by their recurrence.</p> - -<p>"You know," went on the old lady, shaking her elaborate grey curls, -"M. de Pontferrand thinks——"</p> - -<p>"But it is nothing to me what M. de Pontferrand thinks!" interrupted -Mme. de Guéfontaine with vigour.</p> - -<p>Mme. de Nantillac turned up her eyes to heaven, then addressed a -much more mundane deity, her lapdog. "Cupidon, you hear!" she -wheezed. "And as for that time in Brittany with poor André . . . -Tell me, Raymonde, what did you wear there? Did you really go about -with pistols and a cartridge belt? I said something about it to M. -le Duc, and though of course he thought it was most unfitting, he -vowed you must have looked like Minerva or la Grande Mademoiselle."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine gave a laugh. Out of deference to her aunt's -wishes, she was not wearing deep mourning this evening, and the -full grey silk and abundant fichu from which her neck rose like -an ivory column had about them nothing of the Amazon.</p> - -<p>"Ma tante, the Duc would never have looked twice at me in Brittany. -I wore a coarse stuff skirt, pleated into a thousand folds all -round, and a peasant's embroidered bodice, and a peasant's coif. -But as to settling down—no! I must fight in some way. I cannot -live at ease."</p> - -<p>The Vicomtesse bent her large pug face forwards. "You know, my dear -child," she whispered, "M. le Duc has . . . has recovered a good -deal of his money, and if you wanted to assist the cause in that -way, as I am sure we all do" (she never gave a penny herself), -"you would find him by no means parsimonious."</p> - -<p>"Possibly," said Mme. de Guéfontaine, shrugging her shoulders. "But -I do not want M. le Duc either as a banker or in any other capacity."</p> - -<p>"All I can say is that you do very wrong, Raymonde," urged her aunt. -"You should always think of the future. Who is going to look after -you in the years to come, when Henri is married and I am gone, -and perhaps the English are not as generously disposed as they -are at present?"</p> - -<p>"I do not want the charity of the English!" said Raymonde, flushing. -"And as for someone to take care of me—I am not a young girl. You -forget; like you, ma tante, I am a widow."</p> - -<p>"I do not know what that has to do with it, child," retorted her -fellow-bereaved. "Even I sometimes, not so young as I was, feel . . ." -She left her sensations of unprotectedness to the imagination. "Let -me implore you to think about it seriously. If you are determined not -to have the Duc (I am certain he is going to ask you, and probably -this evening), you might even marry an Englishman. You are so odd, -who knows?—it might be a success! There are English officers of -family in Guernsey, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose so," returned Raymonde indifferently.</p> - -<p>"My dear child, if they were there you must have seen them, in six -months. I have met English officers, quite proper men. You have -not taken a vow against marrying again, I imagine?"</p> - -<p>"Not that I remember."</p> - -<p>"Of course I know—your first marriage, your husband was somewhat -old for you. And on that score, perhaps, M. le Duc . . ."</p> - -<p>"The man I would marry," began Mme. de Guéfontaine suddenly, looking -down and pleating the silken folds of her gown, "would not be like -M. le Duc in any way. He would be lean and sinewy and agile. He -would not be rich, but he would have a mouth that held always a -shade of mockery, and he would do the most unexpected things with -an air of being amused by them, from befooling a Republican official -to saving the life of a woman who had tried to kill him."</p> - -<p>"You are describing some man you know," said Mme. de Nantillac, with -a certain measure of excitement. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Cela se voit.</span> Who is it? And who -was the woman?"</p> - -<p>Raymonde de Guéfontaine checked herself. The light which had been -in her downcast eyes was extinguished. "Oh no, ma tante. My portrait -has no original . . . <em>now</em>," she added inaudibly, and, turning -away, she began to rearrange the flowers at her breast, just one -minute before M. le Duc de Pontferrand, with his smile and his smooth, -portly, debonair presence, was announced.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>That night she revisited Porhoët in her dreams. The tide was up, the -moon was full, and from her little cottage, as she stood on the sand -and looked up at it, shone a light. She went up the path, lifted -the latch, and entered; and sitting at the table, breaking bread -together, were the two who had never met in life—André, pale and -smiling, with the fatal bullet wound in his forehead, and . . . the -Chevalier de la Vireville. They both rose as she came in, and held -out their glasses towards her, and as La Vireville moved she saw -the blood run through the fingers of the hand which he held pressed -against his side.</p> - -<p>She stretched out her arms towards the two phantoms with a great -cry—"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mes morts!</span>" and with that woke, and lay sobbing.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>A week later she was on her way back to Guernsey—Guernsey, whence -she could sometimes see the coast of that France for which they -both had died.</p> - -<h3 id="c34">CHAPTER XXXIV<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Monseigneur's Guest</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">Up and down the Hard at Portsmouth, among rough sailors and rough -language, but apparently unconscious of either, there walked in the -last days of November 1795 a little old man in the dress of a French -ecclesiastic, absorbed in a book. Such sights were not very infrequent -now in the southern ports, and if they aroused occasional comment, -it was not of a hostile nature. This old priest was small, frail, -and a little shabby, but of a very unaffected dignity, and on one -finger shone an amethyst ring.</p> - -<p>"Monseigneur does choose such extraordinary places to say his office -in!" thought a younger and taller priest, making his way through the -throng to the old man. "One knows, of course, that it is all the same -to him wherever he is."</p> - -<p>He approached his compatriot and addressed him with deference. For -the shabby little ecclesiastic was the exiled bishop of one of the -most important dioceses in France.</p> - -<p>"It is as Your Grandeur thought. The corvette is from Houat, and -she has on board a dozen or so of our unfortunate fellow-countrymen -from Quiberon. They are sending them ashore now."</p> - -<p>The Bishop slipped the book he was reading into a bulged pocket. -"Then we will go and meet them. Ah, pardon, my friend, I hope I -have not hurt you?" he exclaimed, as, in turning, he collided with -a gigantic man-o'-war's man in a shiny tarpaulin hat.</p> - -<p>The sailor pulled his forelock. "Not very likely, sir, saving your -presence," he returned, with a grin. "'Twould take a vessel of more -tonnage than you has to sink Tom Richards!"</p> - -<p>"I love these good mariners!" observed the Bishop, as the two priests -made their way to the edge of the quay and looked down. The corvette's -boat was already there, landing her cargo of battered and broken -men. So the Bishop stationed himself at the top of the steps, and as -they came up he spoke to each, asking his name, where he was going, -if he had need of anything.</p> - -<p>Last of all came a tall, gaunt man in English uniform who seemed -rather dazed, and was helped by two sailors up the steps. When his -supporters abandoned him he sat down on a bollard and put his right -hand over his eyes. His left sleeve hung empty.</p> - -<p>Perceiving his condition the Bishop did not address him directly, -but applied for information about him to the lieutenant of the -régiment de Rohan with whom he had last been conversing.</p> - -<p>"No one at Houat knew exactly who he was, Monseigneur," replied -the French officer, glancing over his shoulder. "He was found -half-dead on the rocks there as long ago as August, and he was ill -for months afterwards from wounds and exposure. Neither then nor -since has he been able to give much account of himself—he seems to -have lost his memory—though from the few rags remaining on him when -he was discovered it was supposed that he had been one of the -Chouan leaders."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, Monsieur," said the Bishop. He went over, with compassion -in his face, to the seated man, and touched him on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>"My son," he said, "is there anything that I can do for you?"</p> - -<p>"This is St. Helier, is it not?" answered the other in a dulled -voice, without looking up. "If you could kindly take me to where my -mother lives. I . . . I have been ill . . . and I do not think I -could find the way."</p> - -<p>The Bishop paused a moment, then he said, very gently, "This is -not Jersey, my child; it is Portsmouth."</p> - -<p>"Portsmouth," repeated the émigré, in the same uninterested tone. -"Not Jersey—Portsmouth. But she is not at Portsmouth——" Then he -looked up, and his eyes, full of fever though they were, knew the -man who was speaking to him for a bishop of his own Church.</p> - -<p>"But they shot you at Vannes, Monseigneur, with Sombreuil!"</p> - -<p>The old man guessed to whom he was referring. "God rest his soul!" -he said, signing himself. "But you mistake, my son; I am not the -Bishop of Dol, and this is England. What are you going to do?"</p> - -<p>The Frenchman got to his feet. "I?" he said, and laughed a little. -"Why, I should have been shot at Auray, Monseigneur . . . or at -Quiberon. . . . It would have been better. . . . But I am here. . . . -God knows why." He sat down again on the bollard.</p> - -<p>Monseigneur beckoned to his Grand Vicar. Then he turned again to -the émigré. "My son," he said, "you will come home with me. It is -not far. Come, take my arm!"</p> - -<p>And the émigré obediently took that ridiculous support (the Grand -Vicar, however, walking in readiness on the other side) and so -came, with difficulty and without speech, to the little hired house -where the Bishop lived.</p> - -<p>In the parlour Monseigneur said to him, "And now perhaps you had -better tell us your name?"</p> - -<p>"Augustin," replied the guest, and, turning suddenly faint or giddy -with the word, collapsed like a log against the Grand Vicar, who, -being fortunately nearly as tall as he, and robust to boot, was not -felled to the floor as the Bishop would undoubtedly have been.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>The good Bishop sat all that night by the bedside of his guest, -and all night long La Vireville tossed and talked, so that, being -undeterred by his occasional lapses into language of a vigour which -would have shocked the Grand Vicar, the Bishop learnt many things. -The empty left sleeve indicated, as he had of course supposed, that -the émigré had lost his arm—or most of it, for it had been amputated -some way above the elbow. That wound was healed, but his whole body -still bore the marks of what the sea and the rocks between them had -done to it, and it was to one of these injuries, to the head, that -the surgeon summoned next morning was inclined to attribute his -sudden lapse into insensibility and his present state of semi-stupor.</p> - -<p>"He was not really fit to have made the voyage from Houat," he said -in conclusion; "but from what one hears of conditions in the Ile -d'Yeu he is certainly better in England." He was thinking of the -privations which, since the end of September, General Doyle's little -force had been undergoing in the latter island.</p> - -<p>When the surgeon had gone the old Bishop said to his Grand Vicar, -with his customary gentle resolution, "We must try to find our -guest's mother in Jersey, of whom he spoke on the quay yesterday."</p> - -<p>"But we do not know his surname, Monseigneur," objected the younger -priest, "unless by any chance 'Augustin' is his family and not his -Christian name. And there are so many French exiles in Jersey."</p> - -<p>"His mother evidently lives at St. Helier," replied the Bishop, -"and that gives us something to start from. I shall write to the -Prince de Bouillon and ask him to make inquiries. . . . Also I shall -have M. Augustin moved into my bedroom. He will be more comfortable -there, and if, as I suspect, he is going to be ill for some time, -it is a sunny room, which is important."</p> - -<p>As the Grand Vicar and the housekeeper alike knew that it was of -no use arguing with Monseigneur, especially when his own discomfort -was in question, they did not waste their energies in conflict, and -La Vireville, still only half-conscious, was transferred to the -modest episcopal apartment.</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>The volleys that rang out that August evening over the Bay of -Quiberon had left one man out of the doomed thirty untouched by -any bullet—preserved as by a miracle. The miracle was wrought by -greed, and the man—as may be guessed—was Fortuné de la Vireville.</p> - -<p>Fortuné had realised the incredible thing quickly enough. Dazed -though he was by the ear-splitting general discharge at such close -quarters, he had no sooner perceived that he was still on his feet, -unharmed, than he had torn off the bandage round his eyes, taken -one glance at the scene through the drifting smoke, and with a -single bound had cleared the low stone wall behind him. Even as he -jumped, however, came a report, and his left, his already injured, -arm fell powerless to his side. He staggered a moment with the -shock, recovered himself, plunged through the little thicket of -dwarfed trees, and in another minute was running like a deer across -the pale barley-field beyond. He was saved—for the time at least—by -a chance the possibility of which had never entered his head. At the -moment of the command to fire, his executioners had been stooping -after the gold which he had just thrown to them. . . . One man only, -he who had just winged him, was bringing his musket to the level -as the émigré had snatched the handkerchief from his eyes and turned. -Now, as he ran, the barley catching at his bare feet, the rest of -the belated volley and some other shots came after him. But they -went wide; the light, at that distance, was too uncertain. La -Vireville tore on.</p> - -<p>Yet that one marksman had scored heavily enough, as was soon only -too obvious to the fugitive. His left elbow was shattered, and—what -for the moment was worse—the injury was bleeding very copiously. -La Vireville supported it with his other hand and arm as he raced -through the barley, but he knew that between the severity of the -pain, which the rapid motion was momentarily intensifying to agony, -and the haemorrhage, he would not be able to run much farther. And -indeed there was not much farther for him to run, since beyond the -field was nothing but the shore. That solved the question, anyhow. -With forty others to despatch, too, there was just a chance that -they would not pursue him immediately.</p> - -<p>So, where the edge of the barley-field curved gently over to the -beach, he scrambled down, panting and dizzy, and fell to his knees -on the soft sand. One thing he knew to be imperative—to stop the -blood pouring from his arm, and in a kind of frenzy he tore off -the bandage from his former, half-healed wound and tied it tightly -above and around the new. This proceeding, necessary though it was, -put the coping-stone on his endurance, and it was barely finished -before he toppled forward on to his face and lay there motionless. -Dimly, as consciousness left him, he heard the sound of the second -series of volleys.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>He came to—how much later he had small idea—with sand in his mouth -and an almost intolerable aching in his fractured elbow. Whether the -soldiers had searched for him or no he could not tell. He hardly -realised that, except from the beach itself, he was invisible where -he lay. But he did not conceive that there was any permanent shelter -for him on Quiberon. Looking stupidly at his arm, he saw that the -bleeding had stopped, but the arm was much worse than useless, for -it was anguish to move it in any direction. . . . Really the simplest -plan was to stay where he was. The soldiers would find him in time, -and could finish their work; on the whole, it was foolishness not -to have stayed up there by the wall to let them do it. . . . And -Fortuné lay down again, with relief, on the fine and kindly sand -that had already drunk his blood and now offered him oblivion.</p> - -<p>For though he had said to himself a little while ago that if he -had a chance he would take it, and though he had leapt the wall -instinctively, and had run as never before in his life, yet now, -after all, his will faltered. For one thing, he was sick with pain; -for another, he was badly crippled. And what inducements had he, -he asked himself, to wrestle further with destiny?—for a fight it -would be, and most probably a losing one. Anne-Hilarion, to whom he -now owed a duty; his mother, whom he loved; the cause he followed? -Yes; but to none of these was he indispensable. That dark star of -his, which for ten years had represented love to him, certainly -offered him no light to live by; nor did revenge, since St. Four -was dead. All he asked for was to yield, to contend no more.</p> - -<p>But in a few moments he had struggled up again on to his elbow. -The naturally unsubmissive bent of his mind worked automatically -against such a surrender, and the remembrance of his promise to René -came back even stronger than it had done last night. He had pledged -himself to do his best to escape; René's last words to him—possibly -the last he had ever spoken—had been on that matter. But how was he -to fulfil that promise?</p> - -<p>Leaning thus on his right elbow, La Vireville studied the sand, that -strangely white sand of Quiberon. How <em>could</em> he save himself—it -was practically impossible now! Under his gaze, covered with -half-dried blood from the shattered arm which it had supported in -his flight, lay his right hand, and that was all he had to depend -on. Slowly and awkwardly enough (and even then at the cost of what -made him set his teeth) he raised himself a little higher. And as he -propped himself on this sound but bloodstained hand, he was suddenly -aware of a minor pang in that. Glancing down again he saw that in -changing his position he had brushed it against a plant of sea-holly, -of which there were many on the shore and the dunes of Quiberon.</p> - -<p>And La Vireville stared at that sturdy thistle, with its sharp, -glaucous leaves and its beautiful dream-blue flower, both misty now -in the dim light, almost as if he saw it in a dream, for its harsh -touch had carried him back in a flash to the little bay in the -Côtes-du-Nord where all this, surely, had happened before—where, -when he was crippled, that same hand had known the scratch of the -sea-holly, even to blood, and Mme. de Guéfontaine's kiss.</p> - -<p>"She would not like to kiss that hand now!" he reflected, rather -grimly. Yet suddenly he had the impression, as vivid as if she were -there now, kneeling by him, near the sea-holly, as she had knelt -that evening in the northern bay, that she, with her high courage -and her ideals of devotion, would never counsel him to lie here like -a coward till he was found and shot. She would have counselled -him—did indeed seem to be counselling him now—to bestir himself, -for the child's sake, for his own self-respect. But how was he -to obey her?</p> - -<p>There was only one way—the way she had gone that evening. The waves -to-night broke not much less gently on this shore of tragedy than -they had done on that placid strand. Yes, there lay, as always of -late in Fortuné's life, the call. But it had never been so hard to -follow. Nevertheless he believed the English squadron to be cruising -somewhere off the little isles of Houat and Hoedic, and the former -of these could not be more than ten miles away. If Providence would -but complete the miracle and put him in the way of coming by a -boat—a possible but an unlikely occurrence—he would take it for -an omen, and make an attempt to reach the fleet.</p> - -<p>And so, supporting his mangled arm again with the other, he began -to get with difficulty to his feet, reflecting as he did so that -even if there were a boat on the shore he could not launch it, -injured as he was, and that in any case, if he showed himself near -it, he would probably be fired on by some unseen sentry. Luckily -the moon was near her setting. He must therefore look for this -problematical boat before she set, but not attempt to embark till -afterwards, when it would be much darker.</p> - -<p>Directly he was on his feet, La Vireville became aware of a black -blotch on the waters of the bay, a little to his left, and a few -yards from shore. He stood there staring at it, utterly unbelieving. -Was this the answer of Providence? Two fantastic thoughts immediately -visited him: the first, that she, with whom he had almost seemed, -a moment ago, to hold converse, had known that the boat was there; -the second, that Anne-Hilarion must really need him. It was quite -a small boat, yet, as far as he could see by straining his eyes in -the moonlight, it had a mast ready stepped—a vital point, since he -must have a sail. Then he tried to calculate the distance of the boat -from the edge of the water, because he thought it very unlikely that -in his present condition he could swim out to her. If the tide were -ebbing, however, he might possibly reach her by wading.</p> - -<p>"I shall be taking the deuce of a deal of trouble for you, Anne," he -said out loud, "and I expect it will come to the same thing in the -end—a volley at ten paces." But he sat down again to wait for the -moon's setting, his back against the bank of sand that was the edge -of the barley-field, trying to keep his hot thoughts off the great -pain that he was suffering, wishing that he had not made away with -his sling, and facing the more than probability that the fresh injury -would in the end be his undoing.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Twelve hours later, shivering with fever under a hot noon sun, he -was lying becalmed somewhere to the east of Houat. He had almost -lost his sense of direction, and in any case there was no wind. -The oars he naturally could not use. He had eaten nothing since -the day before, he was very thirsty, he had been soaked to the skin -in getting to the boat, and his wounded arm was causing him such a -martyrdom that if he could have cut it off and thrown it overboard -he would willingly have done so. Half the time Anne-Hilarion seemed -to be sitting beside him, asking why they did not sail faster, and -once, at least, he answered him very seriously, "Because, mon petit, -your uncle has such extraordinary bad luck,"—to which Anne had -contended that it was good luck, not bad, or that it might at least -be regarded as mixed. And then the fugitive found himself saying -something about the devil's own luck, and a voice replied, "André -had that kind of luck too, but it failed him in the end." Who was -André? Was he in the boat too? If he were, then perhaps his sister -was with him, and perhaps she could do something for this terrible -pain which was driving him crazy—as once she had with her cool -fingers eased his foot. . . .</p> - -<p>And Fortuné raised his throbbing head from the gunwale to look for -her—but he was quite alone in the boat, and the boat was alone, -motionless, in the midst of a shining sea. How the sun stared at -him—and yet he was so cold! His head fell back again inert, and -he returned once more to the vision of that tragic line of fallen, -writhing figures, an ineffaceable glimpse of which his senses had -caught and recorded as he leapt the wall.</p> - -<p>Later still, as daylight faded, the little boat, lifting sideways -with every long shoreward wave, her sails racketing madly about, -drifted nearer and nearer to the iron rocks of Houat, where the surf -was always pounding. The wished-for wind had sprung up just at -sunset, but the helmsman, lying face upwards in the sternsheets, -much as François the fisherman had once lain, was in no condition -to utilise it, or even to avert the disaster to which it was -hurrying him.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p><small><span class="smcap">Author's Note.</span>—It is a matter of historical fact that one émigré did -escape shooting at Quiberon by throwing his gold to the firing-party, -exactly as described.</small></p> - -<h3 id="c35">CHAPTER XXXV<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Mr. Tollemache as a Linguist</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">The full-rigged ship, in oils, embedded in a solid sea of the same -medium resembling a newly ploughed ultramarine field, which hung -over the chest of drawers in the Bishop's bedroom (he having taken -the little house furnished, and feeling, with his fine courtesy, -that he had no right to change the place of anything therein), -perplexed La Vireville not at all. Almost his last memory had been -of the sea. There was, too, a stuffed trout in a glass case which -might also, with a little difference, have been a denizen of the -deep. . . . But his mind, still, after ten days' care, somewhat -confused, was not at all cleared by lying and gazing, as he often -did, at the little triptych of the Assumption which the Bishop had -succeeded in bringing away from his private chapel in France, and -which hung not far from the other painting. La Vireville could not -have told why, but the triptych seemed to him, as it did to the -Grand Vicar, incongruous with the stuffed trout. He used to speculate -how it got there.</p> - -<p>At first he had remembered very little about Quiberon, either about -the surrender or his own abortive execution, but he had a vivid, -detached memory of what came after the latter event. He could recall -how, just as the little boat plunged into the breakers of Houat, -he had suddenly regained his senses, brought back, no doubt, from -the borders of unconsciousness by the never-dying instinct of the -seaman. Too late though it was to save himself then, that instinct -kept his nerveless hand on the tiller in an attempt to guide what -he could no longer control. . . . He remembered the crash, the -swirling, foaming water that sucked him down twice, struggling -desperately, from the rock which, crippled as he was, he could -neither gain nor cling to, the water that beat him against it like -a cork, and that then, in a great wave, finally engulfed him, to -bear him back and fling him senseless on the pebbles. He remembered, -too, waking once more to a brief, semi-animate existence, to find -himself lying face downwards on the wet shingle, his hair in a salt -pool that seemed half blood—or was it merely tinged with the light -of the red sunset that towered over Houat? Close by the surge still -thundered, drenching his cold, half-naked body with spray. He was -bleeding and battered from head to foot, yet, though he knew he -saw death face to face at last, he contrived to drag himself up the -shingle a few inches farther from the furious breakers. . . . After -that, darker oblivion than before. . . .</p> - -<p>Of his finding next morning by two of his compatriots, refugees -like himself from Quiberon, in time to save his life but not his arm, -he knew nothing, and most of the memories of his slow and painful -struggle back to existence in that bleak, scarcely habitable islet, -among the human débris of the great disaster, were confused, -and—except one—in no way desirable as reminiscences.</p> - -<p>Yet now, whether as the result of better care and conditions, or -because the strain of the voyage to England had worn itself off, -brain and body alike were recovering fast, and Monseigneur, very -much pleased, intimated that he should shortly set up in practice -as a physician. His best medicine, however, was still to come—from -Jersey.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>Fortuné was sound asleep when his mother at last bent over him, -one frosty December afternoon, her heart brimming with mingled -thankfulness and tears. For indeed the face on the pillow, always -lean, had passed far beyond mere leanness now. . . . Yet here he was, -her son, whom she had mourned as slain, sleeping just as he used to -sleep twenty years ago, a boy at Kerdronan, with one hand under his -head—no, not just as he had used to sleep, for this was not of -those days, this evidence, very marked in repose, of the pitiable -victory that weakness had won over vigour. He was alive, would live, -but he looked broken. And achingly it went to her heart, how thin -his wrist was—all she could see, at the moment, of that once -strong, sunburnt hand of his. Involuntarily she looked about for -the other hand. . . . And it was then, and then only, that the full -realisation of what the Bishop had told her came down upon her. -Under that avalanche her fortitude gave way, and sinking down on -the chair by the bedside she hid her face in her hands.</p> - -<p>The slight movement had wakened the sleeper, and he opened his eyes, -and lay a few seconds looking at her, without stirring. He had known -that she was coming.</p> - -<p>"What are you crying for, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petite mère?</span>" he said at last, in his -changed voice. "Are you so sorry, then, to see me again?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, my son, my son!" she cried.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>"You know about this?" he asked abruptly, after a little, indicating -his left arm.</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville nodded, unable, for all her courage, to trust -herself to speak for a moment.</p> - -<p>"I shall have a hook," went on Fortuné, with a faint smile. "Like -old Yves, the ferryman at Coatquen, when I was a boy. . . . Do you -remember? He always said that he could do more with it than with -a hand. . . . I used to envy him that hook. And I should never -have had an elbow again, you know."</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville swallowed something in her throat. "Since -Monseigneur told me," she said, sufficiently firmly, "I have not -ceased to thank God that it is your left arm."</p> - -<p>"I also," replied her son, with an effort. "And for Monseigneur's -charity, and now, for your coming, my heart. . . . Sit close to -the bed, and I shall sleep again."</p> - -<h4>(3)</h4> - -<p>Several times during the next two or three weeks did the Grand Vicar -congratulate the Bishop on having sent for Mme. de la Vireville. -There was no room for her in the little house, but she lodged near, -and spent all her days at her son's bedside. That son no longer -looked quite so much like the wreck of his former hardy self, and, -but for the fact that his memory still played him obstinate tricks -over names, he had regained his normal mental condition. But he -seemed to his mother to have something on his mind. One day, half -in jest, she taxed him with it.</p> - -<p>He looked at her from his pillows with a smile.</p> - -<p>"If I had a mind, little mother, there might be something on it. -Even my head is not as hard as I have been accustomed to boast, -for either that confounded bullet last spring, or the rocks of -Houat, have played the deuce with the inside of it."</p> - -<p>"But, my son, you are daily recovering your memory," said Mme. de -la Vireville encouragingly.</p> - -<p>"Yes," agreed Fortuné, "and one thing I remember is this—that I -promised poor René de Flavigny to look after Anne if he were killed. -And I am convinced that he was killed."</p> - -<p>His mother looked at his gaunt visage and hollow eyes.</p> - -<p>"Fortuné, you are scarcely in a fit state to look after anyone at -present, you must admit that. And as to the fate of M. de Flavigny, -surely that could be ascertained by inquiry?"</p> - -<p>"Doubtless, if I had not entirely forgotten his address in London, -and even the name of his father-in-law with whom he lived. I have -tried times without number to remember it," said La Vireville, -frowning. "It was a square, and there was a statue of a general -on horseback in it. . . . Perhaps Monseigneur would know?"</p> - -<p>As the Bishop, however, had not once set foot in London he was not -of much topographical assistance.</p> - -<p>But now, having elicited what her son had on his mind, Mme. de la -Vireville soon perceived what edifices he was ready to build on -the subject of Anne-Hilarion's bereavement. Anne should come and -stay with them in Jersey when his grandfather could spare him; Anne -should do this, that, and the other. . . . She could not doubt the -stimulus it was to Fortuné to feel that Anne would have a real -claim on him, and he on the boy. He had long ago made up his mind -that the Marquis could not have survived, and though his death -caused him real sorrow, so many friends and acquaintances had come -to violent ends since '89 that there was little sensation of shock -about the loss.</p> - -<p>Fortuné did not tell his mother, for fear of wounding her, that, -but for Anne and his own promise to René he might possibly never -have tried to escape that night, but she was not far from guessing -it. It would have needed a miracle to enable her to guess that the -thought of another person had also counted for something in that -episode—and this fact he was still further from revealing to her.</p> - -<h4>(4)</h4> - -<p>The required information about M. de Flavigny was supplied, in the -end, from a quite unexpected source. For, walking down High Street -one morning, Mme. de la Vireville saw two British naval officers -in front of her. One of the backs seemed familiar. So, rather -shamefacedly, she hurried after it, and breathed behind it an -apologetic, "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">De grâce, Monsieur!</span>"</p> - -<p>Mr. Francis Tollemache checked, looked over his shoulder, stopped -altogether, turned round, and saluted. His companion did the same.</p> - -<p>"At your service, Madame," he responded. "Madame de la Vireville, -I believe?"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Oui, M. le Lieutenant,</span>" said she, a little breathlessly. "<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Et si -Monsieur voudrait, il pourrait me rendre un grand, un très grand -service!</span>"</p> - -<p>The ready colour suffused M. le Lieutenant's ingenuous countenance. -He turned to his comrade. "Could you take her on, Carleton?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carleton shook his head. "Don't know a word of the lingo," he -replied unhelpfully.</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville saw what was wrong. She pulled herself together -for an effort. "You do not speak French, Messieurs, is it not? Eh -bien, it is that my son is very ill, and he want to know if the -little boy Anne de Flavigny—no, if ze fazzer of the little boy -is . . . <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vivant</span> . . . or kill'. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Il le croit mort</span> . . . and he have -forgot"—she touched her forehead—"where he live in Londres. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Cela -le tracasse tant!</span> You per'aps know it, Messieurs?"</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le petit garçon</span>—oh, hang it! Madame, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vous comprendre un peu -anglais,</span> don't you? The little boy lives with his grandfather, -Mr. Elphinstone, in Cavendish Square, but his father—<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">père,</span> isn't -it—ain't killed." Thus Mr. Tollemache, in the same bilingual style.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Mais</span> . . . my son, he was sure . . ."</p> - -<p>"I've the best of reasons for knowing that de Flavigny is alive," -said Mr. Tollemache stoutly, casting the French tongue momentarily -to the winds. "I went to see them all last week, and he's getting -on famously—can walk now. <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Porter bien . . . marcher . . . vous -comprendre, Madame?</span>"</p> - -<p>"Tollemache here saved his life," put in Mr. Carleton. "Pulled him -out of that affair under the very noses of the sans-culottes. A -deuced fine piece of work." But this information was couched in -language too idiomatic for Mme. de la Vireville's comprehension.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">M. de Flavigny n'est pas mort, alors?</span>" said she, the conversation -being evidently about to end in each party speaking his own tongue.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Non, pas mort,</span>" responded Mr. Tollemache. "Jolly as a sandboy—at -least he will be. So's the little 'un. And the address is Cavendish -Square. Shall I write it down . . . er . . . <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">écrivez pour vous, -Madame?</span>"</p> - -<p>"Ah, M. le Lieutenant, if you could come to see my son a little -five minute, to tell him about M. de Flavigny! <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Cela lui ferait tant -de bien!</span>" said Mme. de la Vireville, turning the wistful battery of -her eyes on the young officer. And he capitulated unconditionally.</p> - -<h4>(5)</h4> - -<p>La Vireville was sitting that day, wrapped in a flowered dressing-gown, -in the little bow window of the bedroom. It was promotion for him, -yet Mr. Tollemache gave an exclamation when he entered.</p> - -<p>"By gad, you look as if you had been through a good deal!" he said, -and then saw the empty sleeve, and was dumb.</p> - -<p>La Vireville stretched out his hand to him. "You behold in me, M. -le Lieutenant," he observed, with rather a grim smile, "a twice -condemned criminal. I have no right to be anywhere but underground. -But what is the news you have to tell me, Monsieur?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Tollemache sat down beside him and told him. The wounded man -heard him through to the end without comment, his face shielded by -the thin hand on which he leant it. At the end he said under his -breath, "Thank God!" and held out that hand again to the narrator. -"You are a brave man, Mr. Tollemache."</p> - -<p>But the sailor, not a very keen observer, was struck by the added -pallor which had come over the already haggard face during his brief -recital, and which he assigned to the well-known emotional nature -of the French, manifested as readily, apparently, at the hearing -of good news as of bad. Besides, the poor devil looked very weak. -Mr. Tollemache was sorry about that arm.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>"Well, my son," said little Mme. de la Vireville, coming in with -a smile a few minutes after the visitor had gone. "Did not our -guest bring excellent news, both for you and for the little boy?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, indeed," replied the invalid. "René's escape was nearly -as miraculous as mine. And," he added slowly, "a miracle to more -purpose."</p> - -<p>There was something so unusual in his voice that she stood with -all her gladness—that was mostly for his sake—turning cold.</p> - -<p>"Anne will not come and stay with us in Jersey now," said Fortuné, -looking out of the window. "There will be no need; thank God again -for that."</p> - -<p>Was it as strong as that then? Something that was half-hope, -half-anguish, leapt up in Mme. de la Vireville's heart. She knelt -down beside her son's chair, and looked at his averted profile.</p> - -<p>"Fortuné," she began, in a voice that shook, "if only you could -put that . . . memory . . . away! My dear, my dear, what is the -use of keeping it all these years? You have only to stretch out -your hand to grasp what you want. . . ."</p> - -<p>"What is it that I want?" asked her son, turning his head and -looking at her. He was even paler than Mr. Tollemache had seen -him. "There is nothing left for a cripple and a failure like me -to want, except rest, and you, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ma mère.</span> I have both—too much, -God knows, of the first—but of you I can never have too much. -There is nothing else that I need." He bent his head and kissed her.</p> - -<p>But from the day of the good news which Mr. Tollemache had brought -him, he began perceptibly to go downhill again.</p> - -<p>He was always, on the surface, his old jesting, courageous, -disillusioned self, but underneath was a listlessness which Mme. -de la Vireville had never known in him. It terrified her. He had -previously looked forward to walking a little with her in the garden -one day; now it was enough for him to sit apathetically in the -window. Sometimes he seemed to have neither strength nor inclination -even for that. The surgeon talked, as he had talked before, of the -effects of suffering and exposure on an exceptionally strong and -vigorous constitution; the Bishop said to the Grand Vicar that he -thought it was something that came very near to being a broken -heart—broken, like so much else, at Quiberon; and Mme. de la -Vireville, despairing, bewildered, and sometimes even a little -wounded, carried her knowledge of the past like a heap of ashes -amid her slowly dying hopes for the future. Had Fortuné, who had -recked so little of blows and hardships and disappointments, come -through so much to end like this?</p> - -<h3 id="c36">CHAPTER XXXVI<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Anne-Hilarion makes a Plan, and the Bishop a Revelation</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">"Always elephants," observed the Comte de Flavigny with interest, -holding up the little brass bowl of Indian workmanship which -contained the sugar. "Always elephants—and monkeys!"</p> - -<p>"The Baba-sahib is spilling it," whispered Lal Khan, bending his -turbaned head to the little boy's level, the while he tendered -the tray with the coffee-cups to his master.</p> - -<p>He had just brought the coffee into the library, and it pleased -the Baba-sahib, who had accompanied him, to offer the sugar to -the two gentlemen. He was, however, dressed for out-of-doors.</p> - -<p>"You are going for a walk, Anne?" asked his father, as he helped -himself. He was lying back in a great chair on one side of the fire. -A wonderful January sun shone in upon Mr. Elphinstone's books.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Papa, with Baptiste. I am going to buy a new money-box, because -since M. de Soucy opened my old one for me in the summer—when I -thought to go to France—it has sometimes come open of itself."</p> - -<p>"Very unsatisfactory for a thrifty bairn," observed Mr. Elphinstone, -who was sitting on the other side of the fire with a pile of -manuscript on his knee. "Then you will transfer your money, I -suppose, from the old to the new box?"</p> - -<p>"What is 'transfer'?" inquired Anne. "Oh, I understand. No, Grandpapa," -and he shook his head mysteriously. "I am going to spend it."</p> - -<p>"Dear me!" said his grandfather. "And on what, pray?"</p> - -<p>"Well, first I thought," said Anne-Hilarion, "that I would give all -the money in my money-box to M. le Lieutenant Tollemache for saving -Papa, for since M. Tollemache is not poor, like M. de Soucy, it is -permitted to offer him money—is it not? But Papa said . . . What -was it you said, Papa?"</p> - -<p>The Marquis smiled at his small and earnest son, and put his arm -round him. "I believe I told you to keep it for yourself, Anne."</p> - -<p>"But <em>I</em> did not save you, Papa!" exclaimed the child, almost -indignantly.</p> - -<p>René de Flavigny's eyes sought the fire. "I would not be too sure -of that," he said. "On whose account, do you suppose, Anne, did -Mr. Tollemache take all that trouble and risk for me?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose," replied the little boy, wrinkling his forehead, "for St. -Michel, because I asked him very particularly to take care of you."</p> - -<p>"Yes," repeated René, "as I say, it was you who saved me, my son. -But not, perhaps, quite in the way you think," he added to himself.</p> - -<p>There was a moment's pause, during which Anne apparently resolved -not to pursue this question, for he went on with a business-like -air: "I have now quite resolved what I will do with my money, which -is now a great sum, with what Grandpapa gave me at Christmas. I -shall not give it to M. le Lieutenant."</p> - -<p>"Well?" queried Mr. Elphinstone, looking at him over his spectacles. -"This suspense is very hard to bear, Anne."</p> - -<p>"I shall spend it on going to Portsmouth to see M. le Chevalier."</p> - -<p>The two men looked at each other at this announcement. "What next?" -asked the Marquis, amused.</p> - -<p>"After that I shall begin to save for the new box," responded his -son, taking the inquiry literally. "For though to go to Portsmouth -will not cost as much as going to France would have done, I expect -it will quite empty the old one."</p> - -<p>"And a very good thing too," remarked his grandfather, "if you -are going to employ your savings to such ends. We have had enough, -in this house, of your jaunts, my bairn."</p> - -<p>"But it was <em>you</em>, Grandpapa, that sent me to Canterbury!" said -Anne, turning an accusing gaze on the old gentleman. Mr. Elphinstone -collapsed.</p> - -<p>"True, only too true!" he murmured. "But, child, your father is -going down to Portsmouth to see M. de la Vireville directly he is -able to travel. He has already written to him to that effect."</p> - -<p>"But that will be quite a long time yet, I know," returned the -Comte wisely. "I heard Dr. Collins say so."</p> - -<p>"You could write M. de la Vireville a letter," suggested his -grandfather.</p> - -<p>"But I want to see him!" repeated Anne. "One does not see a person -by writing him a letter."</p> - -<p>"This child's arguments are difficult to controvert," remarked Mr. -Elphinstone to his son-in-law. "I do not see any reply to that."</p> - -<p>"Except perhaps this," suggested the Marquis. "Are you sure, Anne, -that on his side M. de la Vireville wants to see you just now? He -is rather ill, you know."</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion gave this due consideration. "But if I were ill, Papa, -I should want to see you and Grandpapa. It would make me feel -better—as when I had whooping-cough last year."</p> - -<p>"And you think that your presence would have a similar good effect -on M. de la Vireville? You are not wanting in assurance, my son!"</p> - -<p>Anne smiled, because he knew that he was being teased, and, the -clock striking at that moment, he slipped out of his father's arm. -"Will you please to think about it, Papa, while I have my walk?" -he said coaxingly.</p> - -<p>After he had gone Mr. Elphinstone turned over his manuscripts for -a minute or two. Then he looked across at his son-in-law, who was -staring again into the fire.</p> - -<p>"I could take the child to Portsmouth, René, if you wish him to -go—and can trust him to me," he said. "I do not know what you feel, -but it seems to me that it might be some slight attempt to repay that -great debt which we owe on Anne's behalf—and M. de la Vireville was -so fond of the child that he might really be glad to see him."</p> - -<p>René de Flavigny looked up and smiled. "How well you read my thoughts, -sir!"</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>On that same remarkably sunny day in late January the old Bishop, -in a long black cloak, was walking up and down the little walled -garden at Portsmouth under a sky as blue as May's. The forerunners -of spring had arrived, and the sight of that vanguard evidently gave -him a lively pleasure. He was standing looking at the border when he -heard a step, and observed Mme. de la Vireville approaching him. She -had come to the house earlier in the day, but he had not seen her.</p> - -<p>"It is almost spring already, Madame," he remarked to her. "Look at -that patch of aconites!"</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville did not obey him. She came up, kissed his ring, -and said with the directness of a child, "It is not spring in my -heart, Monseigneur. Your Grandeur knows why."</p> - -<p>The Bishop may have had the eyes of a mystic, but they were by no -means blind to mundane affairs. He looked at her now. "Yes, I know, -my daughter. I have been wishing for some time to speak with you of -this. You will not feel cold if we walk up and down a little in -the sun?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head and turned with him. At their feet the snowdrops -stood smiling and shivering behind little rows of box. "I have just -come down from Fortuné's room, Monseigneur. He is no better, this -morning—not so well, I think."</p> - -<p>They took a turn in silence. "Forgive me if I am impertinent," -said the Bishop, rather suddenly. "I have been wondering of late -why your son has never married. How old is he—forty?"</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville shook her head with a sad little smile. "Only -thirty-five, Monseigneur. As for his marrying, I have long greatly -desired it, but he will not look at a woman. He has good reason, -perhaps." She hesitated, then went on. "There was one, ten years -ago . . . he loved her only too well. She too seemed to love him -dearly, and became his affianced wife. On the very day before their -marriage she fled from her home with another man, whom she had only -known for a week or two. That man was Fortuné's intimate friend."</p> - -<p>"And then?" asked the Bishop.</p> - -<p>"Fortuné called him out—he could hardly do less. The scar which -you may have remarked on his face, Monseigneur, is a memorial of -their encounter. It is where his false friend's bullet wounded -him—he can never look in a glass without seeing that reminder. -They used pistols, not swords—I do not know why—and drew lots -for the order of firing. And though my son, since he fired second, -had this man who had so deeply injured him absolutely at his mercy, -though he was half beside himself with grief and rage, he spared -him, for her sake, and fired in the air."</p> - -<p>"That was well done," said the Bishop.</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville laughed. "Was it not, Monseigneur! It was -not easily done, either, that I know. Can you guess what Fortuné's -reward was? After a year she left this man, to whom she was not -wedded, and married another."</p> - -<p>The Bishop looked very grave. "And your son, Madame, after so -bitter a betrayal, has conceived a hatred of all women?"</p> - -<p>"Hardly that, Monseigneur. It is more hopeless even than that—for -such an aversion might change. No, I am almost sure that against -his will he loves her still. That is the tragedy."</p> - -<p>"She is still living—her husband also?"</p> - -<p>"I believe so."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps M. de la Vireville hopes to marry her in the end, if—as -may so easily happen in these sad days—she should be suddenly -left a widow?"</p> - -<p>"No, Monseigneur, he would never do that. He has never forgiven her. -But he will not look at another woman. I think it would make no -difference to him if he were to hear of her death to-morrow. For -him she has long been dead . . . and yet she is alive. Would God -she were not! Her lover was killed by his side at Quiberon; he told -me the other day." She paused a moment, looking into the distance, -and resumed, with a little gesture: "Do not imagine, Monseigneur, -that Fortuné is always thinking of this. He is not a dreamer; he has -always been a man of action, and a reckless one at that. It is but a -scar now, I think, not a wound—but it is a scar with poison in it. -And over there in Jersey, when I saw him with the little boy . . ." -She stopped, and the tears came into her eyes. "Monseigneur, I -believe that in his heart of hearts Fortuné desires as much to have -a son as I desire to see him with one."</p> - -<p>"But," said the Bishop, "there is nothing to prevent his marrying -some day, if he could cut himself loose from this memory. If he -could so cut himself loose, the rest—you must pardon an old man, -my daughter—the rest would not be difficult, would it?"</p> - -<p>"Monseigneur, a man who will not look at women is always attractive -to them."</p> - -<p>The Bishop smiled. "I suppose that is true. Now would you be astounded -to learn that, before you came, he used sometimes, in sleep or -delirium, to repeat a woman's name? I suppose it was hers who -betrayed him."</p> - -<p>"I do not think that likely, Monseigneur," said Mme. de la Vireville. -"He has not mentioned her name for years. And that it should have -been any other woman's is impossible."</p> - -<p>"Then perhaps my ears deceived me," replied the Bishop, looking as -if he were pretty sure that they had not. "In that case I shall -perhaps not be indiscreet if I tell you the name—admitting frankly -that some of the context puzzled me. It was—'Anne.'"</p> - -<p>It may be seen what bond of error united the old French Bishop and -the middy of the <i class="name">Pomone</i>.</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville clasped her little hands together. "But, -Monseigneur, that exactly bears out what I said about his desiring -a son. Anne is the name of the little boy I was referring to just -now—Anne-Hilarion de Flavigny, his friend's son—the friend about -whose fate, as Your Grandeur knows, Fortuné was anxious, but who -proves, after all, to have been saved at Quiberon. Fortuné had -promised the Marquis de Flavigny to look after the child if he—the -Marquis—were killed."</p> - -<p>"But now, as the Marquis escaped, he will not be called upon to -undertake this charge?"</p> - -<p>"No, Monseigneur."</p> - -<p>"That is a pity," said the Bishop, looking down reflectively at the -radiant face of a little beruffed aconite at his feet. "There are -all sorts of doors which only a child's hands can unlock." And, -still looking at the aconite, he went on gently: "Madame, I should -be doing wrong were I to disguise from you that the doctor does -not think well of the lethargy which seems latterly to have taken -possession of your son, and which appears to have so much connection -with his physical condition."</p> - -<p>"I know it," said the poor mother, all the delicate colour gone -from her cheeks. "But what more can I do, Monseigneur? I know that -Fortuné loves me dearly, but I am old, and represent the past to him, -not the future, and it is the past that he needs to forget. . . . He -is ill, it is true—he has been very ill—but never have I seen him -like this. Always, in whatever vicissitudes—and he has been severely -wounded before, and I nursed him in Jersey—always he has been full -of gaiety and courage. Now all that seems to have deserted him, as -if he did not care to live."</p> - -<p>"Madame, is that, after all, so much to be wondered at?" asked the -Bishop gravely. "If you or I had fought at Quiberon, and had seen -nearly all our comrades massacred in cold blood, might we not be -tempted to feel the same? There is much buried on that shore which -engulfed so many hopes. I think M. de la Vireville has left his -there, as others their lives. There is not, I fancy, any great -difference between the two losses. . . . Still, as I said, a child's -hand holds many keys, to shut or to open." He stooped at last, a -little painfully, and picked the aconite, and added to himself, "As -we say to the Child who was Himself the Key . . . <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">O Clavis David, -qui aperis et nemo claudit; claudis et nemo aperit, veni et educ -vinctum de domo carceris, sedentem in umbra mortis</i>. . . . I wish -your son could have had the care of this child you speak of."</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville could not reply. She had hidden her face in her -hands, and the tears were trickling through them. The little old -man, holding the golden flower in his fingers, stood and looked at -her with a great pity in his eyes.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>Suddenly, however, something else came into them—a gleam of -recollection. He looked half doubtfully upon the weeping woman -before him, compressed his lips, then appeared to make up his mind.</p> - -<p>"My daughter," he said, "it has only just come back to my memory, -strangely enough, that one night . . . now this, I fear, really is -betraying an involuntary confidence, but for your sake I am going -to do it . . . one night I heard your son murmuring to himself a -name which can only have been a woman's. But perhaps, again, it -was <em>hers</em>. . . ."</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville raised her tear-stained face from her hands. -"What was the name, Monseigneur?"</p> - -<p>"'Raymonde,'" said the Bishop.</p> - -<p>It was no coup manqué this time. The little mother gazed at him -thunderstruck, amazement, incredulity, and something that might -almost have been a strangled joy chasing each other over her fragile -countenance.</p> - -<p>"'Raymonde'?" she repeated. "I . . . it cannot be . . . I know no -one of that name!"</p> - -<p>"But evidently your son does, Madame," suggested His Grandeur, unable -to restrain the phantom of a smile. "It was the only time I ever -heard him mention it. He seemed to be beseeching this 'Raymonde' -to come to him."</p> - -<p>Mme. de la Vireville had no words. Nor had she tears now; her -astonishment had dried them. She stared at Monseigneur, who stood -there with the bright aconite flower in his pale old hands, which -were folded across the purple sash showing between the folds of his -cloak, and she said nothing.</p> - -<p>"Your experience of the world, my daughter," went on the Bishop, -"must have taught you that even the most devoted son does not always -confide everything to his mother. In this case, doubtless, the time -was not ripe."</p> - -<p>The time, however, did seem to him ripe to leave this mother to -reflect on the information that he had just given her, and, the -sound of a clock striking noon issuing most appositely at this -moment from the house, he seized the opportunity to add:</p> - -<p>"If you will excuse me, Madame, for a few moments? I must say my -office."</p> - -<p>And pulling out his shabby breviary he went off down the path in -a manner more than diplomatic, for he had said Sext before ever Mme. -de la Vireville came into the garden. However, one can always get -ahead with advantage.</p> - -<p>But when a conviction of ten years' growth—one, moreover, which you -have just been stoutly affirming with your own lips—is as suddenly -felled as was Mme. de la Vireville's about her son, it is natural -to find its collapse somewhat devastating. Fortuné's mother, hardly -aware that Monseigneur had left her, stood beside the snowdrops, -certainly more engrossed than was Monseigneur himself at the other -end of the path—and the antiphon to <em>her</em> Hours was a name she -had never heard before.</p> - -<h3 id="c37">CHAPTER XXXVII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">The Child unlocks the Door</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">The Chevalier de la Vireville was lying, as he had so often lain, -staring at the stuffed trout and the triptych of the Assumption. -The adventurous and disappointed spirit which dwelt in him, that -had always faced with a jest every blow of circumstance—but one—had -indeed ebbed very low. Although the sun which five days ago had -opened the aconites in the garden came streaming into the room in -a way to rejoice the heart of the room's late owner, who had given -it up for that very reason, the present occupant was perfectly -indifferent as to whether the sun shone or no. He was back at -Quiberon in the rain—back at Auray in the little chapel, emptied -of all its victims save him alone—back in front of those levelled -muskets which he alone had escaped. . . . Why, in God's name, had -fate so marked him out for safety? Why had he put himself to the -agony of that derelict voyage to Houat and the long suffering that -came after? Mostly because of his promise to his friend, and because -he thought Anne wanted him . . . or because he wanted Anne. But he -was not needed, neither by the boy nor by anyone. He had built a -foolish dream on the assumption of René's death, which to him had -seemed a certainty. The dream had proved baseless, like everything -else, and all it had done was to plant in his sincere thankfulness -for René's escape a thorn of regret which was horrible to him, and -made him, who had suffered so bitterly from treachery, feel a -traitor himself.</p> - -<p>No, he was not needed any more; he had done his work. Or rather, he -had not even that consolation, for everything to which he had set -his hand at Quiberon had been a failure, even though the fault were -not his. His men, whom he had never once led to victory in the -Morbihan, were dead or disbanded. There was nothing for him to do -henceforward, and even had there been, he was useless—a tool that -had never been of much account, and was now blunted for the rest -of time.</p> - -<p>And further back still. . . . Had he not failed to keep the woman -he loved, the woman who had spurned even the difficult sacrifice he -had made for her sake, when he had spared her lover? He had no daily -perils now to anodyne that ache. But he had another ache to set -against it. . . .</p> - -<p>Yes, for ironically enough, at the very hour, five days ago, when -his mother was protesting in the garden to the Bishop that he could -never think of another woman, he <em>was</em> thinking of one. Equally had -Mme. de la Vireville, almost incredulous, carried about for five days -her half-knowledge, longing for her son to speak that name which -meant nothing to her, yet hinted at so much; studying him at odd -moments, trying not to feel hurt at his reserve, puzzled, hoping, -fearing, and far from guessing that this 'Raymonde,' to Fortuné's -mind, was not a subject of which he could ever speak to anyone. For -the thought of her warred against that perverted faithfulness to -the faithless which had made his torment these ten years.</p> - -<p>Yet day after day the vision of Mme. de Guéfontaine had been dwelling -more and more constantly with him, and her image, by a volition, -so it seemed, of its own, seeking to efface that other. From its -beginning in that night of agony and effort at Quiberon, its renewal -in the drifting boat, the process had gone on gaining vitality -with time. At Houat he had wakened once from fever to fancy that -he was lying with his head pillowed on her arm, as he had done -that evening when he had stumbled exhausted into the old manoir. -That had proved to be but fever also; his aching head had no such -support, and the English corporal of marines who sat by him, -though kind enough, had very little suggestion of Raymonde about -him. Yet the illusion had given the wounded man such extraordinary -pleasure, and so surprising a sense of rest and security, that he -used, in those barren days, to try to repeat it by a conscious act -of the imagination. She <em>had</em> sat by his couch, once, through the -night . . . she had walked by his horse's stirrup on a spring evening -towards the sea . . . and among the nodding sea-holly she had kissed -his hand. It was his last memory of her, almost as startling as -his first. . . .</p> - -<p>And now in England he thought of her too—fitfully at first, then -incessantly. But this had served in no way to lighten his depression. -For he was not in love with her, he told himself—how could he be? -Was not all his heart seared over with a fatal memory? Those shackles -could not be loosed now—and even were they miraculously to be -smitten from him, what had he to offer another woman? A maimed body, -an empty purse, a ruined home. . . .</p> - -<p>And yet oddly, persistently, he would see himself standing with her -under the larches in front of a house like Kerdronan, that was -perished, and with them stood a little boy like Anne, who did not -need him and was gone from him. . . . He was suddenly possessed -now by that foolish and torturing vision, and lay there clenching -and unclenching his hand, as though in physical pain. No, he and -Kerdronan would go into the dust together, and it was no use -reflecting on what might have been. They were both broken and done -with, he and his home—and no great loss, doubtless, after all.</p> - -<p>"Good God!" he exclaimed at last, "what a cowardly fool I am, lying -here and moaning like a sick girl because I am short of an arm!"</p> - -<p>He shut his eyes on that self-condemnation (which had not helped -him), and did not trouble to open them when there came a knock at -the door. Nor, as he still kept them closed when he said "Come in!" -did he see who opened it, and Mr. Elphinstone's face in the doorway -looking at him with a smile that died away to concern. He only heard -the door shut again, and supposed that the visitor, his mother, or -Monseigneur, had decided after all not to disturb him.</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>The treble voice, therefore, that said his name suddenly and softly -gave him a violent start. He opened his eyes to see Anne-Hilarion -standing by the closed door, carrying in both his hands a large glass -bowl wherein there swam an enormously magnified goldfish.</p> - -<p>"<em>Anne!</em>" he exclaimed, in a voice of utter incredulity.</p> - -<p>And then the sight of him, unchanged, solemn-eyed and engaging as -ever, the touching absurdity of his bringing a goldfish all the way -from London to cheer a sick Chouan, caused La Vireville to break -into a weak laugh that was half something else.</p> - -<p>"Oh, M. le Chevalier!" cried Anne, gazing at him. Then he deposited -his precious burden with haste on the floor, and, running to the bed, -flung himself into the welcome of La Vireville's arm.</p> - -<p>"My cabbage, my little comrade!" murmured the émigré, and he kissed -the cold, fresh cheek again and again. "You are not changed at -all—yes, I suppose you have grown. . . . Then you have not forgotten -me after all? Have you come all this way to see your poor bedridden -uncle—not by yourself, though, I trust?"</p> - -<p>"Oh no," replied Anne-Hilarion, his arms round Fortuné's neck. -"Grandpapa brought me. I wanted to see you so much!" He hugged him -hard, then, drawing back a little, eyed him with a sudden doubt. La -Vireville hastily withdrew his arm and pulled the bedclothes over -his left side.</p> - -<p>"Come and get up on the bed," he suggested, "and we can talk better."</p> - -<p>The Comte de Flavigny, needing no second invitation, incontinently -scrambled up—not without difficulty, for the bed was high.</p> - -<p>"I am not too heavy?" he inquired rather anxiously, as he took a seat -on La Vireville's legs. "Papa says I am getting too heavy for him."</p> - -<p>And, as a matter of fact, he had planted himself exactly on one of -the more painful souvenirs of the Ile de Houat; but La Vireville -would not for worlds have asked him to move.</p> - -<p>"You are a mere featherweight," he assured him. "And is your father -nearly well again, Anne? He has written to me, but he did not say -much about himself."</p> - -<p>"Papa looks much better than you do, M. le Chevalier," said the -little boy critically. "He can walk quite well now. He is coming -to see you when he is quite better. Grandpapa is downstairs, you -know; he will come up soon, I expect."</p> - -<p>La Vireville, in his turn, surveyed the visitor perched on his body. -Anne's legs, in their blue pantaloons, stuck out straight in front -of him on the bed; the shoes at the end of them looked ridiculously -small. His curls, falling on his deep ruffle, seemed heavier and a -little longer than of yore, and the sun was busily employed in -gilding them. For the first time, therefore, La Vireville was really -conscious of the presence of that luminary.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion was the first to break the silence. "Did Papa tell -you in his letter," he inquired, "that a lady came into the garden -to ask for you, M. le Chevalier?"</p> - -<p>"A lady!" exclaimed Fortuné. "What garden, child—here?"</p> - -<p>"Oh no," replied Anne. "The garden in the Square at home. It is a -long time ago now. I was there, and John Simms, and I had leaves -in my cart—dead leaves—and she came in, all in black, and she -asked if you had come back from France, and I said no, and then I -cried, and I think she cried too, and she kissed me, and then -Grandpapa came, and——"</p> - -<p>"Stop a moment!" cried La Vireville, who was not without experience -of the volume of detail Anne could pour forth when once he was -embarked on the tide of narration. "What was the lady like? Was -she young?"</p> - -<p>"She was not so old as Elspeth," pronounced the Comte de Flavigny, -after due thought.</p> - -<p>La Vireville gave a rather shaken laugh. Had this impossible thing -really happened? Anne-Hilarion never lied. But—it must have been -someone else!</p> - -<p>"You did not learn her name, I suppose, child?" he asked, his heart -beginning to thud.</p> - -<p>"Yes," responded Anne. "I asked Grandpapa afterwards, because I -liked her. She was called the Comtesse de Préfontaine—or perhaps -it was Guéfontaine."</p> - -<p>La Vireville's heart missed a couple of beats, then pounded harder -than ever, seeming to shake his whole body—a humiliating experience. -But for his present physical condition, however, no doubt he would -not have gasped for breath as he did, nor would the colour have come -and gone like a woman's in his hollow cheeks. Nevertheless, as both -these things happened, Anne-Hilarion looked at him in a little dismay.</p> - -<p>"You are—do you feel ill, M. le Chevalier?" he asked solicitously.</p> - -<p>"No—yes," stammered Fortuné, lifting himself on his elbow. "No, -child, don't move! It is not that you are . . . too heavy." He drew -a long breath, closed his eyes, and dropped back on his pillows. -"What did you and Grandpapa tell Mme. de Guéfontaine?" he asked, -after a moment.</p> - -<p>"Grandpapa told her, I think, that the Republican soldiers had shot -you at that place—Quiberon. . . . M. le Chevalier," continued Anne, -leaning with very wide-open eyes towards him, and thus still further -contributing to the discomfort of the leg on which he was situated, -"did they really and truly shoot you?"</p> - -<p>"Well," said Fortuné, in a dreamy voice, "they did and they did not. -Anyhow, here I am, you see." He reopened his eyes.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Anne, in a tone of great contentment, and bestowed on -his friend one of those infrequent smiles of his, sudden and shy, -at the same time sliding his hand into the strong, wasted one lying -idly near it on the coverlet.</p> - -<p>A thrill ran up Fortuné's arm. Ever since he had seen Anne standing -by the door he had been conscious of a strange sensation, as if, -with the advent of the child who had sailed the seas with him on -that wild adventure, there had begun to blow through his hot brain -the first whisper of a clean and joyous breath that came from the -waves themselves. A moment or two ago, those lips had made him an -annunciation the full meaning of which he could hardly grasp. Now, -at the little warm touch, his eyes were suddenly opened, and he saw -the tainted memory in his heart as only a handful of dead dust, not -worth the keeping, fit only to be scattered on that wind of morning. -It was the past, useless and done with, a thing long dead. . . . Here, -close to him, touching him, smiling at him, enshrined in this child -who had no past, shone the future, like something gallant and green -with the dew on it, and, blowing over it, that strong, fresh wind. -The worthless burden he had carried for years fell from him. He too -could have what René de Flavigny had, the air of morning at his -gates—nay, morning's self. . . .</p> - -<p>In the almost physical sense of deliverance he must have gripped -Anne-Hilarion's hand very hard, for the child gave a movement.</p> - -<p>"Little pigeon, have I hurt you?" cried La Vireville, instantly -penitent, releasing the imprisoned hand. "I am so sorry. . . . I -did not know that I was still so strong." At the moment, indeed, he -hardly knew anything—scarcely, even, what he was saying.</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion carried the injured member to his mouth for a second -or two, then he put it back in La Vireville's palm. "I am very -glad that you are so strong, M. le Chevalier," he said valiantly. -"Perhaps you will soon be quite well again. I hope so very much. And -then—what are you going to do?"</p> - -<p>"What am I going to do, Anne?" A little while ago, under that cloud -of lassitude and depression, the question would have seemed a -mockery. "Well, you know—or you will soon know—that they had to -cut off my other arm, but I can still hold a sword—and hurt a -small boy's hand, eh? When I get quite better I shall go back to -the heather, and the sea, and perhaps . . ." He broke off and fell -silent, staring at his visitor with an air compound of bewilderment -and meditation. "Meanwhile, am I not to see the new goldfish?"</p> - -<p>Anne-Hilarion slipped promptly from the bed and ran to the corner -by the door. Anon, raising himself from his stooping position, and -carrying it between his hands with even more than his accustomed care, -he came back with his trophy. His eyes were very bright.</p> - -<p>"It is my biggest one of all," he observed, as La Vireville propped -himself on his elbow to view the captive. "I called it after you, M. -le Chevalier . . . you do not mind? And I thought, as you were -ill . . . and I heard Papa and Grandpapa say you could never be -repaid for coming after me to France . . . you might . . . I mean -I brought it to give it to you, if you liked . . . for your own!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, my child," said La Vireville, rather breathlessly, "you have -given me much more than that!"</p> - -<h2>BOOK FOUR<br /> - -<small>THE OLDEST ROAD OF ALL</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry-container" lang="sco" xml:lang="sco"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Our ship must sail the faem;</div> -<div class="verse">The king's daughter o' Noroway,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">'Tis we must fetch her hame."</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap"><cite>Sir Patrick Spens.</cite></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">"All quests end here, all voyagings, all ventures:</div> -<div class="verse">Is not my white breast haven to your sail?"</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="rightalign smcap"><cite>The Wave's Song.</cite></p> - -<h3 id="c38">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Flower of the Gorse</span></small></h3> - -<h4>(1)</h4> - -<p class="noindent">A brilliant May morning of sun and wind was exulting over the -beautiful harbour of St. Peter Port at Guernsey, and over the old -town rising steeply like an amphitheatre from its blue waters. -But the aged salt who was making his way up one of the narrow -streets with a basket of freshly caught lobsters on his arm was -not particularly responsive to the sunshine; indeed, the air with -which he paused and mopped his red face suggested that an injured -"Very hot for the time of year!" would issue from his bearded mouth -in response to any greeting.</p> - -<p>As he put away his bandana and prepared to resume his ascent of the -cobbles, he observed two persons coming down, one behind the other—a -young man in uniform, and, in front of him, a girl in the old -Guernsey costume of chintz-patterned, quilted gown, opening in -front over the black stuff petticoat into the pocket-holes of which, -after the island fashion, it was tucked. This damsel came tripping -down, despite the steepness of the street, happy no doubt in the -conviction that the officer behind her was admiring her trim feet -and ankles in their blue stockings and buckled black velvet shoes. -Unfortunately the officer could not see her pretty face, framed in -a close mob cap under an ugly bonnet with enormous bows. Only the -ascending fisherman, at the moment, had a sight of that, and yet -his gaze was fixed precisely on the soldier behind her, scenting a -possible purchaser in him rather than in the native maiden. And the -officer, too, seemed to have his eye on the fisherman, and slackened -his pace as he came nearer. So Beauty, casting half a glance on the -writhing lobsters, passed unheeded.</p> - -<p>"I suppose you can't tell me, mon vieux, the name of that vessel -just come into harbour?" asked the officer, stopping.</p> - -<p>The uniform was English, but the wearer did not look quite English, -and he spoke in French. As a native of the Channel Islands the -ancient mariner accosted should have understood that tongue, but -for purposes of his own he affected not to do so.</p> - -<p>"Very fine they are, indeed, sir!" he replied, peering into his -basket. "Comes from the rocks over by L'Etac, they do. You wants to -now the price? Well, this one——" and he held out a freckled ebony -form that slowly waved its spectral antennae at the young officer.</p> - -<p>The latter pushed it aside with an impatient cane. "No, no—I don't -want one of those things to-day. I wish to know what that vessel -down there is—and I am sure you understand me perfectly!"</p> - -<p>Having observed with one eye that the officer's other hand was moving -in the direction of his waistcoat pocket, the seafarer turned both -in the direction of the Frenchman's pointing cane. "Ah, yon, just -about to make fast," he said, pointing, too, with the rejected -lobster. "She'll likely be the Government sloop <i class="name">Cormorant</i>, bound -for Jersey, come in here with despatches. Thank you, sir! And you -won't take this beauty home to your good lady?"</p> - -<p>But the young officer shook his head with a smile, and continued -his downward path to the harbour.</p> - -<p>Although to many dwellers in a port, especially in an island port, -the mere arrival and identification of a vessel is in itself a -matter of interest, this young Frenchman had a particular reason -for questioning the fisherman. The major of his regiment was ill; -medicaments had been ordered from England, and Lieutenant Henri du -Coudrais, finding himself unoccupied after an early parade, had -offered, on news of the arrival of a sail, to go down to the harbour, -instead of the major's servant, and ascertain if the drugs in -question had come.</p> - -<p>But the sloop, when he got down to the quayside, had only just -finished making fast. Evidently she had a passenger, for he observed -among the sailors on her deck a tall man in a grey redingote, whose -general appearance seemed, somehow, to be familiar. But he could not -see his face, and thought no more about him till in a few moments -he came over the gang-plank.</p> - -<p>And then, in one and the same instant, Henri du Coudrais saw that -the passenger's left sleeve was pinned to his breast, and recognised -him. A second later, and he had himself been recognised by those -keen eyes.</p> - -<p>"M. du Coudrais!" called out the newcomer. "What good fortune brings -you here? I was just about to ask my way to your lodging."</p> - -<p>The young officer had been stricken dumb for a moment. "M. de la -Vireville!" he exclaimed at last. "Is it possible?"</p> - -<p>"Why not?" asked La Vireville, holding out his hand. "But I suppose -you thought that I was dead?"</p> - -<p>"Indeed we did!" confessed his compatriot, grasping the proffered -hand warmly. "After many inquiries, we were convinced at last. Then -you escaped after all! But I am sorry to see . . ."</p> - -<p>"Oh, I left that at Houat," said Fortuné composedly. "An unnecessary -luxury, two arms, I assure you, <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mon ami.</span> I cannot think how I ever -found work for both. You are surprised to see me? Well, I am on my -way to Jersey; the sloop sails again this afternoon. I came by her -because she was touching here, and I wished to wait upon you and -Mme. de Guéfontaine."</p> - -<p>"For my part, Chevalier, I am delighted to see you," said du Coudrais, -with much cordiality, "and I hope you will do me the honour of dining -with me; but my sister, I am sorry to say, is not with me for the -moment. She is over in Sark."</p> - -<p>"In Sark?" repeated Fortuné, surprised, looking instinctively over -the intense blue to where, six or seven miles away, the little island -floated like a rock-set jewel. "When will she return?"</p> - -<p>"Not until to-morrow or the day after, I am afraid," answered her -brother. "She has gone over to see a poor émigré family settled in -a farm there—that of an old nurse, in fact. She generally spends a -night or two with them. I need not tell you, Chevalier, how sorry -she will be to miss you. Could you not stay here till her return? -The hospitality that I can offer you is not very sumptuous, but I -should be deeply honoured by your acceptance of it."</p> - -<p>Fortuné bit his lip thoughtfully, still looking over the sea to Sark. -Then he shook his head. "I thank you a thousand times, but I cannot -stay. I am awaited at Jersey. . . . Will you give me a word in -private, M. du Coudrais?—over there, for instance, at the end of -the jetty, would serve."</p> - -<p>"Willingly," said Raymonde's brother, and followed him.</p> - -<p>"You may possibly guess, Monsieur," began La Vireville, still -preoccupied with the sight of Sark, "why I wish to wait upon Mme. -de Guéfontaine?"</p> - -<p>The young officer took on a very discreet air. "You are, perhaps, -in need of an <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">agent de la correspondance</span> over there again?"</p> - -<p>La Vireville smiled. "Of that—and more," he said. "God knows I -have little enough to offer her—probably she won't even look at -me—but I should be glad to know that I had your consent to address -your sister."</p> - -<p>"M. le Chevalier," retorted Henri du Coudrais, "do you suppose -that I have forgotten last April? I have not met any man to whom -I would sooner commit my sister. As for Raymonde—but she must -speak for herself."</p> - -<p>"You are very kind, du Coudrais," said La Vireville, but he sighed. -"I wish I could think your sister would be as easily pleased. . . . It -is only right to point out to you that I have neither money, nor -prospects, nor a home, nor even two arms, to offer her——"</p> - -<p>"But you asserted just now that one was sufficient," observed Henri -du Coudrais, leaning back with a smile against the rail that ran -out to the beacon light. "As for fortune or prospects, which of us -<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">émigrés</span> has those nowadays? And upon my soul, I don't know a woman -on earth who is less set on either than Raymonde."</p> - -<p>"I suppose that I ought not to ask if there is any other man?"</p> - -<p>"There was the Duc de Pontferrand; she refused him last October—just -at the time, Monsieur Augustin, when she was making inquiries about -you in London from the old gentleman whose name I cannot remember, -who lives with a little boy in Cavendish Square."</p> - -<p>"I know she did that, God bless her!" said La Vireville. "I did not, -of course, know about the Duc." He fell silent, fingering the rail -and still gazing out to sea. It occurred to du Coudrais that though -he had the look of one who has weathered a long and trying illness, -he yet seemed in some indefinable way a younger man.</p> - -<p>"Why should I not hire a boat and sail over to Sark?" asked La -Vireville suddenly. "My wooing must in any case be rough and ready. -I could be back before the <i class="name">Cormorant</i> sails, if I went at once."</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ma foi,</span> an excellent idea!" said Raymonde's brother heartily. "That -is, of course, the solution. I will procure you a boat, if you wish. -You must be sure to take a native with you, even though the distance -be not great, for sailing hereabouts is dangerous, if only on account -of the hidden rocks—'stones,' as they call them." He looked about -him. "There is Tom Le Pelley; he would serve your purpose."</p> - -<h4>(2)</h4> - -<p>A quarter of an hour later La Vireville was sailing over that -laughing expanse towards the gem of rose and emerald and flame, -whose beauty, though his eyes were set upon it all the while, he -hardly marked. The boatman spoke of channels and swift tides, of -the Anfroques, the Longue Pierre, the Goubinière, but names of -reefs and rocks went by La Vireville unheeded. He was going to put -to the test what Anne-Hilarion had shown him. He was liberated at -last from his servitude of mind, and he wanted Raymonde—wanted her -with all his heart. It was very strange to him now that he had not -known this when he was with her more than a year ago.</p> - -<p>Du Coudrais had given him the name of the farm which Mme. de -Guéfontaine had gone to visit, and once landed he found it easily -enough, for there were not many of them on that slender strip of an -isle, pillared on its rocks and magic caves. But Raymonde was not -there, and they told him that she was out on one of the headlands.</p> - -<p>And there, after a space, he found her, among the golden brands of -the gorse, looking out to sea in the direction of the coast of -France. The wind blew against her; she shaded her eyes with her hand -under her little three-cornered hat, as from the lovely land of exile -she gazed intently at a dearer shore. She did not see him, nor, from -the talk of the wind in her ears, hear his footsteps brushing through -the gorse—and Fortuné stopped short, for now that he beheld her -again with his bodily eyes he knew that his desire for her was even -greater than he had thought, and in proportion the fear swelled in -him to conviction that so great a gift could never be meant for him. -So he stood there bareheaded in the sunshine, his heart mingled -flame and water, aching to see her hidden face, and yet afraid to -put his destiny to the touch. But at last, since she was still -unconscious of his presence, he was forced to make it known.</p> - -<p>"Madame!"</p> - -<p>And at that she turned round with a start. Colour swept over her -face and was gone again, and in her eyes there was something that -was almost fear.</p> - -<p>"Monsieur . . . de la Vireville!" she exclaimed, on a sharp catch -of the breath.</p> - -<p>It was the first time, as he instantly realised, that she had ever -called him by his name, that name which was dipped for her in such -painful memories.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Me voici!</span>" said he, and casting his hat on to a gorse bush advanced -to kiss her hand.</p> - -<p>"I . . . I am not sure . . . that you are not a ghost!" she said, -not very steadily, as she surrendered it.</p> - -<p>"Indeed I am not!" he unnecessarily assured her, for the kiss he -put on it must have convinced her that he was flesh and blood, -and perhaps the wave of colour which once more dyed her face derived -its temperature from the warmth of that salutation.</p> - -<p>"But you . . . M. le Chevalier, but you <em>have</em> returned from the -dead! They told me you had been shot!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I <em>have</em> returned from the dead," agreed Fortuné—"for a -purpose."</p> - -<p>She did not ask what the purpose was; she still seemed shaken, -uncertain of herself and of him. But her gaze, swift and compassionate, -swept over everything that the sunlight showed so relentlessly—the -traces of past suffering on his face, the added grey at his temples, -and the pinned-up sleeve.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ah, que vous avez dû souffrir!</span>" she said to herself. Then she put -her hand to her head, as if she still felt herself in a dream.</p> - -<p>"But where have you come from, M. le Chevalier?" she asked. "And -why are you here, in Sark?"</p> - -<p>He looked at her full, and answered bluntly, "To ask you to marry me!"</p> - -<p>But as, giving an exclamation, she turned away, he hastily abandoned -this ground.</p> - -<p>"I have nothing to offer you, Madame," he went on quickly. "Neither -money nor position nor a home, nor even two arms to defend you. The -Republic has taken all those. And—for I am determined to be very -frank with you—I must tell you that for ten years my heart has not -been my own to offer. It was pledged to a memory. It has come back -to me now, thank God, but I fear it has the dust of those years on -it, and I am no longer very young." He paused a moment, and the -sea of Sark, that is for ever booming in its enchanted caverns, -gave a dull echo to his words. "It is because you too, Raymonde, -have greatly loved and hated—I happen, do I not, to know how much?" -he added, with the shadow of a smile—"that I am thus open with you. -But my old love and hate are both over and done with now. I have a -new, a better love—and it is all yours, as long as I shall live."</p> - -<p>Mme. de Guéfontaine was examining a single childish bloom of gorse, -just outgrowing its rough yellow-brown pinafore. And she said nothing.</p> - -<p>"I have no time to wrap this meagre offer in fair phrases," went -on Fortuné. "I doubt if they would improve it, and you are not, I -think, the woman to care for them. I can only say this over and over -again, that I love you and that I want you. It was you—the thought -of you—that saved me at Quiberon; I used to dream of you at Houat. -<em>Raymonde!</em>"</p> - -<p>Still she did not answer, and stood with her head averted.</p> - -<p>"Raymonde," said he, coming a little nearer, mingled command and -entreaty in his tone, "for God's sake put down that flower and -answer me!—only do not send me back to France with a refusal! If -you cannot make up your mind to-day—and I must crave your forgiveness -indeed for so blunt and hasty a wooing—at least let me take back -with me a glimmer of hope!"</p> - -<p>At that she looked up. Her face was transfigured, but he dared not -try to interpret its new meaning.</p> - -<p>"You are going back to France, in spite of everything, to that old -life of peril and hardships?"</p> - -<p>"Of course," said he. "But if you would accept it, I should have a -home to offer you in Jersey. And when better days come——"</p> - -<p>She interrupted him. "You misunderstand me, M. le Chevalier. I should -not marry any man who was risking his life over there, to stay behind -myself in safety. A wife's place, if she can help him, is with her -husband." A smile wove itself into the beautiful radiance. "Shall you -not need an agent at Kerdronan?"</p> - -<p>For a second the gorse heaved beneath him. "Do you mean what you are -saying?" cried La Vireville, seizing her wrist. "Will you really -marry a penniless cripple who has nothing but his sword?"</p> - -<p>Her smile was brilliant now, and dazzled Fortuné while she faced him, -captive, as on a certain morning a year ago. "No, M. de la Vireville, -I shall marry a man! As you know, for three years I had hated your -name. But, as you wear it, I have long seen that I could not take -a nobler."</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>So the woman he desired lay at last against Fortuné de la Vireville's -breast, and up from the sea of gorse in which they stood welled the -warm honey-sweet scent that is like no other in the world to steal -away the heart. The wind had dropped to a caress; it caught at -Raymonde's gown no longer, and out over the illimitable wrinkled -blue, from the height on which they stood, the poised gulls looked -like slowly drifting flecks of snow.</p> - -<p>But out over there was also the long purple line of Jersey, and -his pledged word. Time was all too short. As long as he lived the -scent of gorse would always bring this hour to him, but the actual -hour itself was measured with very few sands.</p> - -<p>"Will you come back with me now to Guernsey, to your brother, -Raymonde?" he asked softly, stooping his head.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she answered, without moving. Her voice sounded like a -voice in a dream.</p> - -<p>"And I will return from Jersey, and we will be married at once?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said again.</p> - -<p>"My God, I can't believe it!" said Fortuné to himself, and kissed -her once more.</p> - -<p>So they went together to the little farm, itself named from the -gorse, the Clos-ajonc, to tell her pensioners that she was leaving -them immediately. And, no doubt to show that she did not consider -him so maimed as to be incapable of affording her support, Raymonde -leant all the way upon his arm.</p> - -<h3 id="c39">CHAPTER XXXIX<br /> - -<small><span class="smcap">Flower of the Foam</span></small></h3> - -<p class="noindent">La Vireville did not go into the little Clos-ajonc with his lady. -He waited for her outside, leaning upon its low, whitewashed wall, -over which the tamarisk whispered with its feathery foliage. Breaths -of the gorse came to him even here, and the whole warm air was -vibrating with the lark's ecstasy. And Fortuné could hardly believe -his happiness, so strange a thing to him. Old dreams, long put away, -came back to him, merged in the new. Had he not yearned sometimes, -despite himself, to have, in what remained of this hard and shifting -existence of his, brief enough in its pleasures but endless in its -unceasing fatigue and peril and anxiety—the life that was often no -better than a hunted animal's—to have one place that was home, and -shrine, and star? Well, he had his desire now; he had won that place, -that heart, at last.</p> - -<p>Yet even as he leant there, absorbed in contemplation, his mind was -suddenly pierced with a most evil arrow of a thought. What if Raymonde -had taken him out of pity, as a woman sometimes will . . . or worse, -out of a sense of gratitude?</p> - -<p>The idea assailed him so unexpectedly, and so much from without his -own consciousness, that La Vireville dropped the strand of tamarisk -which he was idly fingering, and started up, straightening himself -as under an actual physical blow. Good God, it was impossible! -"<i>No,</i>" said a tiny derisive voice in his heart, "<i>far from it! It -is very possible. Even as to you yourself she is but a makeshift—you -told her so with your own lips—so to her you are only a man for whom -she is sorry, and to whom she is under an obligation. So much the -better for you! And what else did you expect?</i>"</p> - -<p>And part of this two-sided onslaught La Vireville instantly and -furiously repelled. No, no, it was a lie—she was not a makeshift! -If he had spilt the best years of his life before another, a barren -altar, he knew better now. He loved Raymonde deeply and sincerely, -with a better love than he had given to that other. But Raymonde's -own motive in accepting him—how should he answer for that? Now that -it had once occurred to him, he saw that it was only too likely—she -had taken him out of pity.</p> - -<p>He leant upon the wall again and covered his eyes with his hand. The -scene of his brief wooing, scarce concluded, passed once more before -him. Again he saw her studying the gorse blossom, weighing what -she should do. Yes, she had taken and returned his kisses—but had -he not read compassion in her very eyes at her first sight of him, -with that hateful empty sleeve? Yes, she had said that she was proud -to bear his name—but that might well be an act of atonement for the -past. She had spoken of helping him, of being by his side. Well, -there was such a thing—curse it!—as gratitude; and she owed him -her freedom, if not her life. But for him she had not stood on Sark -to-day. That he had a claim on her had never, till this moment, come -into his thoughts. Now his past knight-errantry stared at him like -a crime. Her accepted lover . . . from pity and a sense of obligation! -Could it really be so? Alas! who was to answer that it was not?</p> - -<p>Fortuné uncovered his eyes, and, catching at a sprig of tamarisk, -tore at it moodily with his teeth. The lark's song had ceased; even -the sunlight seemed dimmed and unreal, as in time of eclipse. Yes, -now that the exhilaration was over, he saw that he had been a fool. -He glanced at his sleeve, thought of his lean purse, his blackened -home. Of course she had accepted him because she was sorry for him, -and because she thought that she owed him a debt and must pay it -somehow! How could he have come to her expecting anything else, for -what had he in the world—except his love—to lay at her feet?</p> - -<p>And perhaps, after all, that love was not so strong nor so worthy -as he had thought. Fortuné was very little used to introspection, -and the thought shook him how easy it was, evidently, to delude -oneself. Ought he not, at any rate, to put an end to the situation -before it went farther, and, as a man of honour, offer to release -Raymonde from the promise which a moment of compassion had wrung -from her? . . . The idea was agony, but the wound to his pride was -agony too. . . .</p> - -<p>And at that very moment Raymonde came along the pebbled path that -led from the door of the farmhouse. Her cloak was over her arm, a -little basket in her hand; she turned her head and smiled at the -old woman and the two children who watched her from the low doorway. -And at the sight of her, at the movement of her head, her smile, the -thought of releasing her left him as swiftly as it had come to -him. He could not do it; he wanted her too much. If she had taken -him out of pity or gratitude, so be it!—on whatever terms, so only -she were his!</p> - -<p>Something of the sudden conflict that had rent him must have been -visible in his air, for as he held the gate open for her, and she -had thanked him by a smile, she said quickly:</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Qu'avez-vous, mon ami?</span> Was the sun too hot here?"</p> - -<p>"I have been thinking over my good fortune," said her lover gravely. -"Give me your cloak."</p> - -<p>"I am glad that I have it with me," she remarked, as she complied. -"I think there is a storm coming up."</p> - -<p>La Vireville looked round. She was right; and he, used as he was to -scanning the horizon in sailor fashion, had been too much absorbed -to notice it. A continent of cloud was rising out of the sea to the -north-east.</p> - -<p>"I think it will pass over," pronounced the Chouan, looking at it. -"But in any case we ought to hasten."</p> - -<p>And soon they were making their way over the short turf of the down -that runs to the head of the tiny Baie des Eperqueries, where Fortuné -had left his boat, the only one riding in that small and solitary -harbourage. A rusty culverin of Elizabethan days lay embedded in the -short grass at the top. It was nearly low tide; down beneath the -cove was tapestried with seaweed, green and purple and spotted, -fan-shaped or ribbon-fashioned, and a pair of puffins, from their -breeding-place at the other side of the island, sat solemnly side -by side, like parrots, on a crag.</p> - -<p>"I told the boatman to wait for me here," remarked La Vireville, -as they made their way down the zigzag path. "I do not see him -anywhere; ah, there he is!"</p> - -<p>A jerseyed figure was, in fact, lying on its face about half-way -down the slope.</p> - -<p>"Come, wake up!" said the émigré, bending over him when they reached -him. There being no response to this invitation, he shook the sleeper -vigorously.</p> - -<p>"<span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Ma foi,</span> this is a very sound sleep!" He stooped and picked up -something. "And this is its cause!" He held out to Raymonde an empty -brandy flask. "Cognac from our native land! He is dead drunk. What -are we to do? Sail without him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said she, without hesitation.</p> - -<p>La Vireville weighed the thought. It was what he wished. Their time -together was already so brief, that to put to sea together without -a third, even for that short voyage, was a great temptation. "I do -not know the channel," he said reflectively, "but the wind will not -serve us ill for Guernsey."</p> - -<p>"But I have sailed the channel, the Great Russel, several times," -said Raymonde quickly. "The mark for the mid-channel, till you get -within a mile from the islet of Jethou, is St. Martin's Tower in -Guernsey. I can point it out to you. If we put out at once we can -get back before the storm comes up—if it is coming up at all—whereas -if we go round to the other side of the island, to Creux Harbour, to -find a pilot, we shall be indefinitely delayed."</p> - -<p>"You are quite right," said her lover, gazing at her where she stood -a little below him on the sunlit slope. "But I do not like the look -of the weather. Yet I must get back to St. Peter Port and catch the -sloop before she sails—I have given my word. The best is for you -to stay here, and I will go alone."</p> - -<p>"No, no!" she cried vehemently. "That is not safe! You are not -familiar with the sunken rocks. I am, and I know something of -handling a boat. You will have more than you can do alone."</p> - -<p>Yes, he was a one-armed man now! Through his gladness at her decision -to accompany him pierced for a second the point of that assailing -thought of compassion. But it did not stay with him; he beat it -off as one would a vampire, and followed her down the path.</p> - -<p>The gulls were screaming overhead, and the waves lopped half-playfully, -half-menacingly against the sides of the sailing-boat as he pulled -her in from her moorings. As if the two puffins had only waited to -know his decision, they now left their perch, and fluttered off with -their absurd, ineffectual, mothlike flight.</p> - -<p>"I wish you would not come, Raymonde," he said half-heartedly, as -he helped her aboard.</p> - -<p>"Since when have you become a fairweather sailor, Monsieur Augustin?" -she retorted.</p> - -<p>"At any rate we will take a reef in the mainsail before we start," -said Monsieur Augustin, and together they did it. The small mizen -over the stern was still standing, and he left it so. Forward he -set the jib only. And as they moved out of the little spellbound -harbourage, so painted with the hues of the seaweed, they did not, -despite the ruffled, slaty-blue water, appear to be doing anything -very foolhardy.</p> - -<p>Raymonde steered, because she knew the whereabouts of the 'stones,' -and he sat facing her on the thwart, the end of the mainsheet in his -hand. Neither spoke much at first; to him, at least, as he gazed at -her the hour was sacred. Yes, on whatever terms, so only she were his!</p> - -<p>So, almost in silence, they rounded the Pointe de Nez, the extreme -northern corner of Sark, and set the course for Guernsey.</p> - -<p>"And now," said Raymonde de Guéfontaine, "it is time to tell me how -you escaped at Quiberon."</p> - -<p>So, as the little boat held on, with a freshening wind, under a -sky growing overcast, Fortuné told her. He had not foreseen the -exquisite pleasure that it would be to him to make that recital to -this, of all listeners.</p> - -<p>"It is incredible—miraculous!" she exclaimed at the end, drawing -a long breath. "You must have had some talisman, some charm!"</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, I refused one," said her lover, laughing, and he -told her of Grain d'Orge's consecrated cow's tail. The episode led -her to ask news of that unwilling squire of hers, and Fortuné told -her that a few weeks ago he had had the satisfaction of receiving, -by way of Jersey, a grimy and ill-spelt letter from Kerdronan, in -which the veteran campaigner, availing himself of the services of -the most cultivated of the band (for he could not even sign his name -himself) informed his leader, on the chance of the latter's being -alive, that he and various others had escaped to the mainland as -indicated, and had made their way up to the Côtes-du-Nord, and that -he was reorganising the parishes round Kerdronan against such time -as M. Augustin should come back to them. Le Goffic, he added, had -been hidden by some peasants at Quiberon till he was sufficiently -recovered to sail across to Sarzeau, in the peninsula of Rhuis, and -thence he had joined the forces of Charette in Vendée. But since -Charette's capture and execution last March he also, thought Grain -d'Orge, was probably on his way to Kerdronan.</p> - -<p>"But I <em>had</em> a talisman, Raymonde," said the narrator, breaking off. -"I had the thought of you, as I have told you. That very unpleasant -night at Quiberon, had you not been with me, I should certainly have -lain there on the shore till I was found."</p> - -<p>"And you had another also," replied Raymonde, glancing aloft at the -foreleach of the sail. "What of the little boy—the little boy who -cried so for you?"</p> - -<p>"Eh bien, cela n'empêchait pas," asseverated La Vireville.—"Yes, it -would be better to luff a little; the wind is undoubtedly getting up, -and I shall be glad when we make the harbour.—You are right, I had -the thought of Anne too, for I had promised his father to look after -him if necessary—I forget if I told you that—but as, mercifully, M. -de Flavigny was saved, you cannot be <em>Anne's</em> mother, Raymonde."</p> - -<p>"He is a darling child," said Mme. de Guéfontaine softly, putting -the tiller farther over as she was recommended. Her eyes sparkled, -then fell. Perhaps that same thought at which Fortuné had hinted -was in her mind too at that moment. In Fortuné's at any rate shone -that old dream of his of standing under the larches at Kerdronan -with her—and another. Yet now as he gazed at her, sitting, so -unbelievably, at the helm of his boat, he suddenly saw, behind her, -something else. . . . He gave an exclamation and let go the mainsheet.</p> - -<p>"Keep the helm over—hard!" he said. "There is a squall coming; it -will be on us in a moment. We must have this sail down. Don't leave -the tiller!" And without losing a second he began to tug at the -mainsail halyards.</p> - -<p>But, the blocks running stiffly, or the ropes being swollen, before -the sail was more than half-way down the squall struck them, with a -howling blast that seemed to issue from some stupendous bellows, -and rain that fell like steel rods. Over, over went the little boat, -staggering under the onset, while Fortuné fought desperately both -to get the sail completely down and to prevent it, as it came, from -flapping into the angry water and pulling them under. It came back -to him, like a demon's laughter, as he wrestled with it one-handed, -how a few short hours ago he had said that two arms were unnecessary. -What a lie!</p> - -<p>Yet one terrible question only occupied his mind as he got the -sail under control, and as the struggling boat, preserved from -overturning only by the way which she had on her, began to right -herself—Raymonde! Had she been swept out—for they had been at a -fearful angle? No, she was still at her post, clinging to the tiller, -gasping, and white as death. But she had not lost her head, and that -had saved them. She knew as well as her lover that to keep the helm -down was their one chance of avoiding being swamped by the great -green seas that were all setting in fury towards the island, and -bearing them, half full of water as they were, at each plunge a -little nearer to the rocks. Without a word, except her name, uttered -in something between a sob and a curse, La Vireville threw himself -too on the groaning tiller, and for a few minutes they stood there -side by side, staggering with the oscillations of the maddened craft, -with the strength of both their bodies bent to one end—to keep -that bar of wood, and with it the rudder, as it should be, against -the malignant will of the storm. This was their true betrothal, -handfasted by the tempest, and, as they would never have known it -on the golden and enchanted island, among the gorse, they knew without -the interchange of a word, in the howling wind, the pelting, stinging -rain, with the water they had shipped swirling about their feet, that -they were one indeed.</p> - -<hr class="tbk"/> - -<p>And presently the boat began to drive forward more violently. They -were abreast of Les Autelets by this time, those fantastic pinnacles -that on a sunset evening were things of wonder, now black and sullen -amid the flying spray. Above them, too near for safety, frowned the -rocky walls of the island, magical no longer (save with an evil -magic), but sinister beyond belief. And soon they would come to -Brechou, the satellite islet, between which and Sark runs a race so -strong that no boat can live in it. And there were the sunken rocks, -impossible to avoid now. At any moment they might be dashed on to one -of them. Moreover, the boat was so full of water that there seemed -almost as much danger of her sinking under them as of her being -swamped or overturned.</p> - -<p>"One of us must bale!" shouted Fortune in Raymonde's ear. "You, -I think."</p> - -<p>She obeyed him instantly, and abandoning the tiller and his side, -crawled forward through the water, found a baling tin and set to -work. And the man who saw that fine and unquestioning obedience knew -for a moment the most bitter regret that the human heart can hold. -Why had he been so mad as to come, as to bring her? He had risked -his treasure, so newly found, so inexpressibly dear—risked it (and -that was the worst) without need, and was now to lose it. For all -this effort seemed but postponing the inevitable end. . . . But at -least the salt water and the rain had washed him clean of the traces -of that long infatuation—yes, and of the light loves of his youth. -Now he was hers only, and he and no other man would go down with her -under the greedy, hissing waves and share her sleep. . . .</p> - -<p>Meanwhile she toiled there, crouched in the bottom of the boat, her -wet hair blown in streaks across her face, while he kept the boat's -head as much to the seas as he dared, only easing the helm on the -approach of a wave that seemed heavy enough to drive her bows under. -But immediately afterwards he would luff right into the crest of the -wave, and then as their labouring progress was thereby checked, must -put the helm up again for a second, to get the sails full once more, -lest the boat should roll over into the trough. It was a task calling -for a stout heart and the nicest judgment, and never by a word, nor -even by a look, did Raymonde de Guéfontaine, unceasingly working -also, distract him or show a sign of fear.</p> - -<p>In such tension time scarcely exists, and it would have been hard -for Fortuné to say how long he had battled with the immense hostility -so suddenly arrayed against them, nor how much water Raymonde's -aching arms had, with almost mechanical action, thrown overboard, -before it began to seem to him that the smoother sea which followed -every three vehement waves or so was of longer duration. Was it -possible that the wind was abating? Only then, with the dawn of the -first real ray of hope in his heart, did Fortuné become conscious -too that with the lessening of the squall the island on their lee -had disappeared, blotted out by the pall of mingled mist and rain -which enshrouded them also. Perhaps they were still near it for all -that? But since the roar of the breaking surf was no longer audible, -it struck him that they must be drifting away from Sark, borne by -one of those currents, perhaps, of which the boatman had spoken.</p> - -<p>"The worst is over, I think," he shouted to Raymonde. She nodded, -stopping her baling for a moment to put back her dripping hair, and -smiled—it was like a star coming out in a wet sky.</p> - -<p>And even as Fortuné shouted he realised that an ordinary tone would -have carried to her ear. The uproar had ceased—nay, the wind had -dropped almost dead; he could hardly get the jib to draw. They seemed -to be motionless in a white silence, though doubtless they were -moving faster than they knew. For an instant he thought of hoisting -the mainsail again, then decided against it. Of what use advancing -when they could see nothing and had no idea of direction? The sea -was still agitated, lifting up countless plucking hands in uneasy -bravado, but there was no danger in that. So he left the tiller -and stooped over Raymonde.</p> - -<p>"That is enough. You have the better of it now, brave heart! My -darling, my darling, how wet you are, and how cold!" He pulled her -to him, and opening the breast of his soaked redingote made her -pillow her head there. She shivered a little and clung to him, and -a strange, cold, remote happiness descended upon them both as they -drifted on, physically and mentally spent, in a sort of limbo between -death and life—neither ghosts nor yet fully sentient, floating in a -dream that was not a dream, and a reality that counterfeited illusion.</p> - -<p>All at once the pall of mist was rent in front of them with dramatic -suddenness, and Fortuné had a momentary glimpse of something that -looked like a great white wing.</p> - -<p>"Was that a sail?" asked Raymonde quietly, who had seen it too.</p> - -<p>"The sloop, as I live!" cried her lover, starting up. "Pray God she -does not run us down!" He shouted lustily, then threw himself again -on the tiller.</p> - -<p>But the damp white veil enclosed them once more. His shouts seemed -to return upon themselves. Raymonde sat, her chin on her hand, on -a thwart. He had never seen anyone so calm.</p> - -<p>And then, gradually, the curtain of mist began to part a little on -their left, and to draw upwards like the curtain of a theatre. And -slowly, as on a stage, there came into sight the rock front of -Guernsey, with its fall to sea-level, the sun catching the windows -of St. Peter Port, and the white sails of the <i class="name">Cormorant</i>, close -reefed, about half a mile away.</p> - -<p>Steadying the tiller against his body, Fortuné pulled out a sodden -handkerchief and waved vigorously. Raymonde watched, not the plunging -progress of the sloop, but her lover. And, as the mist melted in all -directions from about them, the lovely, treacherous, baffled sea -of the Channel Islands began to be blue again with the beguiling -laughter that hides a hundred graves.</p> - -<p>"She is putting about—she has seen us!" said La Vireville, lowering -his arm.</p> - -<p>Then, and then only, did Raymonde de Guéfontaine show the whole of -her heart. For she cast herself sobbing on her lover's breast, -clinging to him as she had not clung during all the stress of their -hour of anguish.</p> - -<p>"Fortuné, Fortuné, God is good! I could not have borne to die -to-day—to lose you so soon! I love you better than my soul. . . . I -have always loved you—always, always. . . ."</p> - -<p>He strained her closer to him, seeing nothing but her wet eyes that -looked into his at last.</p> - -<p>"You are the woman I have waited for all my life! I knew it before, -but now . . . a thousand times more clearly!"</p> - -<p>And as the sloop, shaking out her canvas, bore gallantly towards -them, his lips, salt with the brine of the just-weathered death, -sealed on hers the knowledge of a happiness whose full security -those very waves had taught them, never to be in question again.</p> - -<p class="centre spaceabove">THE END</p> - -<p class="centre spaceabove"><small>PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBS LTD., EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND</small></p> - -<h2>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES</h2> - -<p class="noindent">Printing errors have been corrected as follows: "rythmical" changed -to "rhythmical" on p. 69; "everyone brought conviction" changed to -"every one brought conviction" on p. 164; inverted commas added -after "fivepence" on p. 279 and after "to sleep a little" on p. 289. -Otherwise, inconsistencies and possible errors have been preserved.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR ISUMBRAS AT THE FORD ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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