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diff --git a/old/66166-0.txt b/old/66166-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8e74cc0..0000000 --- a/old/66166-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17183 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Wounded Name, by Dorothy Kathleen -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: The Wounded Name - -Author: Dorothy Kathleen Broster - -Release Date: August 29, 2021 [eBook #66166] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOUNDED NAME *** - - - - - -THE WOUNDED NAME - -by - -D. K. Broster - -Doubleday, Page & Company, Garden City, New York, 1923 - - - - -Copyright, 1923, by Doubleday, Page & Company - -All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign -languages, including the Scandinavian. - -Printed in the United States at The Country Life Press, Garden City, -N.Y. - -First Edition - - - - - "O good Horatio, what a wounded name, - Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!" - _Hamlet_, Act v. Sc. 2 - - "How shall I find that friend - Of the rare friends, the deep-hearted? - When the delicate revels end - And the maskers have all departed. - At a sudden hour and a drear, - For the sweet hour is the sternest, - Thou shalt know who held thee dear, - Whose hand was thine in earnest." - Herbert Trench - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. Running Water . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 - II. "Roses, Roses all the Way" . . . . . . . . 29 - III. In the Dust . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 - IV. The Captive Hawk . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98 - V. Free--with a Broken Wing . . . . . . . . . 125 - VI. The Road to the Beech Tree . . . . . . . . 171 - VII. The Road Back . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230 - VIII. The Love of Women . . . . . . . . . . . . 268 - IX. The Toledo Blade . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323 - X. _"Sans Tache"_ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395 - - - - -CHAPTER I - RUNNING WATER - - "Without a horse, and a dog, and a friend, man would perish. - The Gods gave me all three, and there is no gift like friendship. - Remember this . . . when you become a young man. For your fate - will turn on the first true friend you make." - RUDYARD KIPLING, _Puck of Pook's Hill_ ("On the Great Wall"). - - -(1) - -The lady who was writing at the rosewood escritoire near the window -paused, and with the feather end of the quill traced along the days of -the month on a little calendar headed "1814" which was propped up -behind the ink-stand. - -"April the twelfth," she murmured, and wrote it at the top of the -already finished letter under her hand. - -She was not young--forty-five at least--but she was distinctly charming -in her very short-waisted, close-fitting gown of lilac sarcenet. The -irregular-shaped room, cool and fresh and sunlit, opened by a small -bow-window on her left hand on to a garden that could not have been -other than English. And she herself looked English, yet she had just -signed a French name at the bottom of her letter, while over the -mantelpiece hung the portrait of a middle-aged man with a refined and -thoughtful face who did not even look English. - -The door opened, and a man's voice could be heard speaking to someone -outside. - -"Laurent, is that you?" asked the lady, without looking up. She was -sealing her letter. "Dearest, are you going out? Will you take this -note to Mesdames Tantes, if you, are passing?--Where _are_ you going, -by the way?" - -"Fishing," responded the owner of the voice, coming in. "Yes, of course -I will take it for you, Maman. But isn't it the anniversary of -something or other, so that the Aunts will be plunged in appropriate -gloom, and will not approve of my occupation?" - -The lady held up her face to his kiss. "No, I do not think it is the -anniversary of any calamity to-day, otherwise they would not have -agreed to come to supper." Once again she ran her quill along the -almanac. "There is nothing now, I think, till Louis XVII's death in -June. . . . You will be careful about the river, will you not, chéri? -It must be in flood still, after the terribly severe winter we have -had." - -"Probably the gigantic salmon that I shall hook will pull me in," -prophesied the young man teasingly. "Or perhaps I shall be taken with -vertigo and fall in . . . or a tidal wave may come up from the sea!" -The smile in his clear grey eyes spread to his mouth. "I am so glad -that I shall never be a mother!" - -"You are a very wicked son!" retorted the lady, laughing, too, and she -pulled down his head and kissed the crisp fair hair that, after the -fashion of the day, clustered rather thickly on his forehead. "In -France, you know, you will have to show me much more respect, from all -I hear of the authority of a mother there." - -"Respect!" exclaimed Laurent de Courtomer, as he looked at the girlish -figure. "How can I respect the authority of a mother who only appears -to be about five years older than I am myself? Am I then to respect you -more in Paris, and to love you less?" - -"Must they run in inverse proportion? Go and fish, Laurent, instead of -talking nonsense, and forget that we shall so soon be living in -France." - -"I rather wish that I could," unpatriotically remarked the young -Frenchman, taking up the note from the escritoire. "Is it wrong to be -so fond of this country because one was born and brought up in it?" He -looked up at the portrait of his father over the mantelpiece. "If only -this had come four years ago!" And Mme de Courtomer followed his gaze -and sighed. - -Although Fate's keys had opened the gate so long shut, and her voice, -through the bugles of the advancing Allies, was calling the stout -Bourbon, Louis XVIII, from his retreat at Hartwell to the throne of his -ancestors, _that_ exile would never return to his native land. And -since his widow was English, and his son had never set foot in France, -though both duty and sentiment might call them over the Channel to the -young man's patrimony, neither of them could welcome the summons in -quite the same spirit as he would have done. For to them it was not -"returning." - -"The Allies are nearly at Paris and Napoleon's star has set," said -Laurent, turning away, "but, wonderful as it is, I do not somehow feel -any more exhilarated than you do, Maman, for, after all, it is the -bayonets of the foreigner which are bringing back the King. And I don't -know my French relatives, and I shall miss my English ones." - -Mme de Courtomer, rising, slipped her arm through his. - -"Take care, darling, that the Aunts do not hear you talking like this! -To them, as you know, it matters little who brings back the King, -provided he is brought back--and to regret Devonshire would be the last -offence." - -"Nevertheless, I shall regret it," persisted Laurent, who did not easily -change his affections. "You will, too, I know. Still, we are coming -back here every year, are we not? . . . Yes, I must start. And this is -an invitation for Mesdames Tantes to sup with us to-night? Do you want -an answer?" - -"No," said his mother, studying him with a smile. "It is only to confirm -an arrangement already made. But I should like a salmon." - -"You shall have one," replied her son confidently. "And now permit me to -practise taking a Parisian farewell of my respected mother, the -Comtesse Henri de Courtomer, _née_ Seymour." And he kissed her hand -with a flourish. - - -(2) - -Soon afterwards he mounted into his English gig, with his English groom -behind in charge of his rod and tackle, and drove down the village -street in one of the most English of counties. But he was thinking, "A -few weeks more, and I shall no longer be Mr. Laurent Courtomer of -Keynton House, but M. le Comte de Courtomer in the family mansion that -I have never seen in the Faubourg St. Germain where Mesdames Tantes, at -least, will be in their element." - -For Laurent's three great-aunts, "Mesdames Tantes de Roi," so christened -by him on the analogy of those daughters of Louis XV who were thus -known in the days of Louis XVI, were of a Royalist and Catholic fervour -truly overwhelming. And of course, once in France, they would all, in -French fashion, live together--as indeed they almost did now, settled -in one small Devonshire village. But at least they were not all under -one roof, and Laurent was not quite sure that he was longing for that -increased proximity. - -He soon pulled up before a door in a red brick wall, and in a few -seconds was walking up a tiled path to the habitation of Mesdemoiselles -de Courtomer. He knew that he must deliver his note in person, for the -Aunts would consider it unpardonable if he merely left it without -paying his respects. - -The countenance of Augustine, their elderly, precise maid, bore signs of -excitement. - -"Yes, Monsieur le Comte," she said in response to his query at the door. -"Mesdames are within. And they are receiving company." - -"Really?" said Laurent. "In the morning?" - -"A traveller, Monsieur le Comte. An old acquaintance just come over from -France--M. le Baron de Vicq." - -Laurent, by now in the hall, with an engraving of Louis XVI mounting the -scaffold on one side of him and a bust of the Duc d'Enghien wreathed in -immortelles on the other, murmured, "This is indeed great news!" For he -seemed to remember having heard that in times inconceivably remote M. -de Vicq had been a suitor for the hand of Tante Bonne or was it that he -had been a flame of Tante Odile's? And, before he bowed respectfully -over the hands of his venerable relatives, he beheld a withered but -well-preserved old gentleman (yet younger, surely, by a decade than any -of them) rise from a chair at a disappointingly equal distance from all -of the old ladies . . . from Tante Odile's majestic piety and grey -curls, from Tante Clotilde's even greater majesty and even more denuded -(and therefore even more imposingly becapped) head, and from the -long-faded prettiness of Tante Bonne, the youngest, who wore the -smallest cap of any, and the least hideous cameo, and no jet at all, so -that Tante Clotilde had more than once been known to accuse this -eighty-year-old junior of hers of an ineradicable tendency to levity. - -But Tante Clotilde herself had undergone a change since Lady Day, when a -fair wind from France had blown so many clouds out of the Royalist sky. -Her majesty was not less, her loyalism even more pronounced, but a -ribbon of a discreet maroon shade had replaced the black moiré round -her cap, and her manner to all and sundry was marked by an unexampled -benignancy. So that Laurent, when he had saluted her dry, shrivelled -hand with the mourning ring, was almost startled by the sensible favour -with which she kissed him on either cheek, for though the greeting was -not a novelty, it was often frosty. Tante Clotilde considered that -Laurent spoke English too well, and his mother's habit of occasionally -calling him Laurence--"a girl's name"--was an abomination to her. But, -willy-nilly, her great-nephew would have to be entirely French now. - -M. de Vicq, on introduction, made him a bow of another generation, and -the young man, having duly delivered his note, was inspired to announce -his hope that if the newcomer were staying the night he would give the -ladies his escort up to Keynton House; this addition to the party -would, he assured him, procure his mother and himself the greatest -pleasure. After the proper amount of pressing the old gentleman -accepted, and Laurent thereupon began to make efforts to extricate -himself from his great-aunts' drawing-room. - -But this was not so easy. M. de Vicq, whose fervour appeared to be -almost equal to that of the old ladies, had embarked on a rapturous -description of the enthusiasm manifested at the entry of the Duc -d'Angoulême, the King's nephew, into Bordeaux about three weeks before, -the news of which had caused such joyful anticipations in the little -court at Hartwell, and since, after all, Laurent was French and on the -point of treading French soil, the narration was not devoid of -interest. Only it had not the charm of entire novelty, and he would -rather have heard it at another time. It must, therefore, have been a -rather unfortunate spirit of contradiction which led him to remark that -Brittany and Vendée, for all their long and glorious struggle on behalf -of monarchy, had not at this particular juncture played much part in -the imminent restoration of the royal house. - -"Oh, que si, Monsieur!" exclaimed the Baron, shocked; and Tante Clotilde -said, "Fie, nephew!" in her deepest voice, and he was assured that -under the rule of "the Corsican" more than thirty secondary chiefs had -perished in that region for the Cause, and their names began to shower -upon him. - -"I take back my remark!" cried the young man, laughing. "Besides, after -all, mes tantes, you are not mentioning a leader who is alive, which is -better. What about that fellow in Brittany--L'Oiseleur, the Fowler, who -is always luring the enemy into difficult positions, and who is -personally so lucky that he is supposed to possess a charm of some -sort? . . . Or is that all a myth, and his defence of the burning mill -also?" - -M. de Vicq almost started from his chair. "What an extraordinary thing -that you should speak of L'Oiseleur to-day, Monsieur!" he exclaimed. -"No, indeed, he is no myth! I have seen him--I saw him (though for the -time I had forgotten it) no later than yesterday, and on the very -packet which brought me from Brest to Plymouth." - -"The Plymouth packet! Why, what was he doing there?" ejaculated Laurent -and the old ladies in the same moment. - -"I do not in the least know, Mesdames," replied the visitor, "and as I -spent all the time of the voyage most miserably in the cabin below, I -knew nothing of our distinguished passenger till we were disembarking -at Plymouth. But then, as we were massed on the deck, eager for the -shore, I heard a compatriot say, 'That's he--that's L'Oiseleur!'" And so -I saw the personage pointed out--a rather stern, rough-looking man of -fifty or so, with thick dark hair, somewhat unshorn, a real Chouan -type. Greatly moved, I wished to shake him by his heroic hand, but in -the press I could not, and I lost sight of him thereafter." - -"Owing to his amulet, perhaps," observed Laurent idly. "But I had a -notion that he was quite young, this famous fighter, and that he was a -gentleman--titled, in fact. Of course I must have been wrong.--Now, if -you will excuse me, mes tantes . . ." - -"Yes, I, too, had previously thought that L'Oiseleur was gently born," -said M. de Vicq slowly, "for he bears an old and honoured name--that of -La Rocheterie; but this man could not have been a gentleman. Yet that -does not prevent--" - -"No, indeed!" cried the noble dames, generously waiving the claims of -their caste to exclusive leadership. "Think of the great, the sublime, -the sainted Cathelineau--a mason's son--" - -"Think of Stofflet, a gamekeeper--" - -"Think of Cadoudal, think of Guillemot--" - -"Think of a salmon!" said Laurent irreverently to himself. And, by -concentrating his will-power on that object, he did at last succeed in -making his escape. - -But as he drove between the high hedges, making for a chosen spot some -five miles up the river, he found his mind running, despite himself, on -the twenty years of struggle in the never-conquered west of France. He -had been too young to take part in its earlier manifestations, and it -was only in the last eighteen months or so that these had begun again, -often with the formation of bands of "_réfractaires_," conscripts who -would not serve Napoleon, led by gentlemen who equally refused. And -among these was this well-nigh legendary "L'Oiseleur," audacious, -undefeated, almost invisible, so swiftly and mysteriously did he move -and strike--"jeune homme du plus brillant courage, adoré par ses -hommes," as Laurent had heard him called. The double encomium was -certainly borne out by his famous defence of the mill at Penescouët, -where he and eighteen men were said to have kept five hundred -Imperialists, troops of the line, at bay for more than four hours, till -the soldiers were at last obliged to send for reinforcements, and -contrived to burn the place over their heads. And even then the little -band had operated a retreat almost more wonderful than their defence. - -And now, if M. de Vicq were correct, this gallant fighter was in -England, a shaggy, middle-aged peasant, not, after all, the young man -of Laurent's own class who had seized the opportunity which he had -missed. For it must be rather fine to have contributed by something -more than prayers and wishes to restore Louis XVIII to that throne of -his ancestors which, in a few weeks, he would almost certainly mount. - - -(3) - -But these reflections were totally forgotten an hour later, when the -young Frenchman was standing, in his high leather boots, the water -swirling about his legs, casting hopefully over the particular pool in -which it was impossible that there should not be a fish. - -Maman was right (though he should not tell her so) about the river. It -was running so strongly that, as Laurent moved slowly forward, he used -considerable caution before he followed one foot by the other, for -though he stood in shallow, broken water, there was enough stream to -take him off his legs if he trod on a slippery stone or dropped -unexpectedly into even a small hole. Nevertheless, it was not really -the strength of the stream which prevented M. de Courtomer from -immersing himself even to the fifth button of his waistcoat, which was -then accounted the maximum depth, but the fact that, after the severe -cold which had once followed this exploit, he had promised his mother -never to repeat it. Indeed, in wading at all he was doing more than the -majority of fishermen ever thought of attempting. - -The long, twenty-foot rod bent; he cast again a little farther over the -sliding, deeper water near the opposite bank, which there was flat and -pebbly, and sprinkled with low shrubs. Yet the deepest part of the -channel was below it. . . . No luck, not the ghost of a rise! Perhaps -there was a little too much flood, after all, though the water was -perfectly clear. Laurent thought he would try a change of fly. He -reeled up and caught the line. - -But as he was detaching the fly he had been using (rather clumsily, for -his fingers were cold) he heard, somewhat to his annoyance, quick steps -on the pebbles of the other side. He did not desire a possibly -loquacious spectator. Finding, however, after a moment or two, that the -owner of the steps did not address him, he glanced up. - -A young man--a gentleman--was standing on the opposite bank looking at -him. As Laurent raised his head he lifted his hat and said, in fair but -obviously foreign English, - -"Can you tell me, sir, where I shall find a bridge across this river? I -have deceived myself of the road." - -M. de Courtomer recognized in the flavour of the accent and the turn of -the idiom an undoubted compatriot though at first glance the speaker -did not look French, particularly in colouring. As he stood there -bareheaded the April sun struck warmly on hair of an unusual bronze -tint--a hue that had no real trace of red in it, and yet that was not -brown. He was tall, carefully dressed, and had a noticeably graceful -and easy carriage of the head, and indeed of his whole person. So much -Laurent took in before he replied pleasantly: - -"There is no bridge, I regret to say, Monsieur, within less than two -miles of here. The nearest is at Oakford." - -At his replying in French the stranger seemed surprised, as Laurent had -quite expected that he would be. "Monsieur also is French?" he enquired -in that tongue. - -"I have that privilege," replied M. de Courtomer, smiling. - -"You seem also, Monsieur, to have that of walking on the water, or -pretty nearly," observed the newcomer. "Am I right in supposing that -you arrived at your present position from the opposite bank--where I -desire to find myself? If you would permit me to join you on your -Ararat I could thence gain the shore, could I not?" And he advanced -right to the water's edge. - -"Good Heavens, have a care!" cried Laurent, alarmed. "I am in shallow -water here, and have enough ado to keep my feet as it is, but between -you and me there is the full force of the current--I don't know how -deep the stream is to-day--and all sorts of nasty holes! Don't think of -such a thing, I implore you!" - -The stranger looked down at the smooth water swirling past his feet at -remarkable speed. "The stream--yes, I see that it is excessive. But I -do so wish myself on that bank! I am walking from Bidcombe to pick up -the Bath coach again at Midhampton; and if I have to go out of my way -to this bridge of which you have been kind enough to tell me I shall -certainly miss it . . . and my valise which I sent on in it." - -"But even that is not worth drowning yourself for," protested Laurent, -staggering a little as he spoke. "This river is said to claim a life -every year; pray do not be the candidate for 1814. The bridge -at--Damnation!" He had dropped his fly. - -The stream had it in an instant. Laurent stooped involuntarily to grasp -at it as it was whirled out of his reach, lost his balance for a -second, had to take a hasty step to recover this, slipped on a stone -. . . and the stream had him also. - -Not without a battle, however, since before it carried him into deeper -water he almost contrived to regain his feet . . . but was pulled down -again by the driving weight of it. As its cold fury rolled him over and -over, struggling and gasping, he had a distinct (but surely erroneous) -impression of a shout and a splash from the other bank, quickly -forgotten in the stinging interlude which followed, filled to the brim -as it was with confused sensations of choking, of a temperature which -took his breath away, of thoughts of Maman, of doubts whether he would -ever see France now, of a conviction that he must, of course, go with -the stream. . . . But it was so difficult to keep one's head above -water, . . . and he wasn't swimming, he was being hurtled. . . . And -then, inconceivably, and yet, in a way, expectedly, he was spluttering -in the shallows at the bend, his feet touching bottom in that place -where the bank was so eaten away--a difficult place to get out at, but -where he now most firmly intended to get out, and that instantly. Only -the bank was still above his head, and he still had water to his -breast, and the bottom was shelving and slippery. . . . But he managed -to catch a bit of the old staking with one hand--and just then -something clutched him from behind by the shoulder. . . . - -Great God, he had jumped in, then! it was no illusion. Yet how, in the -name of fortune . . . "There's bottom here!" gasped Laurent, and -without loosing his hold of the staking, grabbed in his turn with his -other hand, and discovered that he had his compatriot by the collar. - -"Have you found your feet?" he asked, not wasting speech over his own -amazement. "Try to catch hold of this piece of wood. Then I will get -out somehow, and help you out. But we must be careful--the bank is -rotten." - - - -"Monsieur, how could you, how could you do such a hazardous thing!" -panted Laurent. "I . . . really, words are ridiculous in face of . . . -such an obligation. How you are here at all is nothing short of a -miracle. You must have jumped . . . straight into the swiftest part of -the current!" - -They were both on the bank by this, drenched and coughing and rather -like landed fishes themselves. But Laurent had no desire to laugh, for -though their situation might be absurd now, it had narrowly escaped -being tragic. - -The water poured off the would-be rescuer as he raised himself and threw -back the soaked hair from which the river had dragged the ribbon--hair -longer than was usually to be seen in 1814. "I am here, Monsieur," he -replied rather breathlessly, "because you pulled me out, that is plain. -How could I stand there watching while the river carried you away! And -I accomplished nothing at all--I merely made it more difficult for you -to extricate yourself. . . . However, I daresay neither of us was -really in danger." - -"We were in danger," responded Laurent seriously, "and you far more than -I. And I had warned you! As to accomplishing nothing, it is the -intention which counts in such cases." - -His companion was wringing out his sodden locks. "I had the intention of -coming across, it is true. Here I am, then; I have saved . . . how much -did you say . . . two miles of road?" He suddenly smiled; it was a very -attractive smile, too. - -"I shall always feel, at any rate, that I owe you the debt," said -Laurent rather huskily. "And . . . thank God that you did not pay the -price which you might very well have paid!" He held out his hand, wrung -the wet hand put into it, and then, jumping to his feet, became very -practical. - -"We must not stay here a moment longer; we will go to the inn near, have -a fire, and get our clothes off at once. Yours, Monsieur"--and as he -looked at their deplorable condition he became aware that their owner -wore a red ribbon in his buttonhole; he must have the Cross of St. -Louis, then, but he was unusually young for such a distinction--"yours -will never be dry in time for you to continue your journey to Bath. So -you will allow me, will you not, the great pleasure of offering you -hospitality for the night at least? I live about five miles from here." - -"You are very kind indeed, Monsieur," said the dripping young man, -hesitating. Then he looked at him frankly. "I should like it greatly -. . . on condition that you will not tell any of your acquaintances of -my foolish short cut across your river?" - -"Conditions of that kind can be discussed later," responded M. de -Courtomer, smiling. "At present I think our joint physical condition is -what matters. . . . Excuse me if I lead the way." - - -(4) - -Twenty minutes later both adventurers were peeling off their soaked -garments before a hastily lit fire in a room of the _Three Trouts_, and -shortly afterwards, wrapped in blankets, were ensconced before it in a -couple of large chairs, with two steaming glasses beside them. And -Walters the groom, to his own surprise, was riding across country on M. -de Courtomer's cob to intercept the Bath coach at Midhampton and bring -back the French gentleman's valise which it contained--this neat -strategic idea having occurred to his master on his way to the inn, -when it was borne in upon him that no clothes of his were likely to fit -his guest, taller than himself by nearly a couple of inches. - -Laurent had just now had, too, the opportunity of verifying what his -first impressions had already told him, that his compatriot was an -exceptionally well-built young man, with the lithe strength of steel. -He had also seen that he wore round his left arm, just above the elbow, -a little strip of some plaited or woven substance, not fine enough to -be hair. Laurent had only obtained a momentary glimpse of this object, -and his curiosity had not been gratified by another; but he had now the -prospect of being able to study at leisure the appearance of this -strangely made acquaintance, and he proceeded to do so. - -He had the clear pallor and fine skin which often go with hair of warm -colouring, and his, as it dried, was gradually resuming its proper -shade, the deepest tone of September bracken. Even his eyes, which at a -distance looked dark, were seen at closer quarters to be of a deep -red-brown. The rest of his features were noticeably straight and -delicate and strong; the chin, a little long, curved slightly forward -and was squared at the corners, the mouth was firm and sweet-- -altogether a face of great individuality and charm, without the -weakness which sometimes accompanies the latter quality in a man. -Laurent took him to be about twenty-six--a couple of years older than -himself. - -"I do not know," he observed at last, ashamed to scrutinize any longer, -"if it is correct to introduce oneself in this unconventional attire. I -ought to have done it earlier. My name is Courtomer--Laurent de -Courtomer. I have always lived in England." - -"And mine," said the other, setting down his glass, "is La Rocheterie-- -Aymar de la Rocheterie, at your service. For my part, I have always -lived in France." - -"What!" cried Laurent, nearly bounding out of his blanket. "La . . . La -Rocheterie . . . L'Oiseleur! You, Monsieur, are L'Oiseleur! Is it -possible!" - -In a lesser degree his companion also showed surprise. "My name is then -known to you, Monsieur? But this is not Brittany!" - -"But I am a Frenchman--and a Royalist!" cried M. de Courtomer. "I have -known of you, Monsieur, for some time--no, I assure you that your name -is not so unfamiliar over here as your modesty assumes. We have heard -of the defence of the Moulin Brûlé! Indeed we were speaking of you only -this morning, my great-aunts and I, and a gentleman who thinks he came -over with you in the Brest packet. But he said you were . . . It's more -than extraordinary! . . . L'Oiseleur, himself, here!" - -"Ma foi, but this is to find oneself famous!" said M. de la Rocheterie, -laughing. "One had, perhaps, the good--or ill--fortune to be known on -the other side of the Channel, but over here, who cares for an obscure -brigand, as our foes are so fond of calling us?" - -Even in his present unusual attire, or absence of it, a young man who -looked less like a brigand could hardly be imagined. And the question -of birth could be set at rest for ever by the beautifully shaped if -sunburnt hands emerging from the blanket. So Laurent, remembering M. de -Vicq's picture of the hairy individual "not a gentleman" whose hand he -had longed to shake, and mindful that he and the Aunts were coming to -supper that evening, foresaw an amusing encounter. . . . But--to be -sitting here tête-à-tête with this young hero, who had known countless -days and nights of hazard and discomfort among the gorse and broom, -with only a handful of men and his own wits and courage between him and -Napoleon's vengeance . . . and he wrapped in a blanket because he had -jumped into the Dart after him--it was incredible! - -He pulled himself together. - -"I believe, Monsieur, that you bear a title, do you not?" he asked, -thinking of the introductions he should have to effect. - -"A small one--Vicomte. You, Monsieur, perhaps also?" - -Laurent named his. "But I do not use it here. When we are in France I -suppose I shall have to tack it on again." - -"Ah, you are returning, of course?" - -"Almost immediately. Yet, since it is not really a return, it will be -strange. . . . I was born in England; my father, now dead, married an -Englishwoman and settled here in the early days of the Revolution." - -"So Madame votre mère is English?" observed the Vicomte de la -Rocheterie, with interest. "That then accounts for the perfection of -your accent, Monsieur de Courtomer, and also--if as a Frenchman you can -forgive me--for an appearance not altogether French. As you stood in -the river which has so happily brought us together I had no idea that -you were a compatriot." - -"You must remember that I have lived all my life in England," said -Laurent to this. "That, probably, has even more to do with it. And -since we are on the subject of personal appearance, may I say that I -never took you for French, either--till you spoke? Your hair . . . you -will excuse me, I trust? is of an unusual colour for a Frenchman, is it -not?" - -The young man good-humouredly took hold of a damp bronze lock. "This -tiresome stuff? Yes, I believe it is not often met with. Indeed, I have -found it inconvenient at times, for that reason; in a tight corner one -usually does not wish to be identified. As a matter of fact, I have -some Norse blood in my veins, and the . . . the other member of my -family who shares that with me has much the same hair. So no doubt it -comes from that strain. . . . I hope that the next time I fall into a -river I shall be wearing it short, which is probable, for I only keep -it long to be like my Chouans. I wish it would dry." He put up his -other hand to his head, and the blanket slipped instantly off his left -shoulder and arm. - -Before he could replace it Laurent's eyes had involuntarily darted to -his elbow--and away again. - -"You were looking at my bracelet, Monsieur?" enquired its owner, in his -pleasant voice. "Now there, no doubt, is the explanation of my safe -navigation of your river. Are you superstitious, Monsieur de Courtomer? -No more than I, probably; so I would like you to realize that I wear -this ridiculous thing for the sake of other people's superstitions -only--I mean, of course, my men's." - -And the little half-smile he gave Laurent (he seemed rarely to smile -fully) had a tinge of mischief in it. - -"I could not help seeing it," confessed the latter, rather red. "And -that, then, is the famous charm which makes you invincible! Might I -. . . ?" - -L'Oiseleur thrust out his arm again for his inspection. The mysterious -object upon it resolved itself into a band of plaited rushes or coarse -grass, about half an inch wide, fitting just tightly enough not to slip -down over the elbow. - -"I will make you another confession about that, Monsieur," said its -wearer, looking down at it. "It is not even the original __jartier__ -which is supposed to have been bestowed upon me by the fairy Mélusine -or her deputy! In a somewhat rough-and-tumble life a bracelet of rushes -will not last for ever, and so I . . . have it renewed from time to -time. Still, there is a strand of the original in it somewhere." He -smiled again as he made this rather cynical admission, and finished the -remains of his punch. - -Laurent was examining the talisman with deep interest. "There is no -fastening. Then, Monsieur, the . . . the fairy Mélusine plaits it on -your arm every time?" - -"She does," replied M. de la Rocheterie. - -A woman's fingers, of course. Perhaps he was married; but Laurent did -not, somehow, think so. He could not pursue further the question of the -weaver, and, moreover, the possessor of the rush bracelet was now -looking thoughtfully into the fire. - -"And nothing has ever touched you, in all the time you have fought, -since you wore that?" asked Laurent after a moment. - -L'Oiseleur turned his head, and the enquirer had a little shock of -surprise. . . . Or had he merely imagined that a profound sadness -looked for a moment out of the red-brown eyes? It was gone so quickly -that he was not sure--gone by the time his companion answered simply, -"Nothing. I have never received a scratch, so I cannot claim the honour -of having shed my blood for the King, as so many better men have done." - -"Yet," observed Laurent, "the King seems to consider that you have done -fully enough for him without that. That ribbon . . ." - -"Yes. His Majesty was pleased to send me the Cross last year. Some of my -men had better deserved it. _They_ had no talisman." - -"You must really need a strong head, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, not to -believe, after all, in the efficacy of yours! Tell me, if I am not -impertinent, whether there is not some one action which will break its -power if you happen to do it? In most fairy tales it is so." - -"I believe," said the young leader, wrapping himself up again, "that -there is some dark story in the past history of this object or its -predecessors, but I do not know what moral it is supposed to point. -Apart from that--Morbleu, what an extraordinary thing! It has just -happened to me, and I never gave it a thought!" - -"What is it?" asked Laurent eagerly. - -"I must never cross running water, except by a bridge, or on horseback, -or by some means of that sort. I must never go through it in person. -And, to do myself justice--and again in deference to those Chouans of -mine--I never have . . . until to-day. But you cannot deny that I have -crossed it this morning--water of the most running!" - -And he looked at his fellow-adventurer in running water with unfeigned -amusement. - - -(5) - -As Laurent de Courtomer tied his stock that evening in his own bedroom, -he was both thoughtful and excited. To fall into the river and narrowly -escape drowning, to have a total stranger risk his life for him over -it, to discover that the stranger in question was someone he knew about -and admired, and, finally, to possess him at the moment as a guest -under his own roof--these were sufficient reasons why the stock should -be well tied . . . and sufficient excuse for the fact that it was not. - -Nor had Laurent quite shaken off the shyness which had unexpectedly -descended upon him when he was driving home from the _Three Trouts_ -with L'Oiseleur beside him--that sudden hot conviction that he, with -nothing to his credit, had been chattering too freely to this young -hero. Had or had not M. de la Rocheterie seemed a little remote, a -little withdrawn, during that drive? - -A knock at the door, interrupting these cogitations, heralded the -entrance of Mme de Courtomer, looking charming but pale. Laurent's -heart smote him as he turned round from the dressing-table. She kissed -him long and closely; she had not yet got over her emotion. - -"I am just going down to the drawing-room, my darling," she said. "I -hope M. de la Rocheterie may be there; I want to see him alone. When -you brought him to me in the garden I was, I fear, rather selfishly -absorbed in thoughts of you and your danger." - -Laurent nodded. "He tried to make me promise not to mention what he did, -but of course--" - -"An absolute stranger, Laurent! And such a risk! I cannot get accustomed -to the idea!" - -Like her son, Mme de Courtomer seemed a firm believer in the theory of -"intention." Yet it had already been made perfectly clear to her by M. -de la Rocheterie himself that he had in no sense saved Laurent's life. - -"Maman," said Laurent, putting his arm round her, "if you can't get some -more colour into those cheeks I shall not eat any dinner. Dearest, -dearest little mother, I did not do it on purpose!--See now, I am going -to kiss them very hard. . . . That's a trifle better! Now go down and -thank M. de la Rocheterie for spoiling a very elegant suit of -clothes--if he gives you the chance. Unless I have gauged him wrongly, -you will not get very far." - -"There is one thing that comforts me, Laurent," said Virginia de -Courtomer, "and that is, that you would have done just the same in -similar circumstances." - -"Perhaps," replied her son. "But not so quickly!" - - - -The enlightenment of M. de Vicq and the old ladies that evening was -indeed great fun, only it was too soon over, and Laurent was a little -afraid of embarrassing his guest, who seemed genuinely averse from -anything resembling posing or display. But, probably just because he -was so free from self-consciousness and so simply dignified, he took -the ensuing adulation lightly, and yet with a fine courtesy as if he -were aware that he was a young man receiving the homage of the old. If -he found the worshippers a little absurd, he did not betray it. The -impression which he had produced on Tante Clotilde, even before she -realized whom the "Monsieur le Vicomte de la Rocheterie" of Laurent's -introduction cloaked, was marked by her making him the suggestion of a -curtsey of fifty years ago, with all Versailles behind it--an honour -which no Englishman ever received from her. And M. de la Rocheterie had -kissed her hand in a manner which also had tradition behind it. Yet -more important to Laurent, really, than the unqualified success of his -little coup de théâtre, than the joy of being able to whisper to M. de -Vicq, "I expect you think, Monsieur, that L'Oiseleur has shaved since -you saw him last? I expect he has--_but not to that extent_!" was his -mother's murmur to him, just before they went in to supper. "Your -Chouan has already enslaved me, Laurent, I think he is charming!" - -But now supper was going forward, and M. de la Rocheterie was making -obvious efforts to efface himself, to avoid being what he had become, -the centre of the little festivity. But with everybody determined to -make him so, it was impossible to get out of the position. First of -all, M. de Vicq's mistake of the packet had to be explained. It -appeared that L'Oiseleur _had_ come over in it, and that he had heard -another passenger being pointed out as himself, "which," as he added -with a little smile, "enabled me to escape an attention that I had then -no idea I should encounter." - -"Ah, Vicomte," interposed Tante Clotilde significantly at this, "you are -doubtless in England--am I indiscreet?--on the King's business?" - -One felt it almost needed courage to reply, as L'Oiseleur did, "No, -Madame; on a purely private matter." However, Tante Clotilde's large -face wore the air of one who "knows better." - -"I think," said M. de Vicq, then addressing him, "that I once had the -pleasure, a few years ago, of meeting a gentleman of your name--a good -deal older than you, however. Your father, perhaps?" - -The young man's face changed subtly. "My father was guillotined with my -mother, during the Terror, Monsieur." - -It only needed this avowal to complete his prestige in the eyes of the -Aunts. A ripple of emotion went round. - -"Where did you meet M. de la Rocheterie, did you say, Laurent?" enquired -Tante Clotilde when she had contributed to it. - -"In the river, ma tante." - -The old lady looked severe, for she did not like being jested with. -"Please express yourself more accurately, great-nephew!" So Laurent -elaborated, without changing, his statement. - -On the heels of the ensuing sensation M. de Vicq asked suddenly whether -it was true that the guest possessed, or was popularly supposed to -possess, a talisman of some kind. - -"Quite true, Monsieur," responded L'Oiseleur soberly. "I really have -it--a magic garter, or __jartier__, as the common folk call it." Then -he caught Laurent's eye, and smiled. "But its virtue is, of course, all -nonsense." - -"The popular voice, in short, ascribes to the possession of a charm what -is in reality due solely to your own skill and valour!" observed M. de -Vicq rather sententiously, but pointing this remark as a compliment by -a bow. - -"I did not mean that!" said Aymar de la Rocheterie, looking for the -first time a trifle disconcerted. "And I spoke too strongly, for -undoubtedly my possession of the __jartier__ has influenced my men and -given them confidence--they are exceedingly superstitious--so in that -way the thing has its value. That is, in fact, why I wear it." - -"And how did you acquire this __jartier__?" enquired Tante Clotilde -massively. - -"A witch gave it to me, Madame." - -"A witch--a real witch!" exclaimed his hostess. "Oh, how, Monsieur de la -Rocheterie--and why?" - -"The 'why' makes rather a long story, Madame." - -"We shall hope to hear it, then, after supper," announced Mlle Clotilde -de Courtomer in a tone that seemed to settle the whole matter. - -"And, perhaps, the whole story of the Moulin Brûlé too?" hazarded M. de -Vicq; but L'Oiseleur shook his head with a little smile. - -Mme de Courtomer looked from one to the other. "What _was_ the Moulin -Brûlé?" she enquired of the old gentleman in a low voice. - -But it was Tante Clotilde who replied for him. "My dear Virginia-- -really!--before the hero of Penescouët himself! The details which -reached us of that exploit were, I doubt not, inadequate, but surely we -all treasure them too securely in our memories to ask 'What was the -Moulin Brûlé'?" - -Poor Mme de Courtomer, thus brought to book at her own table, before and -on account of her guest, flushed, M. de la Rocheterie bit his lip and -looked thoroughly uncomfortable, and Laurent's anger was kindled. - -"You forget, I think, ma tante," he said as politely as he could, "that -my mother, after all, is not French by birth; and it is quite plain -that no one can have told her the story, for it is not one which she -could ever have forgotten." - -"Quite so--very well said!" put in M. de Vicq hastily, and he gallantly -monopolized the old lady's attention while the awkward wave in the -conversation caused by the boulder she had cast into it spent itself. -Indeed Laurent, looking down the table after a moment's silent fight -with his annoyance, was relieved to find that the "hero of Penescouët" -was smiling delightfully at his hostess, and heard her say, smiling, -too, "Will you ever be able to forgive me, Monsieur de la Rocheterie?" - -"Madame," replied L'Oiseleur, "you cannot conceive what a relief it is -to find that there is one fortunate being in Royalist circles who has -not been pestered with the tale of that detestable old windmill! I -sometimes wish I had never seen the place!" - -When the ladies, following English custom, had left them, M. de Vicq -drew in his chair and concentrated his attention on his fellow-guest. - -"I remember the Vendée, of course," he remarked, "and the great days of -the Chouannerie, Cadoudal's days. You are too young to recall them, -Monsieur--but you have relit the sacred fire!" - -"No--only fanned the embers," said L'Oiseleur quickly. "The fire is -always there. The Breton does not change. Indeed, some of mine are -identically the same as those of the great days. And one has the same -devotion to rely on, the same obstinacy to combat, the same -superstitions to use or respect, and the same kind of warfare." - -"That warfare of hedgerows and heather of which one has heard," put in -Laurent, his chin on his hands, "and which needs, I imagine, a special -aptitude." - -"I suppose it does. At any rate, it is the only kind which the Breton -really understands. You have to be always on the move; if you have very -few men, as I had--at least at the beginning, when I started with -twenty-five--that is easy. And if you keep moving you are not only -invisible, but the enemy thinks your numbers are much greater than they -are. I have never had more than six hundred men, but they were all -picked, and if I had told any one of them to go immediately and cut off -his hand the only delay would have been the finding of the -chopper. . . . Well, that is all over now. I suppose I ought to say, -Thank God. I do say it--but one does not like parting from one's -comrades." - -"You have disbanded them, then?" - -"Not yet. But I shall do so directly the King is actually in Paris." - -"The King in Paris!" exclaimed the Baron de Vicq in a rapt tone. And he -began a loyal reverie on that theme, to which the two young men -listened with becoming patience. Then he reverted somewhat abruptly to -the question of L'Oiseleur's amulet, and asked so many questions about -it, that in the end M. de la Rocheterie, beginning, Laurent fancied, to -be slightly bored, offered to show it to him, and, while M. de Vicq -murmured delightedly, "Monsieur, you are really too obliging!" took off -his coat with an apology to his host and turned up the sleeve of his -fine shirt. - -Laurent, leaning back on his chair, his hands behind his head, looked on -amused. Little exclamations broke from the old Royalist as, spectacles -on nose, he bent over the table and scrutinized the circlet closely. -"And that is really the fairy garter of the legend--dear, dear, how -wonderful! After all these years . . . so fresh and well-preserved -. . . there must be something in it, after all! It is indeed to be -hoped, Monsieur, that you will never lose that!" - -The owner of the __jartier__, with his bare arm stretched out before him -on the mahogany, caught his host's eye over the grey head. "Yes, as you -say, Monsieur, remarkably well-preserved!" And Laurent, smiling back, -had a delightful sense of complicity with him. He was not going to tell -the old fellow what he had told him! - -"My last doubts are removed," murmured M. de Vicq, taking off his -spectacles. "Now I know that I really have shaken L'Oiseleur and no -other by the hand!" - -The bearer of that name, who was turning down his shirt-sleeve, stopped, -and flushed very slightly. - -"Why, Monsieur, did you think I was an impostor?" he demanded. "Was that -why you wanted to see the thing?" And he looked at the old gentleman -very straight and challengingly. - -Poor M. de Vicq, meeting the spark he had so tactlessly struck out, -confounded himself in apologies; on which M. de la Rocheterie, -evidently quickly penitent, but still with a little air not free from -hauteur, begged his pardon for having suspected his motive, and, peace -being restored, their young host suggested that they should join the -ladies. - -"Very interesting, that," he thought as he opened the door. "So he's got -a hot temper under that quiet exterior of his! I think that, for all -his modesty and charm, I should be sorry to take liberties with M. le -Vicomte de la Rocheterie!" - - -(6) - -Installed on the sofa in the drawing-room, Tante Clotilde immediately -motioned to M. de la Rocheterie to take his place beside her. - -"Now, Vicomte, the story you promised us, if you please--the story of -the _jartier_!" she said with heavy graciousness. - -"I can recall no such promise, Madame," replied L'Oiseleur. "However, if -you conceive that it would interest you . . . and M. le Baron," he -added, flashing a glance half malicious, half apologetic on that -offender, "I will endeavour not to bore you too much." He stirred his -coffee for an instant. "You must know, then, that in the district of -Penescouët there is a legend of an enchanted garter given in the Middle -Ages by that ubiquitous immortal, the fairy Mélusine, to a knight whom -it rendered invincible. This garter was said to be still in existence, -in the keeping of an old witch in the forest of Armor--we still have -witches in Brittany--whom some held to be the fairy Mélusine herself. I -must also tell you, if you will pardon a reference to my personal -appearance, that this knight--known to after ages only as -L'Oiseleur--seems to have been so unfortunate as to possess hair of the -colour of mine. - -"Well, I had--I have--a specially devoted follower named Jacques Eveno, -who comes from the neighbourhood of my little estate at Sessignes. This -man, who not only knew the legend, but the old woman, too, who had the -_jartier_, must have begun by wishing that he could procure the lucky -talisman for me, but hesitated to steal it for fear the theft should -bring misfortune on me. Then he must have pondered how to trick the -witch into giving it me of her own free will, and how therefore to -inveigle me--at the time perfectly innocent--into playing the part as -it should be played. For it seems (but I only learnt this afterwards) -that if a young man with reddish hair came at sunset to her hut with a -hawk on his shoulder, and asked for a night's lodging, offering in -payment merely a sprig of mistletoe . . . well, he was the dead Fowler -come to life again, and she would give him the _jartier_ as of right. -Eveno, a simple peasant, successfully contrived that all those -coincidences should come about--except indeed the finding of the hawk. -One afternoon he got me into the heart of the forest on some pretext or -other, and deliberately misled me, so that I lost my way and had to ask -for shelter at the witch's hut. Knowing her reputation I made no -difficulty about his suggestion that I should offer her the bit of -mistletoe which he had plucked for me--one learns to humour -superstition in Brittany. But the hawk . . . yes, that was strange." - -"How did he procure the hawk, then?" asked Tante Odile as he paused. - -"He did not, Madame; chance procured it, turning his fraud, for him, -into reality . . . and somewhat frightening him, I think. For, as we -went through the wood, I came on a young hawk half stunned on the -ground, with a broken wing, and I picked the poor bird up and carried -it for a while, and ended by putting it (all innocently) on my -shoulder, where it stayed. So it was there, quite correctly, when I -knocked at the witch's door." He smiled--that most attractive smile of -his. - -"And the witch, Monsieur--she gave you the charm?" - -"Without demur. I was only afraid that she was going to kiss me! She did -kiss my hands. You must remember, Mesdames, that at the moment I was -completely in the dark, and had no idea for whom she took me, nor why, -with the tears running down her wrinkled face, she brought out with -such awe from a box of battered and time-blackened silver this little -dried twist of rushes. Then the legend suddenly came back to me; and as -she and Eveno were by now in a frenzy of excitement, and my protests -had no effect, I . . . accepted the talisman, which was, so the wise -woman assured me, the identical magic circlet which Mélusine had -bestowed on the original L'Oiseleur of whom I was, somehow, a -reincarnation. I retain, naturally, my own ideas on that subject, but -afterwards, of course, my men always called me by that name." - -"And you have the _jartier_ still--you wear it perhaps?" asked Mme de -Courtomer. - -L'Oiseleur bowed. "I always wear it--for my men's sake. But as it was -shrunken with age, and had moreover been cut, I could not wear it where -a garter should be worn. So the witch fastened it round my left arm, -like a bracelet." - -The eyes of all the ladies went to his sleeve. But that it would have -been out of place they would all, obviously, have dearly loved to -invite the young man to remove his coat. Laurent thought it charming of -him not to spoil the story for them by confessing that it was not -exactly the original _jartier_ which he wore now, and hugged himself to -think that he had been the sole recipient of that confidence. - -"But what, Monsieur," asked Tante Bonne a little timidly, "was the story -of the first owner of the _jartier_?" - -"Alas, Madame, I fear that it was tragic. The legends say that he was -betrayed by the woman he loved . . . or else that he gave her the -garter in obedience to her whim, and in consequence his enemies fell on -him and slew him. I am not sure which; but it comes to the same thing." - -"I hope--" began Mme de Courtomer rather rashly; and then, checking -herself, blushed like a girl. - -"Maman, Maman!" said Laurent to himself--and was surprised to see M. de -la Rocheterie look across at her without the shadow of offence, and to -hear him say, "Merci, Madame, but of that there is no danger!" - -A little enigmatic smile just touched the corners of his firmly cut -mouth, and Laurent presumed it meant that he was sure that no woman -would ever have sufficient power over him to play Delilah. - -At any rate no woman--or man either--had the power to get him to talk -any more about himself that evening, and the affair of Penescouët went -untold . . . till the guests had driven away in the venerable fly which -had brought them. - -"And now, Maman," said Laurent with a sigh of relief, "M. de la -Rocheterie, as a sign that he has forgiven you for your lamentable -ignorance, shall tell us two the true story of the Moulin Brûlé. Will -you, Vicomte?" - -"To save me from the possibility of being crushed like that again, -Monsieur?" pleaded Mme de Courtomer, putting out her hand to him. - -L'Oiseleur bent his handsome head and kissed it. "You could extort -anything from me with that weapon, Madame," he replied. "Let us get it -over then!" - - -(7) - -Late that night Laurent, deeper than ever in the toils of hero-worship, -stood, candlestick in hand, in his guest's bedroom, and, looking at M. -de la Rocheterie as he took the watch from his fob and laid it on the -dimity-hung dressing-table, said earnestly, "I hope you will sleep -well!" - -He himself would dream to-night of those revolving sheets of flame, the -sails of the riddled Moulin Brûlé; of the Emperor's soldiers ceasing -fire at last, thinking that they were merely wasting ammunition on the -holocaust whose heat was too great for them to approach; and of the -dozen blackened figures--or, more probably, of one figure in -particular--bursting out of that inferno of smoke and blood and, -completely surrounded though they were, cutting a way through the -stupefied besiegers. - -"I suppose you can--sleep in any surroundings," he added, for though he -knew that L'Oiseleur must often have spent the night in the open, that -reflection was somehow as incongruous as the recital downstairs with -this composed and very well-dressed young man now calmly winding up his -watch in the best bedroom of Keynton House. - -"I much prefer a bed to any other surroundings," replied the Vicomte de -la Rocheterie. "Yours, I am sure, is most comfortable." Here, as -Laurent afterwards realized, he must have discovered on what a vain -employment he was spending his time; but, instead of holding his -useless watch to his ear, or otherwise betraying to the man in whose -service he had wrecked it, the effect of Dart water upon its interior, -he quietly laid it face downwards on the dressing-table, glanced at the -mantelpiece to ascertain that there was a clock in the room, and went -on, "By the way, Monsieur de Courtomer, I hope my early start to-morrow -will not prevent my taking farewell of Mme la Comtesse?" - -Laurent reassured him, warning him that, unless he chose to have coffee -brought to him in his room, he would have to face an English breakfast. -But for this M. de la Rocheterie expressed a preference. - -"I trust you have everything you require?" then said Laurent, -reluctantly preparing to take his leave. "No, there is one thing that -you will need in the morning, Monsieur, and that is a hat. You cannot -travel without one, though you can remedy the lack excellently well -when you get to Bath. You must really allow me to supply you with one." - -"Thank you," said his guest. "Yes, I suppose that to travel so far -bareheaded might excite comment." - -"Especially in your case," thought Laurent, though by now he admired the -hair en queue. "Do you know Bath, Vicomte?" he asked as an excuse to -linger a little. - -"No, not at all," returned the traveller. - -"It is a prodigious fine place," pronounced Laurent. "I hope I am not -impertinent in assuming that it is not--fortunately--for the good of -your health that you are going there?" - -"No," answered L'Oiseleur, "it is certainly not for my health that I am -going to Bath." - -He was fingering, with bent head, the seals of his watch lying there. -Laurent had the impression that his mouth tightened as he spoke, and -got an instant conviction that M. de la Rocheterie's visit to Bath was -no pleasure to him. He wondered, not for the first time, what the -object of his journey could be, he whose Chouans were still under arms, -yet who avowed that he was not on the King's business. And his eyes, -following the strong, slender hand, noted the crest on the back of the -watch, a swan with its neck encircled by a crown; he even -distinguished, on the scroll below the proud and laconic motto, _Sans -tache_. Both pleased him. - -Then he made a more determined effort, and bade his guest good-night. -There would always be the morning. - - - -But the morning was disappointing, as usually on the occasion of an -early start. There seemed no time for conversation, no opportunity for -learning any more of the visitor. The inspiration which had come to -Laurent of begging the latter to spend a day or two at Keynton House on -his way back from Bath proved unfruitful, M. de la Rocheterie -explaining that he would probably have to return by London and Dover. -It was Mme de Courtomer who had most of L'Oiseleur's attention during -the English breakfast, and it seemed to her son that it was not till -the last stage of all had arrived, and he was walking down the village -beside his guest, with Walters behind carrying his valise, that he had -the chance of a word with him; and then there seemed nothing to say -. . . just because there was so much. He tried, indeed, to thank him -anew for yesterday's act, but even that expression of his feelings was -debarred him. Aymar de la Rocheterie declared that thanks for a thing -which he had not done made him feel as fraudulent as he sometimes did -over the _jartier_. So Laurent, after murmuring stubbornly, "You meant -to save me! I only wish I might have a chance of repaying you some -day," had to desist. Then the coach came rumbling in. - -"You have promised my mother that when you are in Paris you will give us -the pleasure of seeing you, Monsieur," Laurent reminded the traveller. -"I want the promise made to me, too." - -"I do not need to be doubly bound," retorted M. de la Rocheterie, -smiling. "And you, Monsieur de Courtomer, when are you coming to -Brittany? We have a little river at Sessignes, with indifferent fishing -. . . though to be sure I have succeeded in catching excellent trout at -Pont-aux-Rochers . . . but that is a good way off." - -"I do not need to be tempted by fishing," responded Laurent in his turn. -"Some day . . ." - -A hearty shake of the hand on both sides, and again that charming smile -of L'Oiseleur's, and he was mounting to his place. - -"At any rate, he's got my hat!" reflected Laurent, watching the coach -roll off. Then he went rather pensively home. - - - - -CHAPTER II - "ROSES, ROSES ALL THE WAY" - - "Both faithful and loyal, one grace more shall brim - His cup with perfection; a lady's true lover, - He holds--save his God and his King--none above her." - R. BROWNING, _Which?_ - - -(1) - -It is quite possible that Laurent de Courtomer did not miss Devonshire -nearly as much as he had anticipated--not, at least, during those first -weeks of excitement and fervour which followed Louis XVIII's entry into -Paris on that third of May, 1814, behind the eight white horses from -Napoleon's stable. There were more than enough of interests in his new -life for a young Frenchman who had never been in France, let alone in -Paris, and for a young Royalist who was not only sharing the triumph of -his cause, but who was himself taking possession of his own deserted -family mansion in the capital, and negotiating for the repurchase of -his father's confiscated estates in the country. - -Yet Laurent never quite forgot the young man he had met in the river. He -had always a hope that he might run up against the Vicomte de la -Rocheterie some day. Nothing, however, had been heard of him since the -advent of a very polite note, written before he left England, thanking -Mme de Courtomer for her hospitality. - -So the strange, novelty-ridden months slipped past, till the autumn -evening when Laurent found himself attending the great reception given -by the Duc de Saint-Séverin which Royalty itself was gracing, in the -person of the Duchesse d'Angoulême. Moreover, it was an open secret -that the King himself would honour the assembly with a short visit if -his gout permitted. M. de Courtomer had gone expecting to be bored (for -he understood that there was to be no dancing) and thinking that, after -all, Maman, nursing a cold at home, had perhaps the best of it. But he -was not bored after the first half-hour or so. - -The tremendous formalities of the Tuileries were not going to be -observed in the Hôtel de Saint-Séverin. Though the Duchesse -d'Angoulême, stiff and well-meaning as ever, was holding her court for -the ladies in a separate room, her Royal uncle, when he came, was -merely going to make a tour of the great salon, speaking to a few -people here and there; and this in itself was considered extremely -gracious of him, seeing how helpless his gout rendered him. In this -vast apartment then, dazzlingly lit, yet only half filled by its -hundreds of guests, the greater part of whom were men, Laurent talked -to his acquaintances and awaited the entry of his sovereign. All at -once the buzz of conversation was entirely stilled, and the young man, -turning, saw that the doors at the other side of the room were open. - -On the threshold stood that short, stout, but imposing figure of a King, -the pale blue ribbon of the Saint-Esprit across his breast, his gouty -legs encased in red velvet gaiters, wearing powder in his grey hair, -which was still dressed in the fashion of his youth, with a curl behind -each ear and a short queue. . . . Bourbon all over, from the prominent -light blue eyes, the aquiline nose, the disdainful mouth, to the heavy -double chin . . . the prince who through years of exile and privation -had never abated a jot of his pretensions, but had waited for the day -of their recognition till the day had come. - -He advanced, walking with difficulty, but gracious. A little behind him -could be seen the unpatrician head of his nephew, the Duc de Berry, and -behind him again that of the King's favourite, the Comte de Blacas, -tall, cold, dignified, and fair. And Louis XVIII had gone but a few -steps along the bowing ranks of gentlemen before he beckoned to Blacas, -and leant on his arm, for the effort of walking was great. Now and then -he stopped and addressed a few words to one or another, on whom every -eye was instantly fixed. At first the scene was amusing to Laurent, -quite pleasantly free from the apprehension that any Royal conversation -would come his way; then he became less interested. - -"Who are those officers the King is coming to next?" he enquired of his -companion. - -"Vendeans or Bretons, most probably," replied the acquaintance. "He -means to show them some favour, no doubt, Vendée having ruined herself -for the Bourbons, and words being cheaper than pensions." - -But Laurent did not hear this cynical comment. Who--_who_ was that -officer the King was addressing now--a tall, slim figure in dark green? -The figure's back was towards Laurent, but he would know that hair in a -thousand, even though it were no longer gathered into a ribbon, but cut -short like everyone else's! Ridiculously excited, he began to try to -work himself a little nearer through the press immediately about him, -and, obtaining a new angle of vision, saw the officer's face. It -was--it was! and he was looking down at Royalty with just that quiet -composure, that complete absence of self-consciousness which seemed his -native gift. The King, on the other hand, seemed to be half-playfully -scolding him. - -At last, after shaking his head at L'Oiseleur with a smile, he passed -on, and Laurent saw M. de la Rocheterie, when he raised himself from -his bow, say something over his shoulder to one of his companions. M. -de Courtomer began hastily to extricate himself entirely from the -deeply interested throng in which he was embedded, but by the time he -reached the spot where L'Oiseleur had stood, his quarry had -disappeared. - -Half an hour later, however, he came on Aymar de la Rocheterie again, -quite unexpectedly, in a smaller and only half-populated room. At one -end was a sort of alcove with a swinging lamp, and here he was standing -talking to a beautiful woman in green and silver, dark and tall and -animated, who was making much play with a fan. Laurent could hardly go -and interrupt; but he reflected that if he waited he might have a -chance of catching L'Oiseleur's attention, or of following him. And as, -with this object, he remained near the door, he overheard a -conversation. - -"Monsieur du Tremblay," said a woman's voice, "you know him--M. de la -Rocheterie, I mean--you are almost a neighbour; do tell us whether that -is a case for congratulation?" - -Laurent turned at once to see who the man who knew L'Oiseleur might be, -and recognized one of the officers from the group in the salon--the -very one, he fancied, to whom he had seen La Rocheterie speak--a -good-looking man of about five and forty. This gentleman now replied to -the lady who had questioned him, "Oh, no, Madame; not to my -knowledge--no, I should think certainly not." - -"L'Oiseleur's heart is in his own keeping?" - -"Either that, or--but I am not in his confidence--that of the cousin -with whom he was brought up. But she is married to an old roué, though -she does not live with him." - -"Where does she live, then?" - -"Like La Rocheterie, with his grandmother, at his château of Sessignes." - -The lady opened her eyes wide, and a gentleman with her observed drily, -"Très commode pour que le beau cousin la console!" - -M. du Tremblay shook his head. "Nothing of the sort, I assure you. La -Rocheterie has a very cold temperament; there has never been a breath -of scandal. Moreover, the attachment is all hearsay." - -"But it will add the last touch to L'Oiseleur's vogue," said the lady -meditatively--"an unfortunate love affair!" And her companion observed, -"One knows those 'cold temperaments.' Their owners sometimes do the -most astonishing things." - -M. du Tremblay smiled. "Not La Rocheterie, I think. The cousin, Mme de -Villecresne, is, by the way, the heroine of a little story which may -interest you. During the fighting last year, knowing that La Rocheterie -was in great need of definite information as to whether there were or -were not Imperialist troops in a certain little town--it was -Chalais--she deliberately drove into it in her carriage with her maid -and a trunk or two, as though she were travelling, discovered that -there were troops there--since they stopped her--and sent off the maid -with the news to L'Oiseleur. The Imperialists were very angry when they -found out, too late, how they had been outwitted." - -"Ah, surely she was in love with him!" deduced the lady, her eyes fixed -on the alcove, while "Rather a dangerous game to play," commented the -male hearer. "Tell me," he went on, "do you consider that La Rocheterie -deserves the military reputation he has acquired?" - -"Certainly," replied M. du Tremblay. "He's a fine leader, with just that -dash of recklessness in his caution--or of caution in his -recklessness--which is so disconcerting to an enemy. It is a pity that -his talents have not had wider scope." - -Laurent, who had been listening avidly, felt very kindly towards this -generous appreciator. The lady, still pensive over the possible love -affair, asked where the roué husband lived, to which M. du Tremblay -replied that when last he had heard of him he was in England at Bath. - -Bath! Illumination broke upon M. de Courtomer; he almost betrayed that -he was listening. But at that moment La Rocheterie caught sight of him. -His face lighted up, he said a word to his fair companion, and came -quickly towards Laurent, holding out his hand. - -"My dear Comte, how delightful! I had a hope that I might meet you here. -Come and let me present you to Mme de Morsan." - -To tell truth, Laurent would much have preferred him without the lady, -who was so resplendent, though in perfectly good taste, that she rather -alarmed him. But in a moment he was bending before her, a few -commonplaces passed, and then, to his disappointment, he was alone with -her, for the Vicomte Mathieu de Montmorency, the Duchesse d'Angoulême's -_chevalier d'honneur_, suddenly appeared and signified that the -Princess wished to speak to the Vicomte de la Rocheterie, and -L'Oiseleur, with a tiny shrug of his shoulders, was obliged to go. - -"What it is to be famous!" said Mme de Morsan, letting her fine eyes -roam over his substitute. "Shall we sit down, Monsieur de Courtomer, -and await my cousin's return?" - -They sat. So she was a cousin, too! - -"Ce cher Aymar," resumed Mme de Morsan, "he really has no liking for -being a lion. And one would fancy that what he has done in Paris would -sensibly cloud the sun of Royal favour. On the contrary, here is Her -Royal Highness sending for him. But possibly, with her detestation of -all things revolutionary, that is precisely why." - -Laurent asked what he had done. - -"You did not hear? They were talking of nothing else in the great salon -a little while ago. Yesterday he refused the Legion of Honour, which -the King wanted to give him in addition to his Cross of St. Louis, and -this evening he stuck to his refusal--very respectfully, of course--to -the King's face." - -"I saw the conversation," said Laurent, "though I could not hear it. His -Majesty did not seem displeased." - -"No, oddly enough, he was not. And, after all, it is Napoleon's -decoration, even if he chooses to bestow it. He scolded M. de la -Rocheterie . . . but what more flattering than a Royal scolding? It is -enough to make Aymar the rage in Court circles, much more than his -military exploits. But, as I said, he has small taste for that sort of -thing." - -"M. de la Rocheterie refused the Legion of Honour because of its -associations, then?" - -"I suppose so. He has the strangest ideas! His parents were both -guillotined, one must remember, and so--" Mme de Morsan shrugged her -shoulders. "Did I understand, Monsieur, that you had met in England?" - -Laurent told her how. - -"He jumped in?--Just like Aymar! For all that quiet tenacity of his he -adores taking risks. . . You know, Comte," she went on after a moment, -"the risk he took when he openly defied the Emperor in 1813 was out of -all reason--one young man alone against all the military authorities of -the district. You have heard about that--no? They were trying to arrest -him at last because of his refusal to enter the Emperor's guard of -honour. He was surprised at Sessignes--his home--and rather than be -taken, which would have meant either submission to Napoleon's wishes or -a fortress . . . for him, of course, a fortress . . . he leapt straight -out of the window before their eyes, swam the river, and took to the -woods. He had outlawed himself; still more so when he sent a letter to -the sous-prefet, saying briefly, 'Napoleon wishes me to fight; very -well, I will fight!' He had no followers at all when he sent that -challenge. . . . But you will think that I can talk of no other man! -Let us speak of someone else--yourself, for instance, Monsieur de -Courtomer!" - -They talked small talk. Then, to Laurent's relief, an elderly man came -and bore off Mme de Morsan, who went rather reluctantly, but not, -Laurent was aware, because she was leaving _him_. But, since it was -just possible that L'Oiseleur would return thither, the young man -waited in the alcove. And before very long, to his great pleasure, he -saw him making his way through the room again. - -"I am lucky to find you still here, Monsieur de Courtomer," he remarked -with a little smile, sitting down by him. "I was afraid that you might -be gone." On the disappearance of Mme de Morsan he bestowed not even an -enquiry. - -"Your cousin," Laurent informed him, "was carried off a little while -ago." - -"Mme de Morsan is not my cousin," replied M. de la Rocheterie a trifle -curtly. "She is the widow of a nephew of my grandmother's, Edouard de -Morsan, a rather distinguished scholar in his day.--Well, Comte, did -you catch any more salmon or pull any more rash persons out of the -river before you left England? And how is Madame votre mère, and your -venerable aunts?" - -"I hope you mean to satisfy yourself personally on that score," replied -Laurent. "They will all be delighted to see you, particularly my -mother." - -"She is not here, then? I hope indeed to give myself the pleasure of -calling on them. I should have done so already, but somehow a -provincial always finds so much business to transact on his rare visits -to Paris, and mine have been very rare of late." - -Provincial indeed! Where was there any trace of that? Too shy to refer -to the affair of the Legion of Honour, or even to ask him about his -recent interview with the Dauphine, Laurent looked at the Cross of St. -Louis over La Rocheterie's heart, where previously he had only seen the -ribbon--the white cross sown with fleur-de-lys, where on a crimson -ground the royal saint held in one hand a crown of laurels, in the -other the crown of thorns and the nails. How strikingly his uniform -with its high collar and the black stock inside set off his clear, pale -face, his lithe figure, and the hair like September bracken. Laurent -did not wonder that his "cousin" frankly admired him. Did he admire -her? From the way in which he had repudiated their relationship, -apparently not. - -L'Oiseleur noticed his gaze. "I'm not the wild Chouan any more, you -see," he said, smiling and running his hand over his head. "But I -should not be surprised if, when you come and visit me in the -spring--as I hope I may persuade you to do--I am not condemned to -wearing those long locks again." - -"Why, you do not anticipate fighting again, surely?" - -"No, no; and if there were I could hardly grow them to order in a day or -two. But my grandmother, who is very much ancien régime, greatly -prefers the queue to which she was accustomed--in my father, for -instance. So when I return, as I shortly shall, to my rustic solitudes, -I may have to let my hair grow again to please her. But I drew the line -at showing myself in Paris in times of peace like that!" - -"Some men with his reputation would cling to the singularity," thought -Laurent; "I was sure he hated display." - -"Your men are disbanded now, I suppose?" he enquired. - -"Yes, the Eperviers exist no longer.--Did I tell you that they called -themselves the 'Hawks'--I suppose because of the name of 'Fowler' that -came to me with the _jartier_. But I am a peaceful country gentleman -now, and keep pigeons, not hawks." - -"But you have your swan--or swans perhaps?" observed Laurent, thinking -of his crest. - -L'Oiseleur looked surprised for a moment; then he smiled. "Ah, I see. -Yes, we bear seven on the coat. That is where the name of Sessignes -comes from--Sept-Cygnes. There are wild ones in the river sometimes. -But I hope you will see them for yourself." - -Why, when he spoke of his home, did his face seem, ever so little, to -cloud? It struck Laurent that his good spirits, though evidently -unassumed, did not go very deep. Perhaps he had terrible memories from -childhood? He stole a glance at his profile--strangely sensitive, for -all its vigour and resolution. But, puzzling or no, he was more -attractive than ever. - -Peste! here was that Mme de Morsan back again, on the arm of her -cavalier, and her voice saying, "My dear Aymar, I want to hear -everything Her Royal Highness said to you!" and, though they both -begged him to remain, Laurent excused himself. He should see M. de la -Rocheterie later at the Hotel de Courtomer. - -About a quarter of an hour later he drifted past the room again on his -way out. It was empty now, so his glance, reminiscently, went clear to -the other end. But it was not quite empty, for the couple were there -still, standing under the lamp. And, thought M. de Courtomer with all -the worldly experience of four-and-twenty, as Mme de Morsan's -languorous expression and half-mocking smile smote themselves into his -perceptions, "if ever a woman was set on a man, she is on him!" But he -hesitated to add that the reverse was true, for L'Oiseleur was -undisguisedly frowning at her with that peculiarly straight gaze he had -when he was angry--as witnessed by Laurent in his own dining-room -across the Channel. Unless, of course, it was a lovers' quarrel. They -made, indeed, a most striking pair--but somehow he did not want . . . -How ridiculous for him to assume a critical attitude to the Vicomte de -la Rocheterie's _affaires de coeur_ . . . if he had any. - - -(2) - -L'Oiseleur did pay his call at the Hôtel de Courtomer, but, enormously -to Laurent's disappointment, it was when he himself happened to be out. -Mme de Courtomer reported that he had said he was on his way back to -Brittany in a day or two, so Laurent concluded that the last picture he -would have of him would be of his standing with the lady in green and -silver under the filigree lamp, looking so deeply annoyed. - -But two days later, as he chanced to walk down the Tuileries garden, he -caught sight, amid a tolerable crowd, of two people in front of him who -gave him a start. He saw only their backs; but one undoubtedly was -L'Oiseleur's. Yet he had on his arm a lady who was obviously not Mme de -Morsan. For one thing, she was not so tall--she only came up to her -escort's shoulder; for another, from below her bonnet escaped a tendril -of bright bronze; and for a third, Aymar de la Rocheterie's own head -was bent down towards her in a way it had shown no sign of doing to Mme -de Morsan. They were obviously talking very intimately--so intimately -that the self-denying Laurent slackened his faster pace lest he should -overtake them; and they were soon lost in the crowd. - -Was that the real cousin, the heroine of the exploit at Chalais, the -member of his family who shared his Northern blood--the lady whose -unhappy marriage to a roué might very well have been the cause of his -visit to England, the lady who had . . . perhaps . . . the charge of -his heart? - -This question Laurent asked of the unresponsive facade of the Tuileries -as he strong-mindedly returned towards it. For the answer to it he -would have to wait now till the spring . . . and the spring would be a -deuced long time in coming. - - -(3) - -But it was not. The winter--gay despite almost universal discontent ---passed very swiftly in Paris. Laurent went out a great deal, and -already the Aunts said that it was time he should think of marrying, -particularly as his English grandfather, who died in the autumn, had -left him nearly all his money. His mother laughed and replied, "Wait -till he sees a lady he likes," to which Tante Clotilde responded: -"Virginia, that is not the way things are done in France! It is -your--our--duty to find a suitable match." And Mme de Courtomer -promised that she would try. - -Yet had she really made any matrimonial plans for her son they could -hardly have been followed up that spring. The bombshell of Napoleon's -landing at Cannes on March 1st would have cast them into as much -confusion as it did the whole organization of the newly established -regime. But Laurent's mind at least was not troubled by divided -counsels; he was off to join the Royalists of the west. Nothing could -stop him from seizing this unexpected chance of proving his loyalty, -and Mesdames Tantes, at all events, were not likely to do anything in -that direction. They gave him benedictions and scapulars. His mother -tried not to show her heart. The leader of all others whom he longed to -join was, of course, L'Oiseleur in Brittany--he imagined that he would -spring at once to arms--but, not having heard anything of him since the -autumn, and not knowing whether he himself would prove a welcome -recruit, he abandoned the idea. - -Moreover, directly it became known that the Duc de Bourbon was being -sent to the Loire, it seemed plain to Laurent and all his like-minded -friends that Vendée, and not Brittany, would prove the centre of -resistance; and so, having had the good fortune to procure a personal -introduction to the Vendean general, Comte Charles d'Autichamp, who -held the military command at Angers, he and a few others set off -thither, full of enthusiasm to lay their swords, through him, at the -feet of the Duc d'Enghien's father. - - - - -CHAPTER III - IN THE DUST - - "La blessure intime et profonde qui assombrit une Ame noble, - qui la fait se redresser pleine d'orgueil et de haine . . ." - RENE BOYLESVE, _Mademoiselle Cloque_. - - "Yea, twofold hosts of torment hast thou there, - The stain to think on, and the pain to bear." - _Oedipus Rex_ (Gilbert Murray's translation). - - "I would not hear your enemy say so, - Nor shall you do my ear that violence - To make it truster of your own report - Against yourself . . ." - _Hamlet_, Act. 1, Sc. 2. - - -(1) - -On Monday, the first of May, 1815, a fresh, cloudless afternoon, a young -man in the Vendean uniform, holding by the bridle a sorrel horse, stood -at the fork of a road not far from Locmélar in Brittany, and peered up -at a rough and almost illegible signpost. The young man was Laurent de -Courtomer, who, until about half an hour ago, had been in possession of -a happiness as unclouded as this May sunshine--and who was still -enjoying himself. - -The misunderstandings and delays in Vendée, the fiasco of the Duc de -Bourbon's short sojourn in the west, his precipitate departure, first -from Angers and then from Beaupréau, because some of the leaders, M. -d'Autichamp himself chief among them, thought the time not ripe for a -rising, and were nervous for the safety of the old man's princely -person--all this had very much irked M. d'Autichamp's aide-de-camp, -Comte Laurent de Courtomer. And towards the end of April that -aide-de-camp became so restive that his general had to find him some -employment. He gave him, therefore, a despatch to carry to North -Brittany, to M. de Pontbriand and the rest of the Chouan leaders there, -not disguising his doubt whether Laurent would ever succeed in reaching -them, nor his conviction that he would fail to return across the Loire. -The young man was authorized, in that case, to join one of the Breton -chiefs if he pleased; "not," added M. d'Autichamp, "but that I should -prefer to have you back again with me, in the event of our moving later -on." - -Laurent went off in high feather. Moreover, he succeeded in reaching his -destination, delivered his despatches, which did no more than set forth -a general desire on the part of the Vendean chiefs for such cooperation -as was possible with their comrades on the right bank of the Loire, and -was complimented on the address he had displayed. Elated by his good -fortune, and seeing that nothing but the merest skirmishes had as yet -taken place between the Royalists and the Imperialists, and that he was -now unencumbered with despatches, he determined to return by a -different and rather less secure route--through the Penescouët district -in fact, though he was warned against it. For that was L'Oiseleur's -country, and it might so well be that he should come up against him -somehow--the figure out of a fairy tale, with the hawk and the -mistletoe--in his real surroundings. If he got only a glimpse of him it -was well worth the risk . . . if there were extra risk, which he did -not believe when he set out. - -However, he thought rather differently about that now, and quite -differently about his chance of meeting L'Oiseleur. For, having ridden -all morning happily and expectantly through the deep Breton lanes, he -came at noon to a solitary little inn which had been recommended to -him. It was kept by a very lame young man. His face had clouded over at -Laurent's enquiry as to L'Oiseleur's possible whereabouts. - -"You have not heard, then, Monsieur? Alas, L'Oiseleur met with a great -disaster last week at the Pont-aux-Rochers, over Plumauden way. Three -days ago it was--last Friday morning. His men were ambushed by the -Blues, and nearly all captured or killed. It is terrible . . . he who -had so often entrapped them." - -"Good God!" said Laurent, staring at him. It was the very last piece of -news for which he had been prepared. - -"And L'Oiseleur himself?" he asked, his heart beating fast. - -"Escaped, Monsieur, it is believed. He has the _jartier_, you know. But -he can have few men left now, and it is not known where he is. I wish I -could join him; I should have done so long ago but for this." He -pointed to his shrunken leg. - -It was all the news he could give. Laurent rode very soberly away. He -had only been thinking of success for his friend--for sometimes he -ventured privately so to call him. And this--at the very outset of the -campaign! Still, if La Rocheterie himself had escaped, as was rumoured, -that was chiefly what he cared about. If he could only be sure of that; -for that he should meet him now was a thousand times more unlikely than -before. He must be in hiding--pursued perhaps. . . And the desire to -meet him, to share his danger, grew with every second that Laurent -frowned at the signpost. - -As it was impossible to read it he stooped at last to do what he had in -reality dismounted for, take a stone out of the sorrel's shoe. He had -just dislodged the obstacle when he heard a sound that made him raise -himself sharply. Yes, not more than two hundred yards away, trotting up -the sloping road on his left towards the signpost, was a patrol of -Bonapartist cavalry--red and green hussars. And here he was, -dismounted, in uniform, full in their view! - -He did not long remain so, at least--he was in the saddle and dashing -along the road in front of him as hard as he could go; and as he went -he thought, "This has solved the problem of the choice of road, anyhow! -What a fool I was . . . but it is rather good fun, all the same!" He -could not see the hussars yet over his shoulder, but from the sounds -and shouts they were certainly after him. However, he had a good horse, -and though there was nothing to take from him now save his liberty, he -was not going to make them a present of that if he could help it. And -what if he were to make across country? The bank here was no more than -an English hedgerow. He set the sorrel at it. - - - -Laurent was staring up into the blue sky, and everything was going -round. The sensation having been his once before he knew of course what -had happened--a fall out hunting. - -But why was someone kneeling on his chest and pinning his arms down? It -was a curious way of succouring an accident in the hunting-field; he -could not breathe. - -"Damn you, get off me!" he said angrily and indistinctly in English. - -"Tiens, c'est un Anglais!" exclaimed a surprised voice. - -But Laurent was soon able to explain the falsity of this deduction. The -hussars helped him up, disarmed and searched him, finding little. The -officer said courteously, "You have a deep scratch on your forehead, -Monsieur, taken, no doubt, from the hedge when your horse fell with -you.--One of you tie it up, and then we must be getting on." - -It appeared that no shot had been fired, no blade unsheathed. His horse -had fallen at the leap, and then they had come and sat on him; thus -ingloriously was Laurent de Courtomer made a prisoner. Even the blood -which was now trickling rather copiously down his cheek had been drawn -by nothing more lethal than a broken bough. He was a little savage, but -there was no profit in ill-temper. His captors were quite pleasant; one -of them tied up his forehead with his handkerchief, and then they -mounted, fastened his bridle to one of theirs and trotted back the way -they had come. It seemed that they were out scouting from a -considerable distance, and knew little of happenings in this -neighbourhood, beyond the bare fact that there had been a Royalist -defeat there a few days ago. And so, said Laurent to himself, ends my -dream of meeting with La Rocheterie. Seeing what it had brought about, -he almost regretted having indulged it. - -As evening drew on, they entered a village to water the horses. The -officer went into the inn. M. de Courtomer was by now beginning to -revolve the chances of escape, but his captors were pretty wary. It was -best at least to appear resigned, so he sat most meekly on his slightly -lamed steed between his guards at the village trough, speculating as to -what the village was, and where, for he had lost his sense of -direction. And, thus engaged, he found himself all at once observing -the slow approach of a farm cart along the one street of the place--an -ordinary and rather small cart drawn by an old white horse, but driven, -oddly enough, by a soldier, and having another, with fixed bayonet, -seated sideways on the edge. That there was something unusual about -this conveyance was shown by the fact that everyone whom it passed in -its progress over the cobbles was straight away smitten with immobility -and remained staring after it. Laurent himself became curious to see -what was in it. - -As the cart came within range, the hussars at the horse-trough began to -call out pleasantries to the grenadier driver: what was he taking to -market; it was true he looked better suited to a farm than the army, -and so on. - -"_You_ look like a performing circus!" retorted the grenadier. "We have -a prisoner in here; that's what we've got." Yet he had his musket idly -between his knees and a straw in his mouth. - -"We've got one, too!" replied the hussars. Then the cart came abreast. -On its tailboard, let down nearly level at the back, was visible an -inert head and shoulders. And the sun of the Mayday evening shone on -hair that Laurent knew, hair that fell back from a face like -death--like tragic death . . . Aymar de la Rocheterie's. - -Laurent gave a sharp exclamation, and the sorrel responded to the -half-automatic pressure of his knees. A hussar at once seized his arm, -and a pistol was pressed into his ear, with an enquiry as to whether he -wished to join "that one" in the cart with a bullet in his head? He did -not answer; he was too stunned. But he made no further movement. - -The cart rumbled slowly past with its burden. L'Oiseleur was plainly -quite unconscious, if not dead; his head rolled slightly with the -comfortless motion of the conveyance. On the mortal pallor of his face -there showed up a faint smear or two of blood, and the white dust of -the country road had drifted into his loosened hair, together with some -bits of the straw on which he had been laid. A dark green uniform coat -similar to that in which Laurent had last seen him was flung over him, -but his shirt had obviously been removed, and one shoulder at least was -swathed round with a bloody wrapping. And the sunlight showed how -deeply stained was the coat also. - -Before Laurent had recovered from his stupefaction the cart had passed. -All the hussars turned in their saddles and looked after it, oddly -silent, except one irrepressible spirit who shouted out an enquiry as -to why they were going like a funeral. - -"To avoid one, son of an idiot!" called back the man with the musket. -"We happen to want this parishioner alive. It's a damned nuisance, -going at this pace, but if we hurry--" He made an expressive gesture. - -"Where are you taking him to?" - -But either the soldier did not hear, or did not answer, because the -hussar officer came at that moment out of the inn shouting an order. -And hastily, with much jingling of accoutrements, the patrol began to -move off up the sunny street in the opposite direction, Laurent in the -midst. - -He was feeling very dismal. Rumour was incorrect, and L'Oiseleur _had_ -paid in person for his defeat--and paid heavily. He had fallen with his -men after all . . . no, hardly, because the affair at the bridge was -three days old, and the blood on him was fresh. He must have been -tracked down afterwards . . . horrible! But how strange that there was -no escort with the cart--for though L'Oiseleur himself was only too -obviously in no condition to escape from it, there must always be the -risk of a rescue so long as any of those devoted followers of his were -at large. Or did the absence of an adequate guard signify that the -whole of his remaining force had since been wiped out--and was that the -meaning of the look, almost of horror, which had persisted even in -unconsciousness? Laurent could not get that look out of his head, nor -the way the cart had jolted. Surely, if they wanted him kept alive, -that soldier might have held him in his arms; surely---- - -The young man gave an exclamation. Slow-witted dolt that he was! "I must -speak to your officer at once!" he said to the hussar who had command -of his reins. - -But it took time, in that quickly trotting advance, before his demand -could be complied with, and already when he proffered his suggestion it -seemed absurd, seeing that by then the cart with its burden and he, who -was not a free agent, were a mile or more apart. So the officer not -unnaturally replied that it was out of the question to send him back -now to bear the other prisoner company. - - -(2) - -To a young man deeply conscious of how unwelcome it is to be made a -captive it is not likely to occur that he may also be unwelcome to his -captors. This fact was nevertheless made plain to Laurent next morning -when the officer came into the barn where M. de Courtomer had spent the -night with the patrol, and told him frankly that he was becoming a -nuisance to them. They wished to return with all possible speed to -headquarters, yet the sergeant reported that the strain taken by the -prisoner's horse in its fall yesterday was much worse. The officer -really wished, he avowed, that he _had_ bestowed his captive in the -cart with the other; he proposed now, instead of dragging him further -with them on his lame beast, to hand him over to the care of the -garrison at Arbelles, which was still within a few hours' ride. - -Laurent replied indifferently that he must do as he thought best. He had -passed a haunted night; had La Rocheterie lived to see this day break? -He doubted it. - -The crux came over the question of parole, which was required of him -because only one hussar could be spared to take him to Arbelles; and in -the end Laurent agreed to give it until he was in the hands of his new -gaolers; and so, fettered by his word, he set out in a corporal's -charge. But he was feeling too much depressed this morning to care to -think of a dash for freedom. He had had his wish: he had seen -L'Oiseleur, and doubted if he should see him more in this life. And -about midday, riding slowly because of the sorrel's condition, he and -the corporal came in sight of their destination, the château of -Arbelles, a really fine and extensive Renaissance building, capable of -containing, as it then did, a considerable number of troops, though -plainly not designed for any warlike end. It belonged, Laurent -subsequently discovered, to a Royalist gentleman absent in Paris, and -during his progress up the avenue the prisoner wondered how long, under -military occupation, it would retain its general air of well-kept -luxury, almost that of a big English country house. - -In the imposing hall, with its great oriel window and vast hearth, he -was delivered over to a tall major of the line of a lifeless and, as -Laurent privately thought, stupid visage. The hussar made his report -and handed over Laurent's papers. The officer was looking at them in a -slow, undecided way, when a quick step was heard and he turned round -and saluted a big, burly, hard-faced man in the green and yellow of the -dragoons--a man with a choleric eye and close-cut grizzled -side-whiskers coming to the level of the cheek-bone. To him Laurent was -presented as a prisoner on parole just sent in. - -"But I take back my parole, sir, now that I am in your hands," put in -the captive quickly. - -The dragoon colonel gave a mirthless smile. "As you please, -Monsieur"--he looked at the papers. "Lieutenant le Comte de Courtomer, -is it not? You have a report, corporal?" - -The corporal made it, and the Colonel proceeded--quite civilly--to -question his prisoner. But the fact that Laurent, when captured, had -been coming from the north, as he readily acknowledged, appeared to -annoy the commander of Arbelles, whose preferences seemed to be for a -prisoner from the south-west. Could not M. le Comte give him any -inkling of what was going forward in the Plesguen district? Laurent -intimated that he was totally unable to do so, not having been there; -nor, he added coldly, did he see that he was called upon to present -such information to an enemy if he had had it. And the Colonel did not -press the point; he muttered something cryptic to the impassive Major -about having patience and waiting a little longer. After which, looking -at the handkerchief round Laurent's brow, he observed almost -solicitously, "You are wounded, I see, Monsieur le Comte. You must have -that attended to. Where is M. Perrelet?" - -A young, loose-limbed lieutenant of _chasseurs à cheval_ standing by -said, with a significant lift of the eyebrows, "Still in that room, -sir." - -"Ah," said his superior. "Well, I hope he is in it to some purpose. I -think that this officer then, had best go up there to M. Perrelet, to -have his hurt dressed, and meanwhile we can consider where to lodge -him.--We are rather full for the next few days; you must excuse us, -Monsieur le Comte." - -"I am your prisoner," responded Laurent rather stiffly, disliking the -effect which his title appeared to be making on this certainly not -aristocratic foe. - -"Rigault," said the latter to the young officer who had spoken, "take a -couple of men and conduct M. de Courtomer upstairs. I am to understand -that you definitely withdraw your parole now, Monsieur?" - -"Definitely, Monsieur le Colonel." - -But when the chasseur returned with two soldiers the Colonel announced -that he had changed his mind, and would go with the prisoner himself, -as he wished to speak to the doctor. - -They mounted the noble staircase together. At the top they met an -orderly, of whom the Colonel asked if M. Perrelet were along _there_, -indicating a certain passage. The man replied that the surgeon had just -left the room for a moment, but would soon return; on which his -commanding officer told him to inform him that there was a captured -Royalist officer there awaiting his services. Then, followed by the two -soldiers, he went down the passage with his prisoner, talking as he -went. - -"I must apologize, Monsieur de Courtomer, for asking you to see the -doctor in this particular room, but he is very much taken up with a -wounded prisoner who occupies it, and he has his dressings and so forth -there. But of course I shall have you put elsewhere when he has done -what is necessary for you." - -"Oh," said Laurent cheerfully, "I am not averse to company, sir, if the -prisoner in question is not too ill for it." - -The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. "It is not on his account that I -would not quarter you there, though he _is_ very ill, but on quite -another--that on which I really feel apologies are due to you for being -required to spend even a few minutes in his society." He broke off as -he stopped at a door on his right hand, and beckoned to the soldiers. -"One of you must stand sentry here while this officer is within, and -the door must be locked, now. . . . No," he resumed to Laurent, his -hand on the door knob, "I should not dream of leaving you with this -man, officer of your own side though he is, for I am sorry to say he -has just turned traitor--betrayed his own men into an ambush four days -ago, and was himself shot yesterday by those that were left." And -seeing Laurent's look of incredulity and aversion, he added, "Yes, he -was found tied up to a tree, all but dead, outside his own -headquarters. The doctor, at my request, has been doing his best for -him since yesterday evening, but it seems doubtful if he will live -. . . fortunately for himself, perhaps." - -He turned the handle of the unlocked door and motioned the now reluctant -Laurent in. "With apologies!" he said once more. - -The door shut again, the key turning. And on its inner side Laurent de -Courtomer, appalled, stood staring . . . staring . . . fighting with -all his mind against the evidence of his eyes. . . . - - -(3) - -The bronze hair was scattered on the pillow. Except for brows and lashes -the only trace of colour in the upturned face that it surrounded was -the blue stain beneath the shut eyes, for the shut lips had none. But -the blood and dust which had disfigured that visage yesterday were -gone; it was now so utterly bloodless that it had become mere -sculpture, too fine-drawn for life--a little severe, almost disdainful. -Lying there so straight and motionless and low, Aymar de la Rocheterie, -in the hands of his enemies, had the aspect of a dead Crusader. - -And it was of _him_ that vile thing had just been said, the other side -of the door! - -Laurent stood petrified. He felt himself guilty, polluted, a party to -that terrible lie. His instant impulse was to cry to the still figure, -"Forgive me for having even heard it--for not having had time to deny -it for you . . . this idea of a madman! _You_ betray your men!" Then -the knowledge swamped him like a flood to what deaf ears he would cry. -L'Oiseleur was . . . surely . . . dying. - -Oh, why had he not tried sooner to go with him yesterday? Now it was too -late. There was no visible lift of breathing under the bedclothes, -smoothly disposed as they were up to the very chin. And, pierced with -an even keener pain than yesterday's, Laurent went nearer to the bed, -drawn as by a magnet to something he was half afraid to approach, -remembering Devonshire and the bright salmon river, the stranger who -had so lightly risked his life for him, who had shown him the -amulet--the useless amulet--the brilliant friend he had reëncountered -in Paris, the lover he had guessed at in the Tuileries garden. Was this -to be the end of all that charm and vigour and young renown? - -And at that moment, as if to answer him . . . but in what sense? . . . -Aymar de la Rocheterie opened his eyes and looked at him. - -Laurent suffered a double shock, since, apart from their unmistakable -warm red-brown colour, they did not seem to be L'Oiseleur's eyes at -all. They were immensely large and even lustrous, but they had no life -in them, nor, as Laurent almost instantly realized, any power of -recognition worth the name. They might have seen something, but it -certainly was not he. For the space of ten heart-beats or so they -remained open; then the lashes fell again on to the blue circles and so -stayed. There was no other movement. - -Thank God, he was still alive then. But why, in this extremity, had he -been left alone? The Colonel had said that they were doing their best -to save him. There seemed a quantity of objects to that end on the -table by the bed; the grey-panelled, well-furnished room with its two -windows--a sitting-room, evidently--was very pleasant; there was a -little fire burning; the bed itself, even if narrow, had fine linen -sheets and an embroidered counterpane. But for all that it was patent -that he who lay in it lay very near the brink of a swifter river than -the Dart. That indeed Laurent had guessed and feared yesterday; but the -other dark flood lapping at him--the atrocious calumny--how was that to -be stayed? Yet, if Aymar de la Rocheterie were dying, so long as _he_ -had a tongue in his head he should not die sullied by so horrible a -charge. - -And, with a rapidly beating heart, he found himself away from the -bedside staring through the window. How _dared_ they say such a thing? -As he asked himself the question the key turned in the lock. A sharp -voice outside said rapidly, "Sentry? nonsense! I won't have one here, -tell the Colonel!--Another prisoner waiting for me? Yes, I know." And -the speaker entered, a short, stout, more than middle-aged man in -civilian attire, with a pair of rather fierce eyes under shaggy -grizzled brows. He threw a quick glance at Laurent, said, "In a -moment!" and, crossing to the bed, bent over its occupant and slipped -his hand under the bedclothes. - -He was there a full minute; then he came away compressing his lips and -frowning. "Now, Monsieur, I am at your service. It is your head, I see. -Sit down, please. A cut? Anything else?" - -Laurent did not sit down. "For God's sake, Monsieur le Docteur, tell me -what is the meaning of that?" And he made a gesture towards the bed. - -"Heart failure and collapse from excessive loss of blood is the meaning -of that, Monsieur," replied the doctor rather curtly. "If you will -kindly sit down and let me examine your head--" - -"There's nothing there but a scratch," returned the young man, still -uncomplying. "And that is not exactly what I meant. It's this dreadful -story--they must all be lunatics in this place to think such a thing of -_him_!" - -The surgeon looked at him keenly. "You know who he is, then?" - -"I do; but surely the Bonapartists do not--that is their only excuse. -L'Oiseleur, the Vicomte de la Rocheterie, betray his own men! It's -. . . it's grotesque!" - -"You speak very confidently, Monsieur. But they do know quite well who -he is, and I am afraid the story is only too true." - -At that Monsieur de Courtomer, with almost a gesture of desperation, -took the handkerchief off his head and sat down in the chair. "That is -rank lunacy," he observed. "It was bad enough to come across him being -brought here in this state--as I did yesterday--but to hear this -slander in addition is like being in a nightmare. Even if I did not -know him personally----" - -The surgeon's hands, which were pushing the hair away from the scratch, -stopped. "Ah, you know him personally," he said quickly. "You are a -friend of his, then?" - -Laurent's eyes turned towards the effigy in the bed. "I should be proud -indeed if I could claim that distinction. An acquaintance would, I am -afraid, be nearer the mark." - -"And a champion," supplied the doctor. - -"L'Oiseleur needs no champion," retorted the young man. - -The hand fell somewhat weightily on his shoulder. "Indeed he does, -Monsieur," returned its owner, and his voice was no longer sharp. "I -assure you he stands in need of one rather badly just now. . . . And, -for the moment, in need still more of something else." - -Then he took his hand away, dropping all pretence of examining the hurt. -His round face was very grave, and the fierceness had quite gone out of -his little eyes. He looked at Laurent. - -And Laurent stared back at him. "Something else," he repeated stupidly -after an instant; and then, abruptly, "Tell me, is he going to live?" - -"I don't know," answered M. Perrelet. The three words were eloquent. -After a second or two he added, "He cannot hear; you need not be -afraid," and went on, "I have only kept him alive so far by unremitting -care and the constant use of stimulants. I have hardly left him for -five minutes since he came. I shall sit up with him again to-night, but -even if I succeed in pulling him through till to-morrow, I cannot go on -doing that, for I'm an old man, with my work to do in the day . . ." He -broke off and looked at Laurent again. - -A certain dismayed realization of whither this was tending came over M. -de Courtomer. "But, good Heavens, I could not take your place! No one -in the world knows less of medicine, less of nursing, than I do. I -could not undertake the responsibility!" - -"Then you are undertaking a heavier," responded the surgeon meaningly. -"Without the most incessant care these next few days, that young man -will just flicker out. It's a question whether he doesn't do it in any -case." - -"But surely you could get someone----" - -"Yes, some stupid orderly into whose head I could perhaps drum something -which he would do unwillingly and with contempt in his heart, because -it is not only for an enemy--that he could stomach--but for a renegade. -For this story, true or no, is known to every soul in the garrison." -And, as Laurent gave an exclamation, he went on, "The result of such -'nursing' would inevitably be that he would slip through my fingers. -And I cannot bring in a woman from the village; the Colonel would not -hear of it, and indeed it would not be much better. I'm no -sentimentalist, Monsieur, but, guilty or innocent, what that -unfortunate young man needs now as he never needed it, probably, in his -life before, is just what Providence seems to have sent him--a friend! -If it is a friend who still believes in him, so much the better. The -only friend he does not want is one who, having seen his necessity, -will pass him by on the other side." - -How could he hesitate! He had wanted to meet L'Oiseleur, owed his -capture very likely to the indulgence of that desire, and was needing -to be urged to tend him now that he had thus tragically encountered -him! Laurent put out his hand, his eyes smarting rather uncomfortably. - -"I'll do it. I'll do anything you want. But I shall probably kill him," -he added miserably. - -He who claimed to be no sentimentalist patted him on the shoulder. - -"No, you will not. And I shall be here myself until to-morrow. Now I -will just wash that scratch of yours and put some more plaster on it, -and then I will make them bring a bed for you in here." He worked -quickly and deftly till Laurent's forehead was adorned with an -impressive star. "There, that will do for the present. I must get -something down his throat now--not very easy, but imperatively -necessary every hour or so. You had better watch me." - -And Laurent watched, nervously realizing what he, so totally -inexperienced, was about to undertake. - -"He is unconscious, you say," he whispered, looking at the paper-white -face on the surgeon's arm. "But he opened his eyes and looked at me a -little before you came in." - -M. Perrelet laid the inert head with its dulled and tangled locks very -gently back on the pillow. "He is quite unconscious at this moment. -From time to time he comes to the surface, as it were. If he is going -to live he will do that oftener, until he stays there altogether." He -slipped his hand under the bedclothes again. "Yes, the pulse, fast as -it is, seems a trifle stronger. With your help, Monsieur, I have hopes -. . . I have great hopes. There is evidently much natural vitality." -And he left the bedside, adding briskly, "I will just run down and tell -Colonel Guitton that you have volunteered your services." - -"I should like to see the Colonel myself as soon as possible," observed -Laurent. "I must disabuse his mind at once of this preposterous idea -about M. de la Rocheterie." - -"I am afraid that you will not find it very easy to do that, Monsieur," -said the doctor, shaking his head. "Facts stand in the way." - -"Facts!" ejaculated Laurent with illimitable scorn. - -"There was undoubtedly treachery at Pont-aux-Rochers. Colonel Richard, -commanding at Saint-Goazec, had definite information sent him that -L'Oiseleur's men would pass the bridge at a certain hour last Friday; -he acted on the information, which purported to come from L'Oiseleur -himself, ambushed the unprepared Chouans, and smashed them up." - -"Well," said Laurent with a little grimace, "information _may_ have been -sent to this Colonel Richard, but that it should have been sent by La -Rocheterie himself, by their own commander, by L'Oiseleur, who for more -than a year before the Restoration kept the Imperialists at bay -single-handed is, as I said before, grotesque!" - -M. Perrelet shrugged his shoulders. "I assure you I should prefer to -think so, too. But, in that case, why did his men shoot him?" - -"That idea is equally grotesque, Monsieur le Docteur. They would be -incapable of such a thing. They did not shoot him, that's all.--What -are his wounds, by the way? Very serious, I suppose?" - -"No, not in themselves, except that he has a bullet lodged in his left -shoulder which I rather dislike because I do not know how, in this -state of exhaustion, he is ever going to stand the extraction. He has -also had a ball through the right side, a little above the hipbone, -which, by some miracle, has touched nothing vital. And there is a -painful but superficial glancing wound across the chest.--But what did -the mischief was the haemorrhage; tied as he was in an upright position -to that tree, and abandoned there for goodness knows how long . . . and -he evidently struggled hard to get free . . . you can imagine----" - -Laurent's face had slowly blanched as he stared at him. - -"It is really _true_--about that tree!" - -"I do not see what object the contingent who found him could have in -making up such a story. And when he was brought in he had a cut end of -rope dangling from either wrist. I saw them with my own eyes--and the -state of his wrists, too!" - -Laurent could feel now that he had turned pale. _Could_ so unspeakable a -thing have been the prelude to that forlorn journey in the cart! - -"Yes, you see, Monsieur," said the doctor rather sadly, "it's pretty -conclusive." - -"Ah, not a bit!" retorted Laurent, recovering himself. "All it proves is -that an attempt was made to murder him. To put the attempt down to his -own men is the insanest of conjectures. He may have been captured by -some band of marauders, or by Fédérés from the nearest town--or even by -the Imperialists themselves . . . not these of Arbelles, but some other -force. Yes, how can you disprove that it was the Imperialists?" - -"Well, for one thing," replied M. Perrelet drily, "because I imagine -that regulars would have made a more thorough job of it. But I am quite -open to conviction, for I don't mind telling you that--unsentimental -old curmudgeon though I am--I took a sort of fancy to the unhappy young -man from the moment I saw him yesterday. . . And now I will go and see -the Colonel. You are sure that you do not repent?" - -"I am alarmed," replied Laurent with much truth, "but certainly I do not -repent.--By the way," he added, as the doctor was at the door, "does M. -de la Rocheterie himself know of the existence of this slander?" - -M. Perrelet raised his eyebrows. "It all depends on what happened in the -wood--the Bois des Fauvettes, I believe it is called. If his men shot -him, it was presumably on account of the imputation that they did so; -therefore he must know of it." - -"Well, I am confident that _that_ did not happen in the wood," -proclaimed Laurent. "But has he learnt of the calumny since? Does he -even know where he is?" - -"Almost certainly not," replied the doctor. "He has never been -sufficiently conscious. So he cannot have learnt of the charge since, -and if he is really quite ignorant of it--well, there's no need to tell -him yet awhile . . . if ever," he added under his breath. Then he -turned the useless handle of the door. "Peste! I forgot I was locked in -on _your_ account!" - -When Laurent was once more alone he ventured over to the bed again, and -stood looking down at it in a tempest of pity and horror and -indignation. _That_ was L'Oiseleur . . . in need of a friend! And Fate -had chosen him for the part. Fate had been bringing them together all -the time! Ah, now he could repay that leap into the river--repay it -doubly, perhaps, not only by caring for La Rocheterie's hurt body, but -also for his honour, which seemed to have suffered so desperate and -inexplicable a wound. . . . - -Yet how could he, a prisoner, discover of what disastrous occurrence in -the Bois des Fauvettes L'Oiseleur had been a victim, till L'Oiseleur -himself could tell him? And perhaps those pale lips would never speak -again. His own mouth twitched. "You shall live!" he said. "You _shall_ -. . . you will!" - - -(4) - -That night always seemed to Laurent like a bad dream, in which, however, -he was only a spectator, not an actor. There was nothing he could do, -beyond attending to the fire; indeed, M. Perrelet told him that he -might as well go to sleep. But, though he lay down on the bed which had -been brought in for him and placed at the other side of the room, he -scarcely closed his eyes. - -About dawn, seeing the surgeon, who had never left his patient's side, -get up rather quickly and bend over him, he slipped off his bed and -tiptoed across the room. But after a moment M. Perrelet lifted his head -from L'Oiseleur's heart, and Laurent, prepared for the worst, could see -that he looked relieved. - -"Distinctly stronger," he murmured. "We shall do it yet. Give me that -saucepan off the fire. I want some more hot bouillon and brandy." - -His own face looked tired and haggard in the growing light, but there -was no fatigue in his manner. And after the brandy, his head still -lying in the crook of the doctor's arm, L'Oiseleur sighed, shut his -lips tight, and moved that head a little with a faint suggestion of -restlessness. - -"Go round and turn the pillow over," commanded M. Perrelet in a low -voice. - -Secretly terrified, Laurent obeyed. He was persuaded that La Rocheterie -would open his eyes just at that moment. But the dark lashes were down -now as if they meant to stay there for ever. - -"That will do," said M. Perrelet. "Go back to bed and try to get a -little sleep. You will be wanted in the day--for there will be a day -for him now, I think." - - - -About eight o'clock, indeed, M. Perrelet was so well satisfied with his -patient's condition that he left the room for a little. To Laurent's -surprise he returned with Colonel Guitton. The latter, taking no notice -of Laurent, went straight over to La Rocheterie's bed with the doctor, -and stood there in silence. - -"You said that he was better," he remarked after a moment. "He looks no -better at all!" The disappointment in his tone almost amounted to -annoyance. - -"I told you it would be slow," replied M. Perrelet rather shortly. - -The Colonel stooped. "I suppose he's not shamming by any chance?" - -Laurent gave a movement. So did M. Perrelet. - -"Shamming!" he exclaimed. "Do you think I am a . . . a greengrocer, -Colonel? And I wish you would feel his pulse, and tell me how a man can -simulate one like that!" - -Colonel Guitton gave a sort of laugh. "You need not be so peppery, my -dear Perrelet. I did not mean to cast any slur on your professional -acumen. And, as to your patient, the charge of malingering would be a -trifling one to bring against a man who has done what he has done.--Let -me have a report of his progress, please, twice a day without fail," he -finished curtly, and, turning on his heel, came in Laurent's direction. - -"So you have elected to stay here, Monsieur le Comte, and play the Good -Samaritan? Please remember that it is not my wish, and that when you -change your mind you have only to ask to be moved." - -Laurent had got the better of the strangling sensation which had -afflicted him while the Bonapartist stood over Aymar de la Rocheterie -(unhearing and unseeing though the latter was) and spoke of him like -that. He was on fire, but coherently so, and having decided in the -night exactly what he meant to say, he said it. - -The Colonel heard him out. Then he shrugged his shoulders, remarked -calmly, "Ah, a champion! Well, Monsieur de Courtomer, I am sorry for -you!" and departed, M. Perrelet with him, leaving Laurent angry, -dumbfounded, and thoroughly bewildered, not by his incredulity but by -his inconsistency. How, if he was so concerned for La Rocheterie's -life, so anxious to hear of his progress, could he speak of him with -such utter contempt? If he had such an opinion of him why did he -trouble to have him kept alive at all? In M. Perrelet's case he could -see that he really cared, and he was, besides, a doctor, but the -Colonel . . . - -Then M. Perrelet returned, looking rather grim, and Laurent was -immediately called upon to assist at the dressing of the patient's -wounds--his first experience of the kind. Of this proceeding, indeed, -L'Oiseleur himself betrayed little consciousness beyond moaning once or -twice; but there was one matter of which Laurent, for his part, was -even more acutely aware than of the injuries themselves. Each of M. de -la Rocheterie's wrists, now seen for the first time, was encircled by a -neat little bandage. After what the surgeon had said about ropes, it -was not difficult to guess the reason for their presence, and it turned -Laurent sick and cold. What ignominy had he suffered in that horrible -wood, he, a gentleman and a hero? - - - -The rest of the slow day was not free from anxiety, but as it wore on La -Rocheterie's condition certainly improved and he became conscious for -increasingly longer intervals, till at last, by the end of the -afternoon, he was lying most of the time with his eyes open, though he -seemed quite unaware of Laurent's presence, possibly even of the -doctor's. - -And when the night came which Laurent had been so dreading, he found -that the responsibility for L'Oiseleur's life was not to rest entirely -on his untried shoulders, since M. Perrelet was going to sleep in the -château, not in his house in the village, and could be summoned at need -by means of the sentry. - -That was an immense relief. And Laurent did not have to summon him. The -little flame of life, so anxiously tended, showed no flicker. La -Rocheterie was very quiet, much as he had been during the day. -Occasionally he would stir feebly or sigh; part of the time he seemed -to be asleep. But even when his eyes were open they rested on his -candle-lit surroundings, on the screen which had now been placed at the -side of the bed, or on the watcher, with the same absence of interest, -and he took what was given him with a similar indifference. - -Perhaps, drained of blood as he was, he had lost for the time his hold -on realities. And possibly, in the circumstances, this was as well. But -the human body seemed to the newly initiated student a terrifyingly -frail machine. What would Maman say if she could see M. de la -Rocheterie now . . . if she could have seen both of them, brought -together like this! Darling Maman! . . . and Laurent pondered at -intervals, during that long night, whether his gaolers would let him -send a letter to tell her that he was at least safe. Too safe, he would -have said, but for that helpless and calumniated head on the pillow -there! - - -(5) - -At the conclusion of his vigil in the morning Laurent, heavy-eyed but -relieved, was rewarded with praise. A little later another milestone -was passed: Aymar de la Rocheterie spoke for the first time. - -Laurent had already pricked up his ears when he heard M. Perrelet, on -the inner side of the screen, saying to him encouragingly, "Ah, now I -am beginning to be pleased with you!" - -And to this a voice--more a breath than a voice, and broken at -that--said, slowly and with effort, - -"You are the doctor, Monsieur? . . . Where am I?" - -"In the château of Arbelles," responded M. Perrelet, "where we are going -to make you quite well again." - -"How long . . ." - -"Since Monday evening. This is Thursday morning." - -"Arbelles," murmured the voice. There was a pause; then it said, "But -that Royalist officer . . . here sometimes . . . ?" - -"He is a prisoner like you, Monsieur," responded M. Perrelet. There was -a moment's silence, and then the wounded man said, - -"And it was the . . . Bonapartists then who . . . brought me here?" - -To some sudden strand of anguish in the voice M. Perrelet replied -soothingly, "Well, it does not much matter who brought you. Yes, they -found you unconscious. Now you had better not talk any more. I am going -to do your dressings." - -He was obeyed. Indeed it was obviously as much as La Rocheterie could do -to retain his hold on consciousness at all during the next half-hour. -But he made no shadow of protest or complaint, and when at last the -business was over, he lay motionless again, with his eyes shut, just a -little more nearly the hue of the sheets than before. - -He seemed in fact to be in a drowse when M. Perrelet came back to the -bedside with a towel and the bandage scissors in his hand. "I meant to -have cut off this long hair before," he remarked to Laurent, still on -the farther side of the bed. "He will be much more comfortable with it -gone. Curious colour!" He touched a bronze ripple. - -"You are going to cut it off!" exclaimed Laurent in a low tone. The -intention seemed almost sacrilege. - -The surgeon nodded. "At least, you shall do it, while I hold his head -up." - -"Oh, but . . ." said Laurent, hesitatingly accepting the scissors, -"perhaps he would not wish it. . . . Unless of course it is -necessary. . . ." - -"I don't know that it is necessary," returned M. Perrelet, "but----" - -Here, immensely to the surprise of both of them, he over whose body they -were holding this debate opened his eyes and faintly said something. -The old doctor bent down to catch it, but Laurent, whose hearing was -sharper, had no need to stoop. L'Oiseleur had whispered, "Cut it -off. . . . I shall not want it so . . . any more. . . ." - -After that there was nothing to say. But Laurent had his teeth in his -underlip as he played the executioner, nervously clipping away at the -"tiresome stuff," as its owner had once so insouciantly called it, till -the shoulder-long locks, curling a little at the ends, lay like autumn -beech-leaves on the linen. - - "Nous n'irons plus aux bois, - Les lauriers sont coupés," - ---that most haunting couplet came into his head meanwhile, to stay there -all the rest of the morning. - -"That will be much better, thank you, Monsieur de Courtomer," said M. -Perrelet, settling the shorn head back again. - -Was it only Laurent's fancy that a slight change passed over Aymar de la -Rocheterie's half-conscious face at the name? - - - -And, waking that afternoon from a short doze himself, Laurent found his -charge's conscious gaze fixed full on him. As Laurent's glance met his -the very faintest tinge of colour mounted to his face--he was too -bloodless to show more. But he looked away, saying nothing. - -Laurent felt certain, however, that he had recognized him. In his -present great prostration this was probably a shock; he must give him -time to get over it. He would obviously have to wait a little for the -story of the doings in the wood; La Rocheterie would not have the -strength to tell him yet. - -Nor, perhaps, the inclination, it occurred to him later, when, having -asked the wounded man whether there was anything he could do to make -him more comfortable, he replied in the negative in a voice that seemed -to the enquirer, for all its weakness, to be so extremely glacial that -he felt a chill at the heart. Had La Rocheterie not recognized him, -after all? Should he recall himself to his memory? Better not: M. -Perrelet would probably disapprove. - -But during the night he was faced with a new idea. Was it possible that -L'Oiseleur, even though he had recognized him (for the more Laurent -thought about that the more he felt sure that he had), did not want to -admit the fact? And if so, in Heaven's name why not? Was it possible -that--after all, he _did_ know something of the terrible imputation -under which he lay? But even then--Laurent was at a loss, and no amount -of studying his face, at moments during the vigil when La Rocheterie -was asleep, helped him to a solution. All he gained was a completer -impression of the extraordinary effect of candour, innocence, and -helplessness given to it in repose by the motionless lashes, as long -and curving as those of a boy. - -Another morning brought a repetition of the morning before. M. Perrelet -seemed pleased, and, presumably of set purpose, he talked a little as -he did the dressings. But his patient did not respond to his -encouragement, and Laurent could not disguise from himself that he -himself was beginning to be a trifle . . . yes, disappointed in him. La -Rocheterie was very likely in pain from the wound in his chest with -every breath he drew, and, worse, was so drained of vitality that he -could not move or lift a hand to help himself, but somehow one would -have thought that, by this time, a man of his fibre would have rallied -a little in spirit, if not in body. On the contrary, in these last two -days Laurent had once or twice surprised on his increasingly haggard -face such an expression of utter hopelessness as to be shocked by it. -Yet it was puzzling how, despite his silence and inertia, La Rocheterie -would now and then turn on M. Perrelet a gaze that seemed pregnant with -some unspoken question. - -Possibly the doctor himself had noticed this, or it was for some other -reason that he gave Laurent a warning before he left. - -"In spite of the improvement, he must be kept absolutely quiet," he -said. "Whatever you do, don't go talking to him about Pont-aux-Rochers -or the wood. I would not answer for the consequences if he is agitated -in any way." - -"To talk is the last thing he seems to want to do," observed his nurse. - -"I am not so sure of that," returned M. Perrelet. - - -(6) - -There seemed to be a great deal of movement going on at Arbelles that -afternoon, and Laurent, sitting sleepily by the open window, remembered -how M. Perrelet had said that a considerable part of the troops there -had been ordered off against the small Royalist bodies in the Plesguen -district who, under the leadership of a certain M. du Tremblay, were -understood to be meditating a coup, but in what direction was -uncertain. Colonel Guitton was going in command of the force from the -château, a piece of news which delighted M. de Courtomer. The name of -du Tremblay seemed familiar to him, but he was too lazy, or too tired, -to recover the connection. - -La Rocheterie was asleep. Though the screen hid his body from Laurent, -it had not been drawn completely up to the head of the bed, and through -the gap the young man could see his face turned sideways on the pillow, -still and colourless as alabaster, and all the more colourless for the -lock of ruddy hair lying on the brow. He was tranquil enough now. But -when he was awake . . . Oh, that cursèd, cursèd wood! - -Quick spurred steps were audible at this juncture outside, and in a -moment more, to Laurent's surprise, and by no means pleasure, there -entered Colonel Guitton, with the Major. The former was evidently ready -for the field, booted, sword-girt and polished, his tall brass helmet -with the horse-hair plume and the strip of leopard-skin giving him -additional height and truculence. Into the yellow plastron of his -uniform was stuck a folded paper. He took no notice of Laurent beyond -returning his salute, and, followed by the other officer, clanked -across the room to L'Oiseleur's bed and disappeared behind the screen. - -This irruption had of course roused the sleeper, for Laurent saw him -stir and open his eyes. - -"Ah, I am glad to see--as well as to hear--that you are better, -Monsieur," came Colonel Guitton's voice, quick and incisive, "because I -want a little conversation with you." - -Laurent promptly walked to the farther edge of the screen. "If you will -excuse me, sir, M. Perrelet left particular orders that M. de la -Rocheterie was to be kept absolutely quiet." - -The helmeted head turned. "I can't help that," said its owner, none too -agreeably. "This business is far too urgent to wait on M. Perrelet's -permission. Moreover, we shall not keep M. de la Rocheterie long." - -He drew the chair by the bed still nearer and sat down, the Major -standing behind him, while Laurent, after a second or two's hesitation, -returned to his former place by the window. He was perturbed, but he -felt that if Colonel Guitton had the sense of a fly he would see that -L'Oiseleur was in no fit state for conversation. - -"I want to ask you a question or two," he heard the Colonel reiterate, -in a much lower voice--but one which, whether he knew it or no, was -perfectly audible. "To go straight to the point, the district of St. -Pierre de Plesguen is moving." He waited a moment, and then added, "I -expect I am right in concluding that M. du Tremblay's real plans are -known to you?" - -L'Oiseleur also waited a moment before replying. "If it interests you -. . . they are." His voice was slow and weak, but the reply had all the -effect of curtness. - -"It does interest me, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," said the dragoon. "I -am going out now in the hope of countering those plans . . . when I -know a little more definitely what they are." - -And there was another pause, which Laurent dimly felt to be charged with -something uncomfortable and threatening, though he could not as yet -divine the goal of this conversation. But it had suddenly come to him -where he had heard the name of du Tremblay before, where he had seen -the man who bore it--that officer at the Duc de Saint-Séverin's -reception who knew so much about La Rocheterie and had spoken of him so -warmly. They had probably concerted measures. - -"Do you expect me to wish you success?" asked the faint voice at last. - -"No, I expect something a little more concrete than good wishes," -retorted Colonel Guitton. He gave a half-laugh and lowered his voice -still more, but not sufficiently. "Come, La Rocheterie, let us get this -business over as quickly as possible. I am sure that you understand -me!" - -The faint, fugitive colour dyed L'Oiseleur's pallor to the roots of his -hair. "God! For what do you take me!" - -"Well," sniggered the Imperialist, "I had really no intention of -pronouncing the word to your face, but if you want it . . . No, I take -you for a man who, like M. de Labédoyère, has seen the error of his -ways, a man who is aware, now that the Emperor is back, how things are -likely to go, and has acted accordingly . . . and wisely, in my view. -Only you cannot stop halfway, you know. So----" - -Little shoots of incredulity and horror had been running up and down the -witness as he stood there rigid by the window, unseen and perhaps -already forgotten. Was it conceivable that they were expecting -L'Oiseleur, _L'Oiseleur_, to reveal the plans which he and du Tremblay -had no doubt made together, now that du Tremblay was on the verge of -carrying them out? It was so infamous that it could not be true; he -must be wronging the two officers. He restrained himself and listened. -As for L'Oiseleur himself, pinned there under their gaze, he had turned -his head away, his teeth set in his lip. - -"Come, La Rocheterie, don't prolong this!" went on the Imperialist, and -his tone held a certain repellent bonhomie. "I am in a great hurry, and -you are ill. And, hang it all, you made Colonel Richard a present of -your own plans; all I'm asking for is a little light on du Tremblay's!" - -Yes, they did expect it! And it was repeated to his very face, that vile -and terrible lie! Laurent took an instinctive step forward--and then -checked himself. La Rocheterie had turned his head back again on the -pillow; he was going at least to have the satisfaction of denying the -charge. But was it any wonder that he looked ghastly? "You can . . . -insult me . . ." he got out, struggling a little for breath, "but you -can never . . . make me do that!" - -"_Make_ you, you fool!" snarled Colonel Guitton, all the false geniality -gone, "there's no question of 'making,' if you have any regard for your -own skin! Don't you realize that you stand to find a Royalist triumph a -cursed bad lookout for yourself after what you've done, if they get -hold of you!" - -L'Oiseleur's lip curled. "I had rather their justice . . . than your -mercy." - -The charge was beneath his contempt then; he had not even troubled to -deny it. But how long was this to go on? Was it of any use making -another appeal to them? No; a fellow-captive had no power to stop them, -and if he intervened again, La Rocheterie would inevitably realize his -presence, and he was beginning most devoutly to hope that he had -forgotten it. - -The Colonel cleared his throat. From his now quite unmodulated voice it -was plain that he, at all events, had forgotten him. "Now, look here, -La Rocheterie, you are behaving insanely. I can't think what has come -to you! Your own side knows, or will soon know, what you have done, -while on the other hand ours is already in your debt--though I don't -doubt you got your _quid pro quo_ from Richard. Now here is a still -greater opportunity of putting us--I might almost say the -Emperor--under an obligation to you, and yet, after having so -thoroughly burned your boats, you hesitate to take it!" - -"Hesitate!" - -The Colonel swore softly. Then he smote himself on the leg. "Parbleu, I -am stupid! I . . . I apologize, La Rocheterie. But you were unlucky, -and you need have no fear of consequences this time, for, most -fortunately, I have a document here which will make the business quite -safe for you. I brought it to ask you about it." Something rustled. "I -assume that this paper which was found on you contains notes or what -not of du Tremblay's plans, since it is headed with his name. So if -ever you were accused of having communicated them you could safely -say--and I would support you--that the cipher notes were taken from you -and read." His voice was eager, explanatory, almost coaxing. "Do you -see? It is quite safe. I perfectly understand that in the event of -recapture you do not want to face a firing-party for the second time. -But no one could possibly prove that we did not contrive to decipher -these notes for ourselves." - -A sound resembling a laugh came from the bed. "Try then!" said its -occupant. - -"Aubert!" said the Colonel, and he and the Major whispered together. -Nevertheless, Laurent overheard the words "extraordinary obstinacy -. . . never anticipated . . . cannot understand. . . ." It seemed clear -now--only too clear--why they had been so anxious to keep L'Oiseleur -alive. . . . And meanwhile he lay, not looking at them, his mouth set -hard, and breathing rather fast, the disastrous effect of this -insulting interrogatory quite plain. And when Laurent saw the sweat on -his brow he hoped with a desperate hope that, as his inquisitors were -in a hurry and could, surely, see that they would elicit nothing, they -would desist. . . . But then, to his dismay, he heard the murmured -words, "going to have it out of him at whatever cost!" - -And Colonel Guitton's chair scraped along the floor as he drew it -nearer. Laurent could now see part of his green sleeve and his strong, -blunt-fingered hand, in which was a piece of stained and crumpled -paper. - -"Now, La Rocheterie," he said, in quite a different tone, "you'll answer -my questions, please! It's no good shamming faintness. You can have -brandy if you need it. Are these"--he tapped the paper--"your notes or -du Tremblay's?" - -From his low pillow L'Oiseleur looked up at his interrogator steadily. -Laurent felt sure that the taunt about shamming had stung him, and that -he was going, to his own cost, to show that it was not that he could -not speak, but that he would not. He now said quietly, "They are my -own." - -"Good! It is your private cipher then?" - -"Yes." - -"And the notes are concerned with this plan of du Tremblay's?" - -"I shall not answer that." - -"That shows they are. You have answered. Now I suppose you will pretend -that you cannot read your cipher without the key?" - -"I can read it perfectly," said the weak, disdainful voice. - -"The deuce you can! Well, that's honest, at all events. As I hold the -paper in front of you, you could read it off, then?" - -"If I pleased." - -"As a matter of fact," observed the Colonel over his shoulder to the -Major, "he probably knows by heart what is there--there is not very -much." He turned once more to his prisoner. "Now I daresay you think -that is what I am going to ask you to do, eh?--and that is why you are -so ready to admit that you can read it. Well, you are wrong. I am not -quite such a fool. What you are going to do, Monsieur L'Oiseleur, is to -give us the key of your cipher, and then, deciphering these notes -ourselves, we can be sure that we are not being tricked! Otherwise I -might just as well have asked you straight out for verbal information, -which I see now I could not rely on when I had it . . . though God -knows what game you are playing! You follow me?" - -"Perfectly." But the sweat was running down his forehead. - -"Well now! You are not strong enough to write, I fancy. The Major will -take it down for you. Is it a complicated cipher?" - -There was a pause which seemed to Laurent endless. He stood there biting -his clenched hands, only keeping himself in with the greatest -difficulty. Surely, surely they could see what they were doing, and -would refrain! The pulsations of La Rocheterie's enfeebled and -overdriven heart seemed to be shaking him as he lay there with his eyes -half closed, and the silence was filled with the sound of his rapid, -sobbing breathing. But at last he said, with a supreme effort to speak -clearly, - -"Do you really imagine . . . I am going . . . to give it to you?" - -"I know you are," retorted Guitton coolly, "because I am going to sit -beside you and ask you for it till you do!" - -"Then you are likely . . . to stay here till . . ." But, game as he -was, he could not finish the sentence. He made instead a slight -convulsive movement. - -"Give me the pencil and paper, Aubert," said the Colonel, undisturbed. -"Now, La Rocheterie, we have had enough of this heroic pose. The Moulin -Brûlé is very much past history. The sooner you give in the better for -yourself. Do you think I am going to move against du Tremblay ignorant -of his plans when you, with your penchant for passing on information, -are aware of them? I don't enjoy sacrificing my men! . . . This is -mainly a number cipher, I see; but I fancy one or two of the words are -really cipher, too, eh?" - -"I shall not . . ." - -"Oh, yes, you will. Suppose you begin by telling me what this number -which occurs so frequently represents. You see the one I mean. Don't -shut your eyes like that! Two hundred and eighteen--what does two -hundred and eighteen represent?" - -There was no answer. The face on the pillow was no longer alabaster; it -was ashen. - -"What does two hundred and eighteen represent, La Rocheterie? I have -plenty of time yet; you'll have to tell me in the end. Is it -'river'--'Aven'?" - -L'Oiseleur suddenly moved his head as if he could not bear much more, -and said sharply to himself, "O God!" - -"Ah," commented Guitton in a tone of satisfaction. "You see! in a few -minutes you will find yourself telling me all I want to know, and then -I will go away and leave you in peace. Perhaps indeed you are already -prepared to . . . No? Very well, we will return to our friend two -hundred and eighteen. Once more, what does two hundred and eighteen -stand for?" - -His victim looked up at him desperately and defiantly and shook his -head. It made no difference; the query was merely repeated: "What does -two hundred and eighteen stand for?" - -L'Oiseleur made a last effort to speak, but no sound was audible. His -eyes closed. Something in his appearance caused Colonel Guitton to jump -up with an exclamation. "Look here, then, I will be contented with just -this--Does du Tremblay intend to cross the Aven or no? But, mind you, -the truth, or it will be the worse for you! Now, yes or no? Do you hear -me? . . . _Do_ you hear me? . . . What's that?" - -"I think he means, sir," said the Major, who had slipped up to the other -side of the bed, and was also bending over its occupant, "that he hears -you, but that he will not tell you. I'm afraid it's no use; he's -collapsing." - -"I was afraid so, damn him!" said Colonel Guitton with passionate -disgust. "Find some brandy then, Aubert. There must be some way to get -it out of him!" - -But Laurent, like Aymar de la Rocheterie, had had more than he could -stand. Only those two considerations, his knowledge of his own -helplessness, and regard for L'Oiseleur's feelings, had kept him in -leash so long. Now it was not a question of L'Oiseleur's feelings but -of his very life--for Laurent had just had a full view of him as the -Colonel shifted his position. He snatched up the brandy, and sprang to -the other entrance of the screen just as Major Aubert came round it. - -"Stop, stop, for God's sake!" he cried, seizing him by the arm. "You are -murdering him--can't you see it!--and he'll never tell! Here's the -brandy, but for pity's sake don't go on . . . it's quite useless!" - -"What's this?" cut in Colonel Guitton's voice through the screen--or -rather, over it, for, turning suddenly and catching the end, he toppled -the whole structure over with a crash. "Is the other still -there?--Damnation, I had forgotten!" - -"So I should imagine," retorted Laurent, facing him over the fallen -screen. "I can very well fancy that you did forget you had a witness of -your detestable proceedings! Let me go to him!" And he frantically -tried to push past the Colonel, but that officer as furiously pushed -him back. "Major Aubert, put this young meddler outside the door in -charge of the sentry! I was a damned fool ever to let him stay in the -room. Of course La Rocheterie won't speak while he is here! Out with -him!" - -"I refuse!" began Laurent--and then saw that he had better go. If he -objected it would only lead to his being dragged out, and prolonging -this dreadful scene. Besides, La Rocheterie, lying there like death -itself, without any struggle for breath now, without the flicker of an -eyelid--La Rocheterie was palpably beyond hearing any more insults or -questions. - -"You have killed him, you devil!" he cried with a passionate gesture. -But the executioner was more than deaf. Even as Laurent was pushed to -the door by the Major he heard the angry voice saying, "Perhaps the -initial mistake I made was in not offering this fellow here a price -first. How much, I wonder, did he get from----" - -Then the door slammed and was locked behind him, and he found himself, -seething with fury, in the corridor with the bewildered sentry. - -His first impulse, now that he was out, was to batter on the door to be -let in again; it was horrible to have to leave L'Oiseleur in the grip -of those vultures. But they could not do any more now. The question -was, had they finished him already? Tears of helpless rage were dimming -his eyes when suddenly, some way down the corridor, he saw a rotund -form making for the staircase--M. Perrelet. But he was not coming this -way; he had paid his afternoon visit . . . they knew that, probably. He -_should_ come, though . . . Despite his somewhat sturdy build, Laurent -was very quick and light on his feet, and was down the passage like a -flash, the sentry, when he had grasped his intention, pounding after -him. - -"Hallo!" said M. Perrelet, turning round. "Here, young man, if you are -escaping, I----" - -Laurent seized him by the arm. "For Heaven's sake, come! They are -killing him in there, the Colonel and----" Further revelations were cut -short by the sentry's throwing himself on their maker from behind and -putting an arm around his neck. - -"It's all right," gasped Laurent, "I'm not escaping. Hurry, Monsieur -Perrelet--they've been questioning him till . . . I don't know if he's -breathing now!" - -M. Perrelet let fly as full-blooded an oath as any soldier and trotted -down the corridor. "Come on!" said Laurent to the sentry, who still -held him. And the cortège arrived just as the door opened once more and -the two officers came out. The Colonel was in a towering rage. - -"Ah, Doctor, you'd better go in to your patient. He needs you, I -fancy--not that it matters now. By the time I got this young meddler -out it was too late. . . . And to have the very notes in my hand!" He -crumpled the sheet of cipher into a ball, threw it violently down and -strode off down the corridor followed by the Major. M. Perrelet had -already shot in through the open door. - -And in a moment or two Laurent, with a failing heart for what he should -find, said to the now dazed sentry, "I suppose I had better go back," -and went. - -"Is that you?" called out M. Perrelet. "Put the kettle on the fire, -quick!--and come and rub his hands and feet!" - -He had L'Oiseleur, quite inanimate, in his arms; the bandages were -already severed, and he was rubbing him over the region of the heart -with brandy. - -"He's gone!" exclaimed Laurent, terrified, when he saw the fixed, -half-open eyes and the head fallen aside. - -"Not quite," replied M. Perrelet grimly. "But you must work harder than -that!" - - -(7) - -It was nearly two o'clock in the morning--but not of the next morning, -the morning after that. Laurent rose from replenishing the little fire -which was always burning. In a few moments M. Perrelet would relieve -him and he could sleep. - -Thanks to the old surgeon, L'Oiseleur had been saved--for the second -time--but it had been touch and go for some hours. Before nightfall on -Friday they had succeeded in pulling him back to a kind of -consciousness, and all yesterday he had lain quiescent, so exhausted -that it had been difficult to rouse him to take nourishment, but at -least in outward peace, as Laurent kept assuring himself, for the -brutality which had been practised on La Rocheterie in this room -haunted him, waking or sleeping. M. Perrelet indeed was amazed at the -rally, considering that the victim's heart was, and would long remain, -so much impaired. - -Laurent stood now for a moment at the foot of the bed--and had a sudden -feeling that he should like to hang a laurel wreath there. Then M. -Perrelet entered in a dressing-gown, and waved him to his own couch. - -He woke about five o'clock to find, to his surprise, a low-voiced -conversation going on behind the screen. Since his collapse La -Rocheterie had not uttered a word. - -". . . kept me alive for that!" he caught the end of a sentence, in his -broken, trailing voice, suffused nevertheless with bitterness. - -"Now, my boy," he heard M. Perrelet reply gently, "you cannot honestly -think that was my purpose, can you? If I could have Colonel Guitton -tried for attempted murder, I would willingly do so. But you must not -think of it any more; it is over now." - -The voice said, "Till they try again!" - -"No, no!" The old surgeon sounded genuinely shocked. "The Colonel has -left Arbelles. It shall never happen again, I swear it. And you did not -tell him anything; you know that, don't you?" - -"Yes . . . but . . . he _asked_ me . . . he _dared_ to ask me!" gasped -L'Oiseleur ". . . and before M. de Courtomer!" - -(Yes, he had recognized him--he had realized that he was there!) - -"Come, come, my child, you must be quiet!" said the doctor. "I know that -you went through a dreadful time, but you kept your mouth shut--that's -really all you care about, isn't it? Now see if you cannot get to sleep -again--to please me!" - -And to Laurent's relief there was silence for a little; then the ghost -of a voice began again. The question itself was inaudible. - -"M. de Courtomer is here," answered M. Perrelet. "He is asleep just now. -He helps me to look after you, you know." - -"He is here--in the room? Always?" - -"Certainly. You cannot be left." - -"But, my God," came desperately from the bed, "that is the one thing I -want . . . to be left alone. And instead of that he . . . who knew me -once . . . was in the room . . . and heard . . . _everything!_ Can't he -be put somewhere else . . . can't I be alone?" The voice was almost -sobbing in its entreaty. - -Poor Laurent, in his bed, covered his face with his hand. So much for -his dreams of a grateful recognition! Yes, that was it, as he had felt -at the time--the intolerable humiliation, to a very proud and sensitive -spirit, of having had an acquaintance a witness of Friday's -proceedings. - -There was a movement behind the screen. "Chut! mon enfant!" said the -doctor. "You must not agitate yourself like this! M. de Courtomer is -here of his own free will to nurse you, and he is so much your champion -that he has twice already fought your battle with the Colonel. And if -he had not fetched me in after that business on Friday----" - -"I wish he had not!" broke in the faint, bitter voice. "You are kind, -Doctor . . . but if you would only let me die . . ." - -This was becoming unbearable. Never had Laurent conceived of the La -Rocheterie he had known before, though he was young enough, than as a -man--even, by reason of his quiet self-possession and his prestige, -than as a man older, perhaps, than he really was. He sounded now like a -broken-hearted boy. The listener put his hands over his ears. - -He kept them there till he was sure that the voices had ceased. A little -afterwards he heard M. Perrelet emerge very cautiously and tiptoe over -to his bed. The young man's instant pretence of being asleep did not -deceive the doctor. He bent over him till his mouth was almost at his -ear and whispered, "Did you by any chance hear what was said just now?" - -"Yes," breathed Laurent with his eyes shut. - -"You won't take any notice of it, my dear boy, will you?" pleaded the -surgeon in the same almost inaudible tone. "He's nearly crazy after -that damnable strain." - -"That's obvious. And therefore--after what he said--I had better be -moved elsewhere." - -"No, no, I can't spare you. He will get over this morbid feeling about -you as the effects of that scene wear off." - -"But shall I get over his having had it?" thought Laurent. He said -nothing, but suddenly buried his face in the pillow. - -"You will stay--and take no notice?" queried the voice in his ear; and -after a moment Laurent gave a smothered assent. - -The grasp on his shoulder tightened. "Good boy!" whispered M. Perrelet, -and went away. - -But it was not easy to carry out that promise. Already, by the time that -the hour for dressings arrived, L'Oiseleur had contrived, without the -aid of speech, to make his feelings about the unwilling witness so -clear that Laurent was constrained to help himself through that ordeal -by pretending that the set and frozen face below him belonged to -someone whom he had never seen before. And indeed it could not have -shown less sign of recognition had this really been the case. - -At the conclusion M. Perrelet suddenly laid hold of his patient's arm. - -"Time I had a look at these wrists again," he murmured, and began to -unfasten the little bandage. - -The wrist jerked weakly in his hold. "No!" ejaculated the Vicomte de la -Rocheterie with a catch of the breath. "Leave them alone, please!" - -Low as it was, the tone was a command, which the frown emphasized. M. -Perrelet just glanced at the speaker. "My dear boy," he said, almost -equally low, "it is necessary," and went on unwinding. But Laurent, -averting his face, slipped away from the bed, lest he should see the -marks of those accursed ropes, and L'Oiseleur have him again as an -unwilling witness of his humiliation. - -He was not so to avoid it. "Will you please bring that fresh lint I left -on the table," came the surgeon's voice a moment later. For an instant -Laurent had the idea of saying that he could not find it--the next, he -snatched it angrily up and went round the barrier. La Rocheterie's head -was turned stiffly away, but Laurent had the impression that he was -grinding his teeth. And on the unbandaged wrist in M. Perrelet's hold -he saw just what he had guessed and feared. . . . Yes, he must have -struggled, indeed! Perhaps, still worse, he had been dragged -about. . . . Laurent silently put the lint on the bed and went away -again. - -And there was more than one moment during that day--it was the -Sunday--when, despite his promise to M. Perrelet, Laurent found himself -saying, "I'll be hanged if I stay here!" For L'Oiseleur's demeanour -towards him continued to be of a politeness so stony that his guardian -would really much have preferred him to be rude. After that one -approach to a breakdown to which, in his precarious state, insults and -torture had brought him, La Rocheterie had evidently summoned up all -his pride and his endurance. There was nothing of that heartrending -boyishness about him now; he was a man again, and a desperately -unapproachable one. It was extraordinary that a person who was so -utterly helpless and dependent on another could contrive to keep that -other so freezingly at arm's length. Yet, directly Laurent had come to -the conclusion that next time M. Perrelet entered he must ask to be -moved elsewhere, he had only to look at his charge lying there to feel -that he could not bring himself to desert him. However much La -Rocheterie might not want him, he needed him terribly. - -And always at the back of Laurent's mind was the instinctive knowledge -that, before he was brought to Arbelles, he must have been through some -terrible experience to be so completely changed. The very attractive, -courteous, self-contained young man of last year, with his modesty, his -easy and quiet gaiety, his consideration for others, was entirely gone, -and in his place was a phantom of that figure, sombre and tortured, too -sore in spirit to accept the most willing sympathy and service. His -very voice was changed. No; it was plain to Laurent that the slander -was at the back of all that had happened to him even before he came to -the château. And what exactly had happened? Every day, every hour, the -situation seemed to blossom into fresh horrible possibilities; and -before that agonized silence one was helpless. For that he would hear -now from the victim's own lips the story of what he had undergone -seemed so improbable that Laurent had given up considering it. The best -he could hope for was that he could continue to nurse him without being -asked point-blank to leave him. And though he would abstain from that -request now, directly L'Oiseleur was well enough to be left he should -ask to be moved--instantly. - -It was a small but very wounding occurrence which fixed him in this -resolve. He noticed during the afternoon that a lock of the hair which -he had cut so badly, straggling over his forehead, was bothering the -helpless man. Laurent could not think at first why he was feebly moving -his head first to one side, then to the other, but when L'Oiseleur -began slowly to try to disengage a hand from beneath the bedclothes to -deal with the annoyance Laurent jumped up, murmuring, "Let me do that -for you!" But as he gently put aside the recalcitrant lock he felt La -Rocheterie shrink--most indubitably shrink--from his touch, flashing up -at him as he did so an extraordinary glance of hostility--it could be -nothing else. And Laurent had gone instantly away without a word. - -He went to bed that night feeling almost desperate. His patient had -intimated in the most icy tones that he did not wish for anything -during the night, and that he would be extremely obliged if the light -might not be kept burning as hitherto. Laurent knew that he was doing -very wrong in acceding to these requests (which partook more of the -nature of commands), but he simply had not the courage to contravene -them. - - -(8) - -At the end of his visit next morning M. Perrelet managed to whisper to -Laurent, under cover of washing his hands, "Is he being very -difficult?" - -"A little," answered M. de Courtomer, colouring. - -"I thought so! But you know, in some way or other he's going through -hell, that young man! I should know that as a doctor, if I had not -heard that dark story about him. So hold on, there's a good lad, and -one day he will realize what you are doing for him and thank you for -it." - -"Going through hell." The phrase recurred to Laurent as he sat by the -window that afternoon. Yes, he looked as if he were. And the strain, -whatever it was, was not lessening but increasing. All the hours, -reflected Laurent, that he lies there motionless, he is thinking, -thinking . . . and of what? Why will he not tell me--tell me at least -something . . . tell me that he is in a great strait? For whatever he -is going through cannot be caused by his own misdoing; yet in this -horrible tale there is misdoing--someone else's, of which the blame has -fallen on him. - -Then it came to him like a flash of lightning. _No, he has taken it on -himself!_ - -An immense cloud whose existence he had hardly acknowledged rolled away -from Laurent's mind. Of course that was it! How could he have been so -dense? That would fully account for La Rocheterie's not having denied -the imputation when the Colonel made it so brutally to his face. Some -other man had committed the traitorous act which had brought about -Pont-aux-Rochers, and L'Oiseleur, for some reason, had shouldered the -blame. He was enduring all this vicarious shame for someone else . . . -and suffering bitterly under it. - -His mind full of this illumination, Laurent looked thoughtfully across -the room at the rococo clock on the mantelpiece, for at three o'clock -he was to take La Rocheterie's pulse, a task entrusted to him in M. -Perrelet's absence. As the timepiece had marked half-past two when last -he looked at it, it must have stopped. He went over to it to make sure, -and thus came into full view of the bed, and was aware that its -occupant was awake, and watching him as he put his ear to the glass. It -was unlikely that he would address him, for he hardly ever spoke. -Nothing could have surprised him more than to hear what he did. - -"The clock stopped quite half an hour ago, Monsieur de Courtomer.--It is -Monsieur de Courtomer, is it not?" - -Laurent turned round, hoping that he was not showing his amazement, -aware as he was that the real recognition had been made four days ago. - -"Yes, Monsieur, I was taken prisoner a week since." - -"And wounded, too, I see," observed M. de la Rocheterie gravely. - -"Wounded?" queried Laurent, quite forgetting the plaster on his -forehead. - -"Your head." - -"Oh, that!" exclaimed the young man, putting up a hand to his adornment. -"That is nothing--a scratch from a hedge." - -"But a scratch honourably come by." - -Laurent winced at the tone, and hurriedly said, "If you will permit me, -Monsieur de la Rocheterie," he could bring out the name now, "I will -take your pulse--M. Perrelet's orders." - -A tiny frown appeared between the slender eyebrows, and Laurent felt -instantly that he did not want one of his bandaged wrists exposed to -the light of day--for both his hands were under the bedclothes. "Do not -move your arm, pray," he remarked quickly. "I can get at your pulse -quite well as you are." And, watch in hand, he knelt down by the bed -and slipped his hand in at the side. His fingers nevertheless fumbled -about the wrappings as they sought for the artery. - -"It will be more convenient for you when those bandages are off," -observed the chilling voice. - -Laurent was saved any reply to this remark by the fact that, his eyes -glued to his watch, he was counting, as he had recently been -instructed. Then he got up and went to the table to write down the -result of his computations. - -"You saw yesterday why I have to have my wrists bandaged?" said -L'Oiseleur abruptly. - -Laurent had his back to him. "I did not look particularly," he very -truthfully replied. - -"Then I advise you to do so next time," said Aymar de la Rocheterie. -"You may not, then, perhaps, care to . . . continue your -ministrations." - -Laurent was momentarily tempted to retort, "Would that please you?" but -he was too much afraid of the answer to risk it. Oh, why would he, with -the scrap of strength he had gained, use it in torturing himself and -his fellow-captive? Inspired by sheer desperation the guardian turned -round with an air of authority and said, "Monsieur de la Rocheterie, I -am under strict orders not to let you talk. If you will allow me, I -will try to arrange you more comfortably, and perhaps you could sleep a -little." - -The bloodless lips almost twitched into a smile as the wounded man -looked up at him. "When last we met, Monsieur de Courtomer, under very -different circumstances----" - -"Excuse me, but would you not like your pillow turned?" - -"No, thank you. As I was saying----" - -"If only you would not talk!" interjected Laurent. - -"When last I had the pleasure of seeing you . . . at M. de -Saint-Séverin's reception . . . I little guessed that at our next -meeting you would be what you are . . . and I--" he drew a long breath -"--and I . . . what I am!" - -"--Surgeon's assistant and patient," struck in Laurent gallantly. "No, I -little thought that myself!" - -"It was not purely in that role . . . that I was considering myself," -commented L'Oiseleur. He did smile this time, a rather terrible smile. -And then, spent by his unwonted effort at conversation--and such a -conversation, thought the unhappy Laurent--he shut his eyes, and -relapsed once more into complete silence and immobility. - -M. Perrelet was not pleased with his patient that evening. He explained -to Laurent that what he had rather anticipated was happening--the -bullet in his shoulder was poisoning him. He thought that M. de la -Rocheterie could stand the extraction now; indeed there was no choice -in the matter. He would perform it next day; his victim need not know -of his intention till the morning. - -Poor Laurent wished that the same reticence had been exercised with -regard to himself; he fancied that he needed it far more. He spent an -apprehensive and L'Oiseleur a restless night. - - -(9) - -"Well, I am glad that is satisfactorily over," remarked M. Perrelet next -morning as he washed his instruments at the table in the middle of the -room. "All the same, as I told you, I have put him to sleep because -that shoulder will hurt for some time like the devil, and I am very -anxious to avoid unnecessary heroism--it's bad for his heart. We have -had quite enough of necessary this morning as it is." - -For though it was out of his power to drug his patient for the operation -itself, he had given him a strong opiate immediately afterwards, and to -this La Rocheterie had very quickly succumbed. - -"Yes, it has been worrying me," went on the old surgeon, "how to get -that ball out without too much shock. . . . _You_ look a bit white, my -boy. Are you all right?" - -"I am very much all right, thank you, sir," returned Laurent, pallid but -smiling. For he, at any rate, had derived from the detestable business -something which made what he had gone through worth while. - -"And in the process of becoming quite a useful assistant to me you have -not lost your zeal as a champion, eh?" - -"Not a bit," said Laurent. "Though I admit that I would give a very -great deal to get to the bottom of the business." - -M. Perrelet flashed a shrewd glance at him. "You still don't think you -would be sorry when you got there?" - -Laurent drew himself up. "Not in the sense you mean, Monsieur. And -surely you yourself, who have saved his life----" - -"That's my job, Monsieur de Courtomer. It's nothing to me that the -bullet I have just fished out of that young man's shoulder came from -some old Chouan musket of the year one--look at it--nor that that young -man was found lashed to a beech tree outside his own headquarters, nor -that he has, undoubtedly, something very grave on his mind--my business -is to set him on his legs again, if I can." - -"Monsieur Perrelet," said Laurent earnestly, "I believe I can account -for everything. He is shielding someone else. I am positive of it. It -cannot be an agreeable thing to do; it has cost him terribly in the -past, it is costing him terribly now, and as for the future----" He -broke off rather abruptly. - -M. Perrelet gave a little shake of the head; his smile was half amused, -but half touched, too. "My dear boy, excuse my saying so, but you are -very young! It is only in romances that men do that sort of thing. In -real life, when they see what it may lead to, they are not so quixotic. -And, in my opinion, M. de la Rocheterie's demeanour is not consistent -with innocence. He is in too much personal agony of mind--can you deny -it? Why, otherwise, when I warned him just now that I was going to hurt -him, should he have said to himself, _'So much the better?'_ If he were -merely playing the scapegoat a young man as sensitively organized as he -would hardly have welcomed my probe and scalpel because they gave him -something else to think about! No, I am afraid your theory won't hold -water." He put away his instruments, then suddenly walked back to the -bed and stood for some time with his hands behind him, studying the -unconscious face, with its strong, delicate features, much less as a -doctor studies a patient than as one man scrutinizes another to see -what of his character he can read on his visage. Then he bent over the -drugged sleeper, satisfied himself as to his condition, and came back -again. - -"The best argument for your view of the case, my young friend," he -admitted, "lies, of course, on the pillow there. One can't, after all, -look at that face and believe him capable of anything infamous--it was -my thought when I first saw him, all blood and dust, on the floor in -the hall more than a week ago. . . . Yet, if he is innocent, he has no -right to my thinking, to have deprived his party of his services to -cover another man's misdoing. . . . Well, keep an eye on him. I will -look in again about the hour he should wake." - -Slowly the sunlight moved down the bed from the side window as Laurent -sat by it, a book on his knee which he made no attempt to read. From -time to time he took out and fingered at leisure his own private -gain--the fall of the barrier which L'Oiseleur maintained between them -. . . for how could he interpret the episode otherwise when Aymar's -clenched right hand, suddenly and blindly putting itself forth, had -encountered his wrist where he bent over the bed ready for emergencies, -and had closed on it, gripping it hard. Moved by that significant act, -Laurent had grasped the bandaged wrist in return. So when, under -contracted brows, the red-brown eyes, unclosing, looked up desperately -for a moment into his, though they were alight with pain and he was -torn with concern, his heart had leapt to greet the moment. . . . Then -M. Perrelet's hand made a movement, the bullet tinkled into the basin, -and, the second after, with a deep sigh, Aymar's grip on the friendly -wrist relaxed and his head rolled sideways. . . . Yes, how could he -interpret otherwise that appeal in the hour of need? - -As for M. Perrelet's arguments, Laurent was entirely unmoved by them. So -far from considering La Rocheterie's demeanour incompatible with -innocence, he thought it a marked proof of it. Would a man capable of -betraying his own troops be so bitter and sensitive about his own -subsequent position? Surely he would expect some measure of contumely -for his deed! But in Aymar's desolation of soul there was a fierce -resentment. "He _dared_ to ask me!" he had said. No, that theory of his -shielding another, once enunciated, gained immensely in probability. A -man like the Aymar de la Rocheterie he had known last year would have -done a thing like that without counting the terrible cost to himself, -even as he had jumped without hesitation into the flooded river. If -this Aymar, who had been so near death after paying part of it, found -what remained almost more than he could endure, who could wonder? For -whom had he done it--a friend, a comrade? He must love him -extraordinarily. But how could any one accept such a sacrifice, greater -than that of life itself? Perhaps the unknown was not aware of it. -Perhaps he was dead. It was to be hoped so, for then this immolation -could, surely, cease. - -Not for the first time in his vigil, Laurent bent forward and felt -L'Oiseleur's pulse. This time the fingers of the sleeper suddenly -twined themselves round his wrist again. Laurent let his hand stay in -the unconscious clasp, and it was because it was there that he found -the hot words of protest forming on his lips, though they went -unuttered--_Why did you do it? It is killing you, L'Oiseleur. You are of -too fine stuff to stand the strain, the obloquy, the contempt of the -contemptible!_ - -The drugged sleep, however seemed to be breaking, for Laurent had not -long sat so, his hand a prisoner, when Aymar began to stir. A -contraction passed over his face. Another moment, and his eyes slowly -unclosed, and he was looking at the watcher, half dreamily. - -"It is over," said Laurent gently. - -"Over? What is over?" - -"The extraction--your shoulder. You fainted at the end, then the doctor -gave you an opiate. You have slept for nearly four hours." - -"I remember. Yes." His eyes fell on his own hand, and he immediately -loosed his clasp and moved the hand away. Laurent reddened; but the -next instant L'Oiseleur's lashes dropped again and he relapsed into -slumber. - -A little later M. Perrelet came in, expressed himself satisfied, and -said that Laurent need not sit by him like a sentry unless he pleased. -So the young man went over to his own side of the room and threw -himself on his bed. Why had La Rocheterie moved his hand away like -that? Was he, after giving that glimpse of his necessity, going on as -before? Laurent was sore, disappointed, and beginning to realize that -the combined strain of anxiety, want of sleep, and his charge's -attitude was making him curiously tired. - -He lay there some time till, hearing Aymar move, he jumped up and went -round the screen and found him fully sensible, staring up at the -ceiling with a rather set mouth. - -"I did not know you were awake," said Laurent somewhat timidly. "Is the -pillow all right for your shoulder? Is there anything I can do?" - -"If it is not troubling you too much, I should like a drink," was the -frigid reply. - -Laurent lifted his head and gave him some water. To judge from the way -he drank it, he must have come out from under the opiate parched with -thirst. Why could he not have called for such a simple thing? Laurent -suppressed a desire to ask, and when he had finished merely enquired if -his shoulder were paining him much. - -"Nothing out of the way, thank you." So Laurent, with an inward sigh, -went round the bed to replace the glass. He suspected that the reply -was far from the truth. When he got to the bottom of the bed Aymar de -la Rocheterie spoke again. - -"I am quite at a loss to know why you should do all this for me, -Monsieur de Courtomer." - -Laurent was goaded into replying, "All this! You do not give me much -chance of doing anything!" - -But Aymar, disregarding him, went on in his weak, uneven voice, "You put -me under a very heavy obligation to you." - -Laurent flushed. "I had much rather you did not look at it in that -light. To do anything for you--although I know I am clumsy and -inexperienced . . . I mean . . . you need not feel . . ." He stumbled; -the set, unsmiling visage disconcerted him. - -"It is very good of you," repeated L'Oiseleur in the same unmoved tones. -"And you must not think that because I took advantage of your charity -this morning I do not realize, equally with yourself . . . especially -since Colonel Guitton's visit----" - -But even he could get no further for the moment. Laurent removed his -eyes from his face; it was suddenly tortured. - -"--that you are dealing with an outcast, a leper," finished the voice -inexorably. - -"How can you talk like that!" broke out Laurent, half choking. -"I--_charity_--you think I--" But adequate expression of his feelings -was beyond him; besides, L'Oiseleur would not listen--merely overrode -him. What could it be that made him behave like this? Was it possible -that his brain was becoming affected by what he had been through, or -that the pain which he would not now acknowledge, or the drug, or both, -had flung him into a sort of delirium? But it was such a cold -purposeful delirium. . . . Laurent plucked feverishly at the coverlet, -and at last lifted his eyes for an instant. "I do not believe a word of -what that blackguard said. . . . I should have liked to kill him!" he -added between his teeth. "Of course," he went on after a second or two, -studying the floor again, "it is obvious that you have been shot. I -realize that it must have been done. . . ." But no reference, after -all, to trees and tying up was possible. - -"Exactly," said L'Oiseleur with a horrible calm. "You realize how--do -you realize by whom it was done? . . . Yes, evidently you have been -told that it was my own men, though perhaps you did not believe it. But -. . . it is quite true!" - -Laurent had the sensation that about five squares of the parquet -flooring flew up and hit him on the head. He could feel the blood -rushing to his face. _It was not true!_ - -He looked up, dazed, and saw Aymar de la Rocheterie scanning him in a -way he could not interpret. "I see, indeed, that you had not believed -it," came his voice, cool and faint. "Well, now I have convinced you. -But in justice to my . . . my executioners, I should like you to know -that they were not directly responsible for the state of my wrists. I -did that myself, trying to get free--afterwards. . . . Have you ever -been tied to a tree, Monsieur de Courtomer, and left there? Hardly, I -suppose." - -This must be stopped somehow. "Monsieur de la Rocheterie," said Laurent -firmly, "I refuse to hear another word. But I am going to say just one -thing myself. Your men may have shot you--since you tell me so I -suppose I must believe you--but even you cannot make me think that they -did it otherwise than under a misapprehension. The sun must fall from -heaven before I can believe that you did--what rumour accuses you of! -Surely you know that!" - -He spoke with passion. The Vicomte de la Rocheterie stared at him out of -his great sunken eyes, words visibly smitten from him. Then he dragged -up his right hand and covered them. "You are . . . very hard to -convince," he said with a catch of the breath. And at that moment, to -Laurent's intense relief, M. Perrelet came in. - -He looked from one to the other. "You have been talking to him," he said -sharply to Laurent. - -"No, I have been talking to him," put in his patient quickly. - -"Then you will kindly not do it any more," grumbled the little doctor, -stooping over him. "A nice state you have got yourself into! M. de -Courtomer should have stopped you!" - -Laurent had turned blindly away to the window. So it was true--his own -men! - - -(10) - -For about the sixth time that night Laurent dragged himself out of his -bed and went over to his charge. The dawn was beginning. He was so -tired that he could hardly stand, his eyes kept closing from lack of -sleep, but his brain seemed to him unusually clear. Peering at the -clock he saw that there wanted twenty minutes yet before La -Rocheterie's bouillon was due. He dropped into the chair by the bed; it -was not worth returning to his own again. Even yet, after half a day -and a night, he could scarcely realize it, though he had tried hard to -face the reversal of what he had so stoutly upheld. That haggard young -man who lay there asleep before him had really been through the horrors -of execution at the hands of his own followers--and survived. His men, -his own men who followed him with passion, who would, as he once said, -have cut their hands off for him, had fastened him to a tree and -deliberately shot him--L'Oiseleur, their brilliant and adored leader! -Now he understood why he had said that he would never need his floating -locks again; the laurels were indeed cut down! Now he understood why he -was so sensitive about his lacerated wrists, so terribly bitter about -the whole affair, so unapproachable! Why, it was enough to have sent -him crazy--quite enough to make him beg to be allowed to die, as with -his own ears Laurent had heard him! - -Yet, since their painful conversation of yesterday afternoon, La -Rocheterie's demeanour towards him had undergone a certain change. He -had not said the things that hurt so much, and, in the earlier part of -the night, when he had been restless and in pain after the operation, -he had even asked, and almost naturally, for such alleviation as -Laurent could give, and had not paid him in those frigid thanks to -which the young man would infinitely have preferred no thanks at all. -Somehow, then, they _were_ a little nearer to each other. - -How thin he was getting to look--how increasingly transparent--worse -than when Laurent had first seen him lying there like . . . what was it -he had looked like? A Crusader. . . . Had a Crusader ever been shot by -his men? If so, they would have used bows and arrows . . . or was it -arquebuses? What exactly was an arquebus? . . . Arques. What had -happened at Arques . . . - - - -He woke, to his dismay, to find his head down on his arm across the foot -of his patient's bed. The birds were singing, and the hour for bouillon -well past, but the wounded man was fortunately still asleep. - -His own stolen slumber, however, had not refreshed Laurent, and, by the -time that M. Perrelet appeared, he was wondering how he should ever get -through the dressings. He always hated the business, and, now that he -knew for certain who had made those wounds. . . . Then he was ashamed -of what he termed his womanish feelings. It was not he who had to bear -the pain morning after morning--and without a murmur, as La Rocheterie -always did . . . as he wished sometimes he would not. But then all -along he had never uttered a syllable of complaint at any physical -stress. "I'll be as quick as I can," he heard M. Perrelet whisper to -his patient as he took up the forceps. - -. . . At least Laurent supposed that he was whispering--or was it -because there was suddenly such a loud buzzing in his own ears? The -surgeon's figure swelled to a large size; then receded till it was -about the measure of a doll. But, not realizing in the least what was -happening to him, Laurent still stood at his post with a face, though -he did not know it, very similar in hue to that on the pillow. - -The next thing of which he was fully conscious was that he was seated in -a chair right away from the bed, at the open window, and that M. -Perrelet, now restored to his everyday dimensions, was undoing the -collar of his uniform. - -"What is the matter?" asked the young man in a dazed way. "Why am I -here?" - -"Because I didn't want you fainting and falling across the bed," -responded M. Perrelet briskly. "Luckily my patient called my attention -to you just in time. Drink this, and sit there quietly." - -"But----" protested Laurent. - -"Drink this!" repeated M. Perrelet firmly. - -And so the brandy which was poured out ready for L'Oiseleur was drunk by -his nurse. - -"Fainting?" murmured Laurent. "Was that it? But the dressing . . . ?" And -he tried to get up. - -M. Perrelet pushed him back. "Sit there, I tell you. You are not -indispensable. I will deal with you afterwards." - -He disappeared behind the screen. Laurent, his head feeling like a ball -of wool, sat there ashamed and confused, conscious that he had deserted -his post, and still not quite understanding what had happened to him. -Through the woolly mist he heard the murmur of Aymar's voice--it -sounded like an interrogation--and the doctor's reply, quite clear: "It -was a little too much for him this morning, I think. He was tired, I -expect. I ought to have noticed sooner. . . . Now we will proceed with -this shoulder of yours." - -He proceeded, presumably, for there was no more conversation. Laurent -gazed out of the window. - -After a considerable interval M. Perrelet emerged, washed his hands, and -came over to him. - -"Now, young man, I want a few words with you. No, stay where you are. I -have settled M. de la Rocheterie quite comfortably. But I don't want a -second patient on my hands." He dropped his voice. "How much sleep did -you have last night?--I thought so. And the night before? You are -getting worn out. I am an old fool, but I never meant you to do without -sleep like this--no one, of course, could stand it. Why have you been -doing it?--it's not necessary now." - -The answer was very simple--because his charge would not call him, so he -must be on the alert the whole time. But Laurent was not going to give -it. - -M. Perrelet's little eyes scrutinized his downcast visage. "H'm, perhaps -I can guess! . . . And yet I fancy you would really rather have this -old butcher hurting you than him, eh?" (Laurent, aghast at his insight, -turned crimson.) "Well, it is clear that I have been very inconsiderate -of you. You are to lie down at once and have a nap; I will stay here -with him for a little." And, to ensure his commands being obeyed, he -stood over Laurent till he had stretched himself on the bed. - -The young man himself was surprised to find how desirable that bed -was. . . . He floated away into slumber . . . delicious! Then he came -out of it again to find M. Perrelet almost in the same place, looking -at him. - -"I fell asleep for a moment," he said apologetically. - -The surgeon smiled. "Mon enfant, you have slept for an hour and ten -minutes. I should not wake you now but that your dinner is just coming -up and that I have something to tell you. You need fresh air and a -little change of scene, so I have arranged with Major Aubert that you -are to go out for a walk every day on the terrace. No, there is no -question of parole, and there is a sentry posted, so don't try to -escape and get yourself shot. You can take your first promenade this -afternoon." - -Laurent gave Aymar his dinner and had his own. When the orderly had -removed it he approached his charge to settle him for the sleep which -he was supposed to have in the afternoon. No reference had yet been -made to his own morning's performance, and he hoped that none would be. -But he had been conscious for the last five minutes that L'Oiseleur's -eyes were following him very intently, and, as he now came round the -bed to pull the curtain over the window beside it, La Rocheterie -suddenly said, in a very different voice from any in which he had yet -addressed him--at Arbelles: - -"Do you think, Monsieur de Courtomer, that you can ever forgive me?" - -It was really less the words than the tone which surprised Laurent. He -half turned, his hand on the curtain. - -"On the contrary, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," he said with an -embarrassed little laugh, "it is I who ought to make the most humble -apologies to you!" - -"For what?" asked Aymar, looking up at him. "For having worn yourself -out with looking after me night and day? For having robbed yourself of -your sleep, endangered your health perhaps--at any rate, brought -yourself to this pass of fatigue . . . and all for a man who . . ." He -did not finished the sentence. "On my soul, I cannot think why you -should have done it, nor why I should have been possessed by such a -demon of ingratitude. . . . Monsieur de Courtomer, it was not wholly -ingratitude! Do you know what it is to resent pity? Yet I ought to be -on my knees in thankfulness that any one in the world should do -anything for me--now; and that any one should really care what happens -to me . . ." - -His voice broke and he turned his head away; his hand on the coverlet -clenched and unclenched itself. - -And Laurent, to his great comfort, was deserted at this crisis by his -British heritage. He abandoned the curtain, his rather constrained -attitude, everything. "Oh, La Rocheterie, how could you ever doubt it! -Don't you know that I would give a great deal more than a few nights' -rest to see you well again? Why, I came by way of Locmélar in the hopes -of meeting with you, and when, after I was captured, by an -extraordinary coincidence I saw you being brought here, unconscious, I -tried to get sent back with you--only I tried too late. _Pity_--no! You -surely do not think that I have looked after you for any other reason -than because I . . . wanted to!" - -He had gripped the transparent, tell-tale hand. For the first time it -stayed in his grasp. And L'Oiseleur turned his head back again, and -looked at him, tears in his eyes. - -"I suppose I must believe it! You have proved it, God knows! Do you know -I had a dream--at first I thought it was a dream--of your having fallen -asleep, tired out, against the foot of my bed early this morning? But -it was true! And you nearly collapsed just now. . . . It is I who ought -to be adjuring you not to talk! . . ." He gave a weak little laugh, and -his fingers moved in Laurent's. "And M. Perrelet tells me that you -choose to be in here when you might have had a room to yourself -elsewhere! I thought you were obliged to be here, and though you . . . -_though they had told you_ . . . you were humane--and you had met me -before, and felt perhaps that here was a means of repaying what you -insisted on calling a debt, and so----" - -Laurent, inspired to rather a bold course, broke in: "If you will -forgive me for saying so, was not our having met before just why you -disliked my being here? Could you not either forget that fact, or--what -I should prefer--try to realize that to me you are, and always will be, -exactly what you were in England, or in Paris last year?" - -"Oh, my God!" said Aymar to himself, and tried to take his hand away. - -But Laurent would not let it go. He knelt down by the bed. "Yes, I know -that you feel there is a difference. But I knew--I knew about the slur -on you before I entered the room. Nothing that these people say has any -effect on me--if you would only believe that! Does not that make it -possible for you to take . . . anything I may have the good fortune to -do for you, as you would from any other . . . friend?" - -He brought out the word rather low, for he felt that it was a little -presumptuous, after all. - -"_Friend!_" Aymar caught him up unsteadily. "No, you must not call -yourself my friend, de Courtomer! You will not find me desirable, even -as an acquaintance, now. Do you forget that I have lost my good name -. . . and not only with the enemy?" - -"I do not forget it," replied Laurent gravely. "But I know that you can -recover it when you wish." - -A bitter astonishment dawned in the face on the pillow. - -"After what happened to me in the Bois des Fauvettes? No; my reputation -is as much damaged by those bullets as my body." - -He made himself say it, evidently, but he said it. - -"But you cannot deny," urged Laurent, "that that horrible business was a -misapprehension. You must pardon my conjecture, but I fancy I know of -what kind it was." - -Aymar de la Rocheterie shut his eyes and slightly shook his head. -"Impossible!" He lay so a moment without moving, his hand still in -Laurent's, and then, reopening his eyes, said in a rather exhausted -voice, "Some day, perhaps, I will tell you the story. But . . . just -now . . . there are things which I cannot tell any one. I have to ask -your forbearance for that, just as I most sincerely ask your pardon for -my behaviour, my want of consideration. I daresay unhappiness makes one -blind, and I have not been . . . very happy." - -His hand stiffened. Laurent put his other over it. "There is nothing to -forgive. And I shall never ask you for an explanation. For I can guess -your secret, La Rocheterie You have taken someone else's guilt upon -your shoulders. How long you intend to shield this other person at such -a heavy cost to yourself is not my affair--but I hope it will not be -for long," he added ingenuously. "I am not going to ask you if my -theory is true, for to be quite consistent you would have to say that -it was not. . . . I shall leave you to sleep now." - -"Monsieur de Courtomer, I assure you----" began L'Oiseleur in a very low -voice as his hand was loosed. - -Laurent smiled as he got up and drew the curtain over the window. Of -course he _would_ deny it! But his smile died to concern as he looked -at the bed again. - -"I have been tiring you," he said remorsefully. "It is a good thing that -I hear the guard coming to remove me. Just let me turn the pillow over, -and if there is nothing you want I will leave you in peace." - -But peace was not the predominant expression on Aymar de la Rocheterie's -face as Laurent took a last look at it before leaving the room. - - -(11) - -The terrace at Arbelles was wide, bounded at each end by a wall. It had -the house itself for frontier on one side; on the other it fell sharply -to a long bowling green, which in its turn gave way to meadow. Only one -flight of steps led down from it, and at the top of these paced an -armed sentry. But after eight days' confinement in one room, and that a -sick-room, merely to be in the open again gave Laurent an illusory -sense of freedom which was slightly intoxicating. And his mind was full -of a deep content--the barrier between him and L'Oiseleur was down -. . . at last! - -Presently there sauntered out the tall young officer of _chasseurs à -cheval_ whom he had seen on the day of his arrival. They saluted each -other with much punctiliousness, and the young man, naming himself as -Lieutenant Rigault, asked if he might join him. So they walked up and -down together, commenting at first on nothing more significant than the -fine weather. Laurent yawned once or twice. - -"I suppose I ought not to tell you," said the chasseur, flicking at the -gravel with his switch, "but we have just received bad news this -morning. Your party has had a thumping success." - -"Ah!" said Laurent, brightening. - -"Yes; du Tremblay has captured Chalais and effected his junction with -some other leaders; the far side of the Aven will be very uncomfortable -for us now unless we can dislodge them. I expect there's some language -flying about in our poor Colonel's vicinity to-day--especially as he -has got a nasty wound in the leg. He was so set on getting the better -of du Tremblay." - -"He was indeed," answered Laurent meaningly. "And M. du Tremblay has got -the better of him! I am delighted!" - -Opponent though he was, the young officer could not help smiling. "Yes, -your . . . your not very reputable room-mate upstairs played him a fine -trick when he refused to give him a hint of du Tremblay's plans! The -Colonel had been absolutely counting on his . . . cooperation. He is -rather a dark horse, that gentleman! By the way, since he is, I hear, -out of danger, you will be parting company, I suppose. As it is, I----" - -"Shall we break off this conversation?" interposed Laurent very coldly. -"If you cannot speak in less offensive terms of my friend the Vicomte -de la Rocheterie----" - -The most naked astonishment looked out at him from Lieutenant Rigault's -countenance. "What!" he exclaimed, "you call him friend--the man who -betrayed his own followers!" - -"If he had done that I certainly should not call him friend," retorted -Laurent. "But that is, of course, the most outrageous slander. And -there he lies, helpless! . . . Would you mind telling me the exact form -in which this calumny reached you here? or did your commanding officer -first put it about?" - -"Certainly not," responded the young chasseur rather stiffly. "What -happened was that Colonel Richard, over at Saint-Goazec, sent an -officer here last Saturday week to say that he had disposed of the bulk -of L'Oiseleur's force by an ambush at Pont-aux-Rochers. (It was -important for us to know this, because they had been a menace to us, -lying where they did.) The officer told us how it had occurred--in -fact, he was full of it. L'Oiseleur himself had sent the information!" - -"How patently absurd!" said Laurent contemptuously. "As if a man would -run his own head into the lion's mouth in that manner!" - -"But M. de la Rocheterie's head was quite safe," observed Rigault drily. -"He was not present at the affair of the bridge--you did not know that? -I assure you that it is true. . . And it is certain that Colonel -Richard did not invent the story about the information, for his officer -said he was rather distressed about it.--And indeed, if it was false, -why did La Rocheterie's men shoot him?" - -"Why? Because the lie had already been well circulated," retorted -Laurent, who could not meet this thrust by the indignant denial of the -fact which he would have given yesterday.--"Now I will ask you a -question in my turn, Monsieur. Granting for a moment the possibility of -L'Oiseleur's ever doing such an incredible thing, what do you suppose -he did it for? He must have had some motive!" - -Rigault shook his head. "Ah, there you have me. Nobody knows that ---except, presumably, Colonel Richard." - -"And again," said Laurent eagerly, "do you think that a man who had sunk -to such a depth as that would be likely to resist, at the risk of his -life, the abominable inquisition about M. du Tremblay's plans to which -your Colonel subjected him last Friday, when he was scarcely able to -speak? Do you know that the proceeding all but killed him, and that by -a few words--one word--he could have saved himself? If, as you pretend -to believe, he betrayed his own men, why should he go to the last -extremity not to betray du Tremblay's?" - -The Imperialist shrugged his shoulders. "Possibly because the necessary -inducement, whatever it was, was lacking in this case." - -"What the devil do you mean by that, Monsieur?" asked Laurent, firing -up. - -"I don't mean anything in particular," replied the young officer. "How -could I? But I think the Colonel was fully justified in expecting La -Rocheterie to make no difficulty about deciphering those notes, and -though perhaps he went rather far, you must remember that the knowledge -of their contents, could we have had it, might have----" - -"Tell me," interrupted Laurent ruthlessly, "was it purely for the sake -of those cursed notes that your Colonel wanted M. de la Rocheterie kept -alive?" - -Lieutenant Rigault looked uncomfortable. "Naturally the Colonel was -anxious for the information, and du Tremblay's name was at the top, and -as La Rocheterie had----" - -"You admit it! Permit me to tell you then----" - -"No, I can't permit it!" exclaimed Rigault, interrupting in his turn, -and somewhat heated. "I can't stand here and listen to abuse of my -commanding officer, and I can't call you to account for it because you -are a prisoner. I think, Monsieur, that you are rather taking advantage -of your immunity!" - -This view did silence the critic, who made some kind of apology, on -which his companion observed that they had better not discuss -L'Oiseleur any more. So for the rest of the time they spoke of other -matters. - -Nevertheless, Laurent reentered his place of captivity tingling with -exultation, for there was no doubt that the Royalists had scored -heavily. Also, it was heaven to know that Guitton was baffled--and -damaged. - -"I hope you have enjoyed your walk, Monsieur de Courtomer," observed the -phantom of L'Oiseleur, who was not asleep, but lying just as he had -left him. - -"Immensely, thank you. And I have brought you some very good news." - -"Good news--for me!" The tone gave Laurent pause, but only for a moment. -With much enthusiasm he repeated the tidings. - -For the first time the drawn face lit up. "Chalais! He has captured -Chalais! It is authentic, the news?" - -"Evidently. And he has you to thank for his success!" - -"Me to thank for his success!" La Rocheterie was obviously startled. "He -might have had me to thank for his failure.--But that, at least, has -been spared me," he added, as if to himself. - -"But, La Rocheterie," exclaimed the herald, somewhat carried off his -feet, "do you not realize that you almost gave your life to keep his -secret inviolate? Perhaps I ought not to tell you, but it was touch and -go with you afterwards, you know! If M. Perrelet----" - -But such a change had come over Aymar's face that Laurent was brought to -a standstill. The visible relief--the more than relief--was wiped out -in an instant, and without a word he put the back of his bandaged right -wrist across his eyes. Laurent had laid too rash a hand upon Friday's -bitter wound. - -Yet, out of his abhorrence of its author, a thing came to his lips which -carried, in its unconscious boyishness and simplicity, a sort of balm -of its own. For when, standing there embarrassed and hesitating, he -suddenly blurted out, "That scoundrel has got a bullet or something in -his leg, thank God!" L'Oiseleur removed his screening arm and looked at -him. And, to Laurent's surprise, the mouth which seemed to have -forgotten how to smile relaxed after a moment into a semblance of -amusement. - -"Monsieur de Courtomer," he said slowly, "I think you must have the gift -of . . . of partisanship _in excelsis!_" - -And, whether he or the young man standing above him made the first -movement, their fingers certainly met. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - THE CAPTIVE HAWK - - "Altho' his back be at the wa', - Another was the fautor; - Altho' his back be at the wa', - Yet here's his health in water - He gat the skaith, he gat the scorn, - I lo'e him but the better; - Tho' in the muir I hide forlorn, - I'll drink his health in water. - Altho' his back be at the wa', - Yet here's his health in water!" - - _Jacobite Ballad._ - - - "In short, sir, though you can be infernally provoking, - it has been a pleasure to serve you."--STEVENSON, _St. Ives__. - - -(1) - -M. Perrelet, followed by an orderly with an armful of pillows, came -briskly down the corridor one afternoon ten days later, and entered a -certain guarded room. - -"Well, my children, and what are you doing now?" he demanded benignantly -of its inhabitants. - -"I am having my knowledge of English extended, sir," responded one of -them from the bed, smiling faintly. "M. de Courtomer found an English -book on the shelf there, and he is reading it to me. . . . Are those -the pillows you promised me this morning?" - -He still looked extraordinarily bloodless, and even thinner, but there -was more life about him. Laurent had got up, and stood glancing from M. -Perrelet to L'Oiseleur with an air of being rather proud of his charge. -Indeed, to-day was an important milestone; having, a couple of days -ago, been promoted from his recumbent position to about three pillows, -La Rocheterie was now going to be propped up with many into a sitting -posture for an hour or two--hence the orderly's load. And in a few -minutes the little doctor and Laurent proceeded so to prop him. - -"You may feel a trifle giddy at first," remarked the former, surveying -him critically. "When you are tired, ask your nurse to take them away -again. . . . And this is your English book? H'm. _Le Vicaire de -Vackfeel_. What is this Vackfeel--a place or a person? Once I could -read English, though not speak it. I read the poet Shackspeer." - -"Monsieur Perrelet," observed Laurent, "you are a mine of knowledge, and -of everything desirable. And, as you have brought M. de la Rocheterie -all those plump pillows, you could no doubt bring me what I want." - -"And what is that, my boy?" asked the surgeon, looking up from the pages -of Goldsmith which, sitting on the edge of his patient's bed, he was -turning over, his lips very much pursed. - -"A letter," responded M. de Courtomer. "A letter from a lady--from my -mother, in short. Though I do not know why you should play postman. I -suppose that if I get a reply to mine, which I wrote--oh, a fortnight -ago--it will come through the same channel, those gentlemen -downstairs?" - -"You had left yours open, I suppose?" - -"Yes, but I contrived to put in a good deal of what I wanted to say. And -now I wish to hear how my dear mother is bearing my loss." - -"I cannot tell you that," replied the little doctor, twinkling, "but any -ordinary--or extraordinary--outside news I can supply you with, if you -are pining for it. To-day, however, I have heard nothing in -particular." - -"But might you not get into trouble for telling us, if there were?" - -The bounce which M. Perrelet gave shook the bed. "Sacrebleu, young man, -am I a soldier? I thank God, no! Do I care, either, whether King or -Emperor rules this distracted country, provided he makes haste and does -it, and I get my drugs delivered when I order them? If I could hope -that those confounded diligence-robbing Chouans of yours had swallowed -what I was having sent last week I might feel consoled, for in that -event some of those long-haired gentry would still be suffering from -stomach-ache. But I have not forgiven the Imperialists either for -opening a case because they pretended to think it contained smuggled -ammunition. There's nothing to choose between the adherents of either -side. No; I am like a character in one of le Shackspeer's plays--I -forget which, but this book brings back my little English. He says, à -propos of some quarrel (and I say it with him), 'A pla-gué on bot' your -'ousses!'" - -The linguist making of the first noun a dissyllable with, as was -natural, the continental "a", and of the second the French word which -means a horse-cloth, Laurent stooped hurriedly to the floor after -nothing in particular, and even L'Oiseleur bit his lip. - -"Is not M. Perrelet's pronunciation of English rather singular?" he -enquired after the doctor had gone. "You are not always very polite -about mine, but even I had not the faintest idea what he was saying -just now." - -"I should not have known myself, but that it was a quotation," confessed -his instructor, laughing. "Are you comfortable like that--not too -high?" - -"Quite comfortable--but a little out of my bearings. Still, I was coming -to know the geography of the ceiling rather overwell. . . . And now -that I am thus erected, I suppose you will insist on my reading that -book to myself? I wonder, de Courtomer, what is the next reformation -that you will try to work on me, after my health and my English?" - -And, as he held out his blanched hand with its seamed wrist for the -_Vicar of Wakefield_, he suddenly gave his companion a brief glimpse of -his once enchanting smile. - -Laurent went red with pleasure. Yes, this was indeed a day to be -remembered--the first time that L'Oiseleur had smiled in earnest since -he was brought to Arbelles. He gave him the book, and said that he did -not really expect him to struggle with it. - -"But," said his charge, "I shall like to read more about this pastor who -has his living wife's epitaph framed over his mantelpiece to encourage -her in virtue! It seems to me that he must be a person of humour." - -Highly pleased at this unwonted manifestation of interest, Laurent sat -down by the window. Captivity had hardly yet had time to be irksome; he -had been too much occupied. But, even if La Rocheterie's life no longer -depended on his care, he had no visions of escape, though obviously the -climb down from the unbarred window presented only one difficulty to a -young and vigorous man--the sentry below. Laurent's heart, however, was -chained for the present in this room, where he had acquired something -personally more precious than what he had lost. It still seemed strange -and wonderful to him that his hero had been given over to him like a -child--like an infant, indeed, at one stage, requiring to be fed from a -spoon. He was not so helpless now, though he was still very weak. But, -since the day when they had come to an understanding, it was nothing -but a pleasure to do things for him. And L'Oiseleur was so good, so -patient, so grateful! - -All at once L'Oiseleur's own voice, with the lightness gone out of it, -broke in on these reflections. "You were speaking just now about having -written a letter, Comte. Have you writing materials there, and if so -might I----" - -"Of course," replied Laurent, jumping and fetching them. - -M. de la Rocheterie did not get on very fast, however--whether from -physical or mental disabilities was not clear. At last his pencil -ceased its labours altogether, and the writer put his head back against -his high pillows. Perhaps the letter was a difficult one; it might well -be! - -After a few minutes' inaction he tried again; added a word or two, and -desisted a second time. Then he looked in Laurent's direction. - -"I am so sorry, de Courtomer," he said rather breathlessly. "I suppose -it is these pillows . . . it's ridiculous, but I feel . . ." - -What he felt was pretty obvious now. Laurent grabbed away M. Perrelet's -erection and laid him flat again where, after a little, he got the -better of his faintness. On this, rather to Laurent's surprise, he -asked if he might dictate the rest of his letter, as he wanted to -finish it. - -So Laurent retrieved the pencil and paper and sat down by the bed. Very -little was on the paper. - -"Please read it over to me," said the writer. And Laurent read these -words aloud: - -"MY DEAR GRANDMOTHER,--You will, I expect, have heard that my little -force was almost annihilated about three weeks ago, and you may have -been wondering----" - -Laurent looked enquiringly at the bed. - -"--'Why you have had no news from me,'" finished its occupant slowly. -And Laurent completed the sentence, trying to guess what the next would -be. What would he--what could he--tell his grandmother about his -plight? - -"'I was slightly wounded,'" resumed Aymar in a colourless tone (Laurent -involuntarily raising his eyebrows as he transcribed this statement) -"'and am now a prisoner, but I have been and am very well looked -after.'" He let his eyes dwell for a second on his amanuensis as he -dictated this, and his voice had a different inflection though his -expression did not change. "'There is therefore no need for anxiety on -my behalf.'" - -In the pause that followed Laurent wondered whether it were of set -purpose that he had not mentioned his place of captivity. L'Oiseleur -resumed: - -"'Please tell Avoye that her letter reached me just before I--'" he -paused again--"'before I was captured. She will understand that I -cannot answer it at present as I should have wished. And do not be -uneasy if you do not hear from me again for some time.'" - -"That is all," said the letter-writer, suddenly appearing exhausted. "If -you will kindly give it to me I will sign it." - -"Well, there could hardly be a balder letter of reassurance," thought -Laurent. "Shall I address it?" he asked. - -"If you please," said L'Oiseleur. "'Madame la Vicomtesse de la -Rocheterie, Château de Sessignes, près Merléac.' I am going to ask M. -Perrelet to post it. If he does not feel justified in doing so I shall -tear it up. It is not going through their hands downstairs!" - -And, as Laurent assented sympathetically, he added, "But I am afraid you -will think that I am not a very candid person, de Courtomer! It would -hardly be kind, however, to tell my grandmother the truth about my -'capture,' would it? And there is no actual lie, as you can see, in -that letter." - -Laurent grew hot in a moment. A faint, half-tortured amusement showed in -the red-brown eyes. "Well, perhaps M. Perrelet will refuse to take it, -and that will end the matter," said their owner. And Laurent had the -strange idea that, on the whole, he would be glad of it. - -But M. Perrelet, when asked next morning, made no bones about it at all, -merely repeating his Shackspeer quotation rather more execrably than -before. - - -(2) - -It was, indeed, M. Perrelet who reigned supreme over the affairs of the -two prisoners, and, thanks to him, L'Oiseleur had the best of -everything. Aubert, the impassive Major, remained in command of the -garrison during this fortunately prolonged absence of Colonel -Guitton--Aubert who, according to Laurent, was a mere shell of a man -and did not really exist. Certainly they never saw him, nor wished to -do so. But with Lieutenant Rigault Laurent was striking up quite a -friendship. - -In these last ten days M. de Courtomer had ceased to exercise himself -deeply over the problem of Pont-aux-Rochers, though he had by no means -ceased entirely to think about it. And even if speculation had quite -died down it would have been revived by two nocturnal surprises which -occurred about this time. - -The first was a perfectly unheralded and abrupt ejaculation made by -L'Oiseleur in his sleep one night. Laurent was lying wide awake when -his companion's voice suddenly cut the silence with--"Tell the truth, -de Fresne!"--that, and no more. After a second or two's amazement, -Laurent tiptoed over to his bed to discover that he was, undoubtedly, -talking in his sleep. But that clueless fragment--more like a command -than an entreaty--out of the brain which held the secret, which was -busy with it, evidently, in dreams, had it given the name of the man -whom L'Oiseleur was shielding at such cost . . . or had it not? Nor, -having heard it as he did, dared Laurent ask. - -But two nights later he was wakened out of a very sound slumber to hear -a thick and agonized voice saying in the darkness, "I shall never be -there in time now! . . . Get on, you brute! . . . Six miles yet . . . O -God! O God!" Then came actual sounds of struggle, and Laurent jumped -half terrified out of bed and struck a light, to find Aymar writhing -about, repeating between clenched teeth, "I can't get my hands free--I -can't get my hands free!" and then, gasping, "Make them be quick about -it, for God's sake!" - -Laurent set down the candle and laid hold of the scarred wrists. "La -Rocheterie, La Rocheterie, wake up!" - -"How dare you touch me!" cried the sleeper excitedly, trying to throw -off the grasp, his eyes still shut. Then the bonds of nightmare -suddenly loosed, and he opened his eyes and lay there panting. - -After a moment he put his hand to his damp forehead. "I was dreaming," -he got out confusedly. "It was nothing . . . I am so sorry I disturbed -you . . . if you would just take these ropes away--no, what am I -talking about! I am awake now . . . go back to bed, de Courtomer." - -But he could not, surely, have been thoroughly awake, for when Laurent, -with an exclamation of "I believe you have started your shoulder -bleeding!" tore open his shirt and began to repair the slight mischief -caused by the bandages having slipped, Aymar, with a sudden gleam in -his eyes, seized his wrists and tried mutely but passionately to hold -him off. And Laurent could not bear to master him by force, as he might -so easily have done. - -"La Rocheterie!" he said, looking down at him almost sternly, "this is -not worthy of you! Take your hands away!" - -For a second the weak, half-frenzied grip tightened, then it relaxed -altogether, and L'Oiseleur obeyed him--to Laurent's secret -amazement--and turned his unhappy face away while measures were taken -that the dressings should not slip a second time. - -In fact, when M. Perrelet came next morning he exclaimed at his -assistant's bandaging. "You might have been lashing something to a -mast!" he observed, and asked why his patient had not complained. But -Aymar said gravely, "I should not dare to question anything M. de -Courtomer did to me. He is too commanding." And he gave the confused -Laurent a look oddly compounded of sadness, mischief, and affection. - - -(3) - -Another week passed. Laurent received a letter from his mother, -containing sympathetic messages to L'Oiseleur, and the information that -the Aunts considered Laurent honoured as sharing his captivity, both of -which announcements L'Oiseleur had received very stiffly. And for the -rest of the day he had looked . . . Laurent had seen that look before, -but he had never put a name to it . . . he had looked haunted. - -That night, after Laurent was in bed, his fellow-captive suddenly asked, -"What was M. Perrelet saying to you this morning about Napoleon's -despatching troops to the west?" - -"That something like twenty-five battalions of the line are being sent -against Brittany and Vendée, besides cavalry and what not. It is -flattering . . . if only one were free!" - -"If _you_ were--yes!" - -"But I was only an aide-de-camp," faltered Laurent. - -"The more lucky you! _You_ had no men to throw away!" - -He was tormenting himself about those miserable "Eperviers" of his, -then--those scoundrels who did not deserve it! It was not easy for -Laurent to realize that L'Oiseleur's lost legion consisted of two -parts--the victims of the disaster at the bridge, and those who had -subsequently made their leader a victim, too--and he tended to confound -them both in one burning horror and hatred. - -"Eveno, for instance," went on the sad voice in the darkness, "Eveno, -who used to follow me like a dog--you remember, perhaps, my speaking of -him in England--I do not know whether he is killed or a prisoner; he is -just missing, like so many others . . ." - -"I remember about Eveno," said Laurent gently. The name brought the -"fairy tale" back to him at once. "I suppose," he proceeded, almost -without reflecting, "that the _jartier_ is now in the possession of our -friends downstairs--much good may it do them! I noticed long ago, of -course, that it was not on your arm." - -"The _jartier_!" exclaimed its late possessor, and gave a harsh little -laugh. "No, the Imperialists have not got it, nor my men either. I once -told you that I put no faith in it, de Courtomer. Nevertheless, if I -had it now, I should not be lying here, despised even by my -enemies. . . . No, I do not refer to the running water legend; I should -rather say again--did I believe in the amulet at all--that the -_jartier_ had carried me safely through that river of yours. . . . _I -wish it had not!_ . . . Good-night." - -Laurent lay silent after that, looking from his bed at the summer stars. -Yes, there could be no doubt that Aymar was bitterly regretting the -too-heavy sacrifice he had made. If only, only he would throw down the -burden he had assumed! . . . But what if he _could_ not throw it -down--what if he were entangled in a situation from which it was no -longer in his power to extricate himself at will, if, by some trick of -Fate not anticipated when he took his generous resolution, he were a -prisoner indeed, in the most terrible kind of captivity . . . and knew -it! - -The idea came on Laurent like a blow over the heart, and Arcturus, -pulsating out there in the limitless heavens, had passed out of sight -before he made any effort after slumber. - - -(4) - -But whatever truth there might be in Laurent's most unwelcome theory, -L'Oiseleur's relapses into gloom and bitterness were separated by -periods when someone resembling the old and charming Aymar was visible -once more. After all, he was young, and Laurent, too, was -young--younger still--and at times the youth of both of them surged up -and over. Such a time was that day when, returning from his promenade -on the terrace, Laurent announced to his companion that their captivity -would henceforth be shared by a third individual--and then, at sight of -his dismayed face, burst out laughing, and told him to wait until he -had shown him the individual in question. He thereupon fetched a -drinking-glass, turned his back, and after a moment deposited on the -bed, in this transparent prison, an enormous grasshopper, as green as a -leaf. - -"Take it away!" said L'Oiseleur, recoiling. "It will get out . . . and I -don't want it on me!" - -Laurent sat himself down on the bed, too. "No, it won't. Besides, I'm -going to tame it. You know that it is de rigueur for prisoners to tame -mice and spiders, and this is better--of such a pleasing sylvan colour. -I found him on the terrace. We will call him Vert-Vert; the parrot in -the poem could not have been greener.--'Il était beau, brillant, leste -et volage.' Look how he is feeling about with those enormous horns!" - -"Poor devil!" said Aymar, studying the captive. "I should let it go -again if I were you, de Courtomer." - -"Very well," quoth Laurent and lifted the glass. - -"Not _here_, you imbecile!" But Vert-Vert, after one second's -reflection, had vanished into space. Yet, as his colour quickly -betrayed him on the white quilt, he was recaptured without much -difficulty at the foot of the bed, amid protests from its occupant, who -did not, however, seem really annoyed--rather on the verge of being -amused. - -And indeed it was through Vert-Vert's agency that the next day was -rendered remarkable; for it was the day on which L'Oiseleur actually -laughed. - -Laurent had been racking his brains for the most striking means of -introducing Vert-Vert to M. Perrelet's notice, the great difficulty, -however, being that the lively insect would not stay where he was put. -All at once an idea came to him. - -"I have it, Aymar!" he exclaimed . . . and pulled himself up short as -the name slipped out. "--I beg your pardon!" - -"Why?" asked L'Oiseleur, smiling. "I should like it. May I venture to do -the same?" - -"Yes, indeed!" said Laurent, colouring. And he added ingenuously, "I -only wish my name were as beautiful as yours." - -"Is it beautiful?" asked its possessor, raising his eyebrows. "I never -thought of it. There have been so many in our family since the first, -who was a Crusader.--But go on with your plan for introducing M. -Perrelet to Vert-Vert." - -Laurent was staring at him. That vivid impression of his own on his -first entry to this room had justification then . . . He came back with -a jump to his proposal. It needed some argument to get Aymar to agree -to it, but when M. Perrelet came into the room half an hour later -Laurent was chuckling to think how little one would have imagined that -the grave young man who greeted him so demurely from his pillows was -cherishing under the bedclothes, like any schoolboy, a large green -grasshopper to let fly in his physician's face when he started to dress -his wounds. - -Not only, indeed, had L'Oiseleur entered into this childishness, but he -had, as the event showed, planned an improvement upon it. For he -withheld the insect enclosed in his hand from M. Perrelet altogether, -and launched it instead, at an unexpected moment during the dressing of -his shoulder, at his partner in guilt on the other side of the bed. -Laurent started back with an exclamation as the ill-starred acrobat -blundered against his chin and then fell into the little bowl of water -which he held, and Aymar buried his face in the pillow, laughing like a -boy. - -A slow smile came over M. Perrelet's countenance as the situation dawned -upon him. "Ah!" he said to himself in a tone of satisfaction. "But if -there are any more of the _Locustidae_ in your bed, Monsieur de la -Rocheterie----" - -"Do forgive me, sir!" pleaded Aymar, emerging from the pillow. "It was -this follower of Buffon here. . . . Oh, it's gone again . . . it's on -_me_!" - -"_Locusta viridissima_, extremely agile," commented M. Perrelet. "For -goodness' sake get the insect under control again, Monsieur de -Courtomer, if I'm ever to finish this dressing!" - - -(5) - -But Vert-Vert, who was to have enlivened their captivity, stayed with -them only three days. On the third he sprang through the open window by -Aymar's bed and was no more seen. Aymar blamed Laurent for letting him -loose on the counterpane, Laurent retorted that the person under the -counterpane was in charge. He was always in hopes of finding another on -the terrace, but he did not succeed. - -The days went on. It was June now. Aymar was slowly gaining strength, -but he had not yet left his bed. Almost every day Laurent would read to -him a little, but though he always had a courteous appearance of -attention, the reader sometimes wondered whether he were really -listening. He would occasionally read himself, but never for long; if -one turned round after a while the book had invariably slipped from his -hands, and he was lying absorbed in thought . . . and looking haunted. - -It was impossible to pretend that L'Oiseleur was an exhilarating comrade -of captivity. And though he made efforts, as was plain--rather pathetic -efforts--to be cheerful, the gaiety which is pumped up from the depths -of a heavy heart lacks sparkle. In fact, even ordinary conversation was -often extremely difficult, for with a man under such a cloud and so -sensitive, there was scarcely a subject in the past, present, or future -which was not capable of wounding. Laurent's own short and uneventful -history had always seemed an innocuous topic, but one day he wished he -had not dilated even on that. - -He had been describing an incident in his childhood, when he thought he -had lost his mother during a game of hide-and-seek in the garden, when -Aymar suddenly began, "My last recollection of my mother is of looking -for her in a garden--at least I suppose you would call it a garden, -though it had high walls round, and no flowers. But I did not find her -. . . ever." - -Laurent looked over at him with a kind of catch at the heart. Aymar had -taken out a spray of wallflower from the glass by his bed, and was -holding it in his bloodless fingers. - -"I was in the prison Port Libre, you know," he went on, his eyes fixed -on the flower, "with my mother and father--and my uncle--in '94. I was -five years old then. My mother could not bear to leave me behind in our -house in Paris when my father and she were arrested. She must have -thought that they would not be detained long. . . . My father was just -my age when he was guillotined. Yes, I used to play in that flowerless -garden when it was fine--and the summer of '94, I have been told since, -was very fine. . . . But the day they left me it was too hot to play; I -think I must have had a headache, for I remember my mother dipping her -handkerchief in water and putting it round my head, and kissing me a -great many times. She was only a girl. I have the handkerchief -still. . . . And I looked for her that day in the garden, all round the -great acacia tree that was there--I can see its rough, channelled bark -now--I looked every day . . . and I asked everybody. . . . A week's -delay would have saved them; they were executed on the second of -Thermidor." - -"And you . . . afterwards?" asked Laurent with some difficulty. - -"After Robespierre's fall I was taken to my uncle's widow, who had not -been arrested. She had one little girl, my cousin, now Mme de -Villecresne. I was with my young aunt till she died--of grief, as I -know now--two years later, and then my cousin and I went to our -grandmother at Sessignes.--So you can imagine that a man with memories -like mine----" And there he stopped and relapsed into silence, his hand -closing convulsively over the wallflower, which Laurent found, later, -on the floor, a mere crushed ball of petals. - -All the rest of the day he was haunted by a picture of a forlorn little -auburn-haired boy in a prison, ceaselessly asking and looking for the -mother who had left it for a narrower. And now he who had been that -little boy was once more a captive, and once more robbed of the most -precious thing he had. - -But Laurent was a captive, too, and often found it far from amusing to -be cooped up summer day after summer day, when history was being made -and battles fought without him. For that, as he gathered from M. -Perrelet, was precisely what was happening in Vendée, where, since -mid-May, when the Marquis Louis de la Rochejaquelein had arrived from -England and assumed the leadership, things had really been moving. And -Brittany, L'Oiseleur's Brittany, where they were held fast, was full of -activity, too. Even if, as seemed likely, the decisive conflict would -take place on the northeastern frontier, it was very bitter to be -debarred from playing any part in this local struggle which, after all, -was occupying many thousands of troops which Napoleon could well have -utilized elsewhere for that great decision. - ---But not so bitter for him, Laurent recognized, as for his -fellow-captive. At times, for Aymar's sake, he really dreaded M. -Perrelet's jovial, "Well, so your brigands have taken Redon!" or, "I -hear that your general-in-chief is in straits for want of ammunition," -since both good and bad tidings had almost equal power to stab the -leader whose men had already been so uselessly sacrificed. - - -(6) - -On June 9th, more than five weeks after he had been brought to the -château, Aymar was at last allowed to leave his bed, and sat in an -armchair looking, so Laurent privately thought, ten times as gaunt and -hollow-eyed as he had done between the sheets. Indeed his quite natural -state of weakness was a considerable disappointment to L'Oiseleur as -well as to his nurse, since at first his legs would not support him for -an instant. However, on the second day he managed to walk round the -room between M. Perrelet and Laurent, and shortly afterwards was clad -in a suit of clothes belonging to the absent owner of Arbelles, for -every garment of his own, except his boots, had had to be destroyed. -Though this did not fit him, in cut and texture it was well enough, and -to Laurent it was a great thing to see his charge clothed. He cherished -visions of taking him before long for a walk on the terrace. - -But on the whole L'Oiseleur was even more depressed than he had been -while in bed, and Laurent wondered whether this was due to the -disappointment of finding himself so unexpectedly weak. He had hoped -that his friend was getting the better of these periods of gloom, and -now the haunted look was more apparent than ever. - -"I wish to goodness that he would tell me the whole story and have done -with it!" he thought, almost in despair, after a few days of this, as -he went down one afternoon for his constitutional. "He half promised -that he would, some day; it would be so much better if he talked about -it instead of eternally brooding over it. Two heads might perhaps see a -way out." - -Personal matters apart, Laurent himself had really more cause for -depression at the moment than La Rocheterie. For only this morning had -M. Perrelet brought them the news of the death of the Marquis de la -Rochejaquelein in a skirmish--a calamitous loss to the Vendean -Royalists. It had indeed greatly shocked the late Vendean aide-de-camp. -On the other hand, the good doctor reported a victory of Sol de -Grisolles, the Breton general-in-chief, on June 10th, which had opened -for him the way to the sea, and to the reception of much-needed arms -from England. But this had not cheered L'Oiseleur. - -Rigault and another young officer were already strolling on the terrace -when his guard deposited Laurent there. The former hailed him; the -latter he had met once or twice, and the three took a turn up and down -together. - -"Pleasant weather," remarked Rigault. "I'm glad, Monsieur de Courtomer, -that you get at least this taste of it. He's a very thoughtful old boy, -the Sieur Perrelet.--By the way, I hear that Saint Sebastian is out of -bed at last." - -Laurent stopped dead and looked him in the face. "I don't know to whom -you are referring, Monsieur!" he said sharply. But the red which had -mounted to his cheek showed that he had at any rate a very good idea. - -"No offence!" said Rigault lightly. "The name is not of my originating." - -"Though, parbleu, it is, from all accounts, strikingly appropriate," -murmured the other officer. - -"It is in strikingly bad taste!" retorted Laurent, turning upon him. And -as the culprit did not appear penitent, but had a subdued grin on his -face, he added, "I did not come out here to listen to offensive -conversation," and began to move haughtily away. But Rigault came after -him. - -"It is I who ought to apologize, Monsieur de Courtomer," he said -hastily. "I do apologize, sincerely. It slipped out without my meaning -it." - -Laurent writhed. Evidently the officers of the garrison were in the -habit of referring to Aymar by this title; and it was, horribly, -appropriate. Therein lay its offensiveness. The other officer made a -half-laughing apology, too, and saluting, went off. Laurent looked -after him, frowning. - -"I must say you are a staunch champion," came Rigault's voice in his -ear. "Please don't think I am insincere when I say that I admire you -for it! Really, I hope I should be the same in your place. Saint Se---- -La Rocheterie is your friend, and if a man does not believe his friend -when he assures him that he is innocent, well . . ." - -But Lieutenant Rigault's magnanimous attempt to take another's point of -view fell disappointingly flat. For Laurent, biting his lip, was now -frowning at the gravel of the terrace. It was an odd moment for the -thought to strike him for the first time in all these weeks, that that -was exactly what his friend had never done. Aymar never had assured -him, in so many words, that he was innocent. - -He shook off the impression in a moment--for why should Aymar have told -him a thing of which, as he knew, Laurent was already convinced? And -when he returned to their joint apartment he had forgotten it. - -Aymar, lying back in his armchair by the window, doing nothing, exactly -as he had left him, appeared so averse to conversation that Laurent -gave up the attempt, and took up instead _The Vicar of Wakefield_, -which he himself was rereading at odd moments, for the English lessons -had soon been discontinued. It had not taken Laurent long to find out -that his pupil's interest in them was only simulated--probably for his -sake. - -The innocent and amiable volume now opened of itself at the beginning of -Chapter xxii, and Laurent found himself reading these words in large -type, "NONE BUT THE GUILTY CAN BE LONG AND COMPLETELY MISERABLE." - -They were only one of Goldsmith's sententious chapter-headings, but they -might have been the inscription on Belshazzar's palace wall. Laurent -was suddenly mesmerized, and remained staring at them. . . . He did not -ask whether what they stated was axiomatically true; it was only that -it fitted in so diabolically with--well, with all the profound -depression of the last few days, with the whole attitude, even, of that -silent figure now leaning its head on its nerveless hand, not even -looking out of the window at the allurements of June. . . . And the -page cast up at him further accusing scraps: "_grief seemed formed for -continuing . . . anxiety had taken strong possession . . . nothing gave -her ease . . . in company she dreaded contempt, in solitude she only -found anxiety. . . ._" - ---"Long and completely miserable . . . none but the guilty . . ." Good -God, what was he thinking! Hot and cold by turns Laurent flung _The -Vicar of Wakefield_ violently on his bed. His action had at least the -result of rousing Aymar, for it made him jump. - - -(7) - -Next day, when Laurent came back from the terrace, he walked into an -empty room. Aymar was not there. - -One pang of wild dismay and, turning quickly, he inserted his foot into -the closing door. "Where is M. de la Rocheterie?" he demanded fiercely -of the sentry. - -"A guard came and took him downstairs about half an hour ago," replied -the man. "I must shut this door, sir." - -"Took him downstairs!" ejaculated Laurent. "_Downstairs!_ In Heaven's -name, why?" - -"The Colonel is back, and wished to see him--some kind of a council, I -think. I shall get into trouble, sir, if you don't allow me----" - -"I have a good mind to go down after him," declared Laurent, the light -of combat coming into his eyes. "--No, all right," he added, as the -empty-handed sentry thereupon made a grab for his musket. And he turned -away. - -Guitton back--and sending for L'Oiseleur! What could it mean? The cipher -business again? No, that was all over. Oh, damn that scoundrel, why did -he come back--why did he not die of that ball in his leg? And, as to -making Aymar go downstairs in his present condition, when he had never -done more than walk a little about this room--well, they would -certainly have to carry him up again. It would set him back for ages, -and M. Perrelet was away for a couple of days, too. - -Thus Laurent fumed. But Aymar was not carried back, though when at last -he came in he looked scarcely able to stand, and leant against the door -for a moment with closed eyes, clutching the handle. Laurent, thinking -he was going to fall, hurried to him. - -"Aymar----" he began, putting out an arm. - -But Aymar brushed aside his proffered assistance with small courtesy, -and, staggering past him to his own bed, sat down, gripping the edge of -it with both hands. Laurent took one glance at him and poured out -brandy. - -"Those stairs!" he muttered furiously. "Madness. . . . Drink this, and -lie down quickly." - -But Aymar did not seem to see the glass he held out. He was staring in -front of him with eyes like live coals, his breath coming very fast; -and in a moment Laurent realized that, as well as being physically -spent, he was quivering with rage. - -"You must take this, Aymar," he repeated. - -The eyes blazed at him then. "You are becoming a veritable old woman, de -Courtomer! There are times when one would really prefer to be allowed -to lie down and perish in peace." After which ungracious remark he took -the brandy from the slightly stunned Laurent, drank it off impatiently, -and, pulling himself completely on to the bed, subsided there. - -Laurent went and looked out of the window, undeniably wounded, but -telling himself that something extremely unpleasant had been taking -place downstairs, and that a man on the border-line of endurance will -sometimes strike out at the very person he would least desire to hurt, -if that person be on the spot. Nor had he ever judged Aymar's to be a -very patient nature. He stole a look at him now, and saw that he was -lying face downwards. For the first time he realized what an affliction -it must be never to have solitude in hours of strain. But as he could -not take himself off he tried to bury himself in a book. - -It might have been ten minutes later, or twenty, that Aymar suddenly -turned over and raised himself on an elbow. - -"I want to ask your pardon for the way I spoke to you just now, -Laurent," he said, in a voice not quite free from constraint. "I hope -you know that I did not mean it for an instant. I was . . . annoyed -. . . but not, God knows, with you." - -The blood seemed to come back to Laurent's heart again. "Of course I -knew that you did not mean it," he replied cheerfully. "I saw that you -were . . . annoyed . . ." And, longing to ask why, but not quite -daring, he took refuge in a triviality. "Convalescents are allowed to -be irritable. So, if it means that you are getting stronger, you are -welcome to call me an old woman as much as you like." - -Aymar struggled off the bed back to his sitting posture on the edge. "Did -I really say that? I deserve to be----" He stopped abruptly, and a wave -of red passed over his colourless face. It became still more sombre; he -shut his mouth tight, and dragging himself to his feet went over to the -window, stood a moment looking out, and then let himself fall into the -big chair there. - -"Laurent," he said presently, "as an excuse for my rudeness and -ingratitude I will tell you why they had me down." But there was -struggle in his voice, and with one hand he was twisting a tassel of -the chair. "It was the same thing over again. Colonel Guitton asked me -what I meant to do henceforward, since I could hope for no mercy from -my own side. He was therefore kind enough to promise me a commission -with his." And, as Laurent made an angry exclamation, he went on, "But -that is nothing new. Have you forgotten his visit here that day? Only -this time it was much more public"--he caught his breath for a -second--"and this time he did not, I think, really expect me to -accept. . . . Then they went through my few papers at great length, and -questioned me about them. That's all. Don't ask me any more about it." - -He put his head back in the chair; his arms fell to his sides. Laurent, -kneeling by him, carried away on far too deep a tide of anger and pity -to remember his own recent repulse, began to chafe the cold hands, -cursing under his breath the man who had devised so public an -indignity. - -For a moment Aymar roused himself. - -"Coals of fire," he said, looking at him with a world of expression in -his tragic eyes. "Yes, as Guitton announced just now, shooting _is_ too -good for me!" - - -(8) - -They were nearer to each other that evening than they had ever been -before. Afterwards, Laurent thought that had Aymar not been so spent in -body and so quivering in soul he would probably have told him his -secret. As it was, he lay silent on his bed and watched the sky through -the window, and Laurent watched him, and had a kind of happiness from -it. - -But at the same time he was deeply uneasy. What would that devil do -next, now that he was back? He had not waited long to strike. But, -short of imprisoning them in different rooms--a most distasteful -possibility--the young man did not see what he could do. - -It was about two o'clock next afternoon, a little before the time when -Laurent usually took his walk on the terrace, that steps outside the -door roused him from the book he was reading. - -"My escort," he said with a yawn. "The fellows are early." - -But there entered instead--Colonel Guitton. - -Laurent's heart descended to his boots. Aymar immediately pulled himself -out of his chair, and stood looking out of the window. - -"Good afternoon, Monsieur de Courtomer," said the Bonapartist, taking on -his side no notice of L'Oiseleur. "A pleasant day, is it not?" He came -forward into the room, limping a little, as Laurent was delighted to -see. "You have not yet gone out for your constitutional, then? It was -really à propos of that that I came--to suggest that you should, if you -wished, have liberty to extend it." - -"You are very kind, Monsieur le Colonel," murmured Laurent, taken aback. - -"In fact, I have been reflecting that it would perhaps be more agreeable -for you to become a prisoner on parole altogether now." - -"But why should I suddenly become a prisoner on parole?" - -"Because," responded the Colonel, showing his teeth in his false smile, -"you will henceforward be alone in captivity, and, as an alleviation, I -thought----" - -"Alone!" exclaimed Laurent, glancing at the figure against the window. -He _did_ mean to separate them, then! - -"Yes," said the Imperialist. "You are going to lose your patient to-day. -I am afraid that we cannot keep him any longer.--Monsieur de la -Rocheterie!" - -Aymar was forced to turn round. He wore an icy and disdainful face. - -"Here, Monsieur," said the Colonel, advancing to the table, "are most of -the papers and all the money and other effects found on you after . . . -after your unfortunate experience in the Bois des Fauvettes. We had the -pleasure of going through the former together yesterday. Here, in -particular, is a letter which I am sure you will be very glad to -recover. There is now nothing to keep you longer from the fair -writer--unless, of course, she has rather stricter views on honour than -yours!" And, with his eyes on him, he laid a purse, a leather case, and -a stained letter on the table. - -Aymar had not moved from the window. But at the last words Laurent saw -his hands shut themselves with a jerk. After a very tense second he -demanded curtly, "Why are you giving me back those things?" - -"Because it is usual to return his effects to a liberated prisoner--and -you are free, Monsieur de la Rocheterie." - -"_Free!_" exclaimed L'Oiseleur, taking a step forward. - -"Free!" echoed Laurent, not believing his ears. - -"You are surprised, Monsieur de Courtomer," enquired the Colonel -suavely, turning to him. "But of what advantage can it be to us to -house, feed, and give medical attendance to this gentleman any longer? -After yesterday's interview we have no choice but to ask him to seek -lodging elsewhere. As it is highly improbable that he will find it -among his own friends we do not run any risk in this step.--I regret, -Monsieur de la Rocheterie, that with these possessions I cannot return -to you your sword. You had, I fancy, already been deprived of it before -your . . . accident." - -And at that Aymar strode forward to the table. - -"If you were only a gentleman I would call you out for that!" he said, -in a voice of intense and quiet fury; and he looked so dangerous that -Laurent all but made a movement to intervene. - -"Any gentleman would hold me absolved from accepting your challenge if -you sent it," retorted the Bonapartist, undisturbed. "I think you will -realize that state of affairs when you are free, Monsieur le -Vicomte!--Be ready, please, to leave this room in a quarter of an -hour." - -In the stunned silence brought about by his last words he turned as if -to go, then, apparently remembering something, swung round again, and, -putting his hand into his pocket, took out a small object. - -"'The reward of martial valour,' if I mistake not," he said drily, -looking down at it and evidently reading off the phrase. Then he lifted -his eyes to his released prisoner, and, taking the little object from -the palm of one hand, held it out dangling from the finger and thumb of -the other. Laurent then saw what it was--Aymar's Cross of St. Louis, -held out to its owner in silence, but with a look and a smile which -made a more hateful commentary than any words. Colonel Guitton, who had -come in person to announce his decree, intended that L'Oiseleur should -be made to receive his dishonoured decoration from him in person; and -that, in fact, was what did happen, for after a moment or two of -waiting Aymar was obliged to advance and take the order from the -outstretched hand. And, having forced him to this, the Colonel turned -away with a broadening of his contemptuous smile. - -But Laurent managed to intercept him before he got to the door. - -"Monsieur le Colonel," he protested, "you cannot do such an inhuman -thing! It is unheard of! M. de la Rocheterie is only just out of a -sick-bed where he has lain, as you know, in danger of his life--he can -hardly stand . . . he is not fit to travel. It is little short of -murder!" - -The dragoon shrugged his shoulders. "That is not my business, Monsieur -de Courtomer. We have returned him his money; it is open to him to -procure further medical care. I do not think, however," he added with a -sneer, "that he will go to the nearest Royalist headquarters for it; -that might lead him to a beech tree again! Anyhow, Monsieur le Comte, I -am sorry to deprive you of his society, as you seem to like it. So, if -you care to give me your parole----" - -"I'll see you in hell first!" cried Laurent, exploding. And the force of -his passion was such that he barely heard the Colonel, with a darkened -and furious face, saying something, as he went out, about the place in -which _he_ would shortly find himself. . . . - -And Aymar? Aymar had laid down the cross near his other little -possessions, and with bowed head was supporting himself, close to the -table, by the back of a chair. As soon as he heard the door close he -dropped into the chair, put his elbows on the table, and covered his -face. The next moment his hands slid, locked, from his face, and his -head went down on his outstretched arms. - -"Aymar," said Laurent in an almost awe-struck voice, "he cannot mean -this--it's impossible!" - -No answer--except that given by the objects lying on the table near the -humiliated head. The obscurest soldier would have been too valuable to -the other side to release, but L'Oiseleur was henceforth worthless; -they could safely afford themselves the satisfaction of flinging him -out. And the realization of this had beaten him to his knees. - -"It is impossible," repeated Laurent, but with less assurance. "Did -he--did he threaten this yesterday?" - -The bronze head stirred, and then raised itself. But Aymar's expression -was dazed, and after staring at him a moment he dropped his face again -on his arms. - -A wave of fierce, indignant pity surged over Laurent. Yes, that butcher -and devil had knocked him out of time. Mercifully he could not witness -his achievement. He knelt down and threw an arm across the bowed -shoulders. - -"Aymar," he said desperately, "let us think what is to be done. There is -not very long." - -But Aymar said in a choked voice, "I wonder you can bring yourself to -touch me." - -As an answer to that Laurent put his arm closer about him. "Do you think -I pay a moment's heed to what that blackguard said? I have your secret. -But, Aymar, the cost is too heavy!" - -The locked hands twisted a moment. "The cost--my God!--the cost!" said -the voice brokenly. Then L'Oiseleur lifted his head, his eyes fixed on -the window. "You still think that of me? You will not think it much -longer!" - -"Am I so changeable?" asked Laurent gently. He possessed himself of a -hand. "Yes, Aymar, the cost _is_ too heavy. It is more than one man -ought to pay for another . . . it is not right. I do implore you to -reconsider, now, and--clear yourself!" - -There was no answer for a moment. L'Oiseleur's hand lay impassive in -his. He put his other over his eyes. Then, between a gasp and a sigh, -he said, "I cannot. I cannot clear myself." - -Laurent set his teeth. His fingers closed on the faintly scarred wrist. -"I have thought that sometimes," he answered. "You have got entangled -in another's dishonour. Then, as I am a living man, that other shall -clear you.--Tell me, who is this de Fresne who would not admit the -truth?" - -Aymar's hand dropped from his eyes. He looked at the speaker with -haggard astonishment. "De Fresne--where did you hear his name?" And -without giving him time to reply he went on, "Oh, my dear Laurent, you -are on the wrong road! No, no; de Fresne was . . . the victim, not the -culprit. The truth . . ." A little shudder went through him, and he -withdrew his hand from Laurent's grasp. "I have no one but myself to -thank for my situation--that is the truth. I ought to have told you -everything before this . . . and now there is no time . . ." He took a -deep breath. "How much longer? I must be ready." - -"Only a few minutes more," faltered Laurent, glancing away to the -clock.--_No one but myself to thank_. . . . If he would only give him -the clue! . . . But this was not the moment. If in a few instants Aymar -de la Rocheterie was to be thrust out from the shelter of a roof, some -preparation must be made--but what preparation? He had nothing but the -ill-fitting clothes he wore. And as to provisions, there were none in -the room. Laurent sprang up from his knees. - -"You must take my cloak. There is brandy in the flask, I think." - -"Your cloak?" repeated Aymar tonelessly. "It is uniform--I cannot wear -it." He pulled himself to his feet and stood looking down at his -returned possessions. "What am I to do with these?" he said, as though -to himself, touching them stupidly. But as he took up the letter a -spasm of pain came over his face. "I know what I will do with -this. . . . Have you a tinderbox there?" - -Laurent gave him his. With hands whose shaking he tried vainly to -control Aymar at last obtained a light, set fire to the stained letter, -and held it flaming till it fell in flakes on the table, till his own -hand was almost burned. And Laurent stood dumb before an agony of soul -which he felt to be as consuming as the mounting flame that was so -strange in the daylight . . . and before the immediate vision of his -own great loss. In a few moments--unless it were a cruel jest of -authority--his friend would be torn from him. It was quite possible -that he should never see him again. . . . And in that second he took -his resolve: if he got a bullet in him, if he broke his neck over it, -he would leave the château Arbelles himself that night. - -"Aymar," he said abruptly, "tell me quickly in what direction you will -go, for I mean to follow you." - -"Direction?" repeated Aymar, staring at the ashes of the letter. -"Direction--I don't know. Just away somewhere--where they do not know -me. . . . A firing-party would have been so much more merciful," he -added to himself. - -He slowly put his money and the wallet into one pocket, while Laurent, -with smarting eyes, slipped the brandy-flask into the other. The cross, -with the laurel-encircled sword uppermost, still lay on the table by -the ashes of the letter, only a small piece of its red ribbon, oddly -jagged and torn, still adhering to it. Aymar looked down at it. - -"Perhaps you would rather not have any remembrance of me--a man who can -be insulted with impunity," he said, his lip curling. "But, if you care -to, will you take this?" And he suddenly held out the decoration to his -companion. - -Laurent was staggered. Aymar was too stunned, of course, to realize what -he was doing. He caught him by the arm. - -"No!" he cried fervently. "What, take what you won so gloriously, and -will wear again as gloriously some day! Put it in your pocket, Aymar. I -want no remembrance of you, for we shall not long be separated. I mean -to escape from Arbelles to-night and follow you. But I must know in -what direction you intend to go." - -L'Oiseleur did mechanically put the order into a pocket, but to the -question he shook his head. "Have you not heard that neither side will -give me shelter?" - -"For God's sake don't talk like that!" cried Laurent. "Do you not -realize that in your state you cannot walk half a mile? Will you go to -the inn in the village, and we can arrange----No, I have a better idea! -Of course you will go to M. Perrelet--why did I not think of that -before? Then you will be properly cared for. Aymar, go there at once; -any one will direct you to his house." - -But Aymar once more shook his head. "He is away. I would not ask such a -favour of him if he were at home. I cannot install myself there in his -absence." - -"Very well, then, the inn; and we must arrange quickly how I am to meet -you when I escape----" - -For the first time Aymar showed animation. "When you escape! My dear -Laurent, you are much more likely to find yourself a prisoner in -earnest to-night! That man will not forgive your outburst. Oh, Laurent, -why did you do it?" - -"For Heaven's sake, listen, Aymar! Will you go to the village till -I----" - -"The village! To face the soldiers? Enough that I shall have to face -them here . . . and now," he added, as a heavy tread was audible along -the corridor. They both listened for a second. - -"It does not matter where I go," went on Aymar. "You will never see me -again, Laurent. So much the better. I would not have you touched with -the shadow of my disgrace. . . . For what you have been to me I cannot -even thank you." He held out his hand rather blindly. "I have taken so -much from you . . . and repaid it so ill. . . ." - -There throbbed in the last words a veritable naked nerve of pain, more -than Laurent could comprehend. All he knew was that he had enough pain -of his own. . . . As the tread stopped, and voices were heard outside -the door, he caught his friend by the shoulders. "I _shall_ see you -again--I shall find you! I am coming after you--to-night! This is only -au revoir, L'Oiseleur!" And he kissed him on both cheeks. - -"No, it is adieu," replied Aymar, his hands on the hands that held him, -as if to disengage himself. But all at once Laurent felt himself pulled -closer, his friend's, his hero's head was down for a moment on his -shoulder, and he heard, close to his ear, the whispered words, "Try to -go on believing that I am not a traitor!"--farewell and appeal in one. -Then the clasp loosened, and he himself turned to see four soldiers -with fixed bayonets coming through the door. He was dully surprised; -had they expected resistance? - -Aymar drew himself up, and looked at them gravely. The quiet personal -dignity which it seemed impossible for him ever quite to lose shone out -the more clearly, as he braced himself to meet fresh humiliation--so -clearly, in fact, that the escort, rather surprisingly, saluted him. -But to Laurent the scene was horribly that of a man going out to -execution. Had La Rocheterie's father, "just my age when he was -guillotined," worn an air like that? But no one had thrown mud at -_him_! Aymar gave his friend an unforgettable look and held out his -hand once more. "Adieu!" he said again. Laurent wrung the hand hard. "I -shall follow!" he repeated, slowly and clearly, in English. - -The next moment the door was locked again, the tramp of feet was dying -away, and Laurent was alone--alone in the room which never yet, save -for a short space yesterday, had he known destitute of Aymar's -presence. - - - - -CHAPTER V - FREE--WITH A BROKEN WING - - "I swear I will not ask your meaning in it: - I do believe yourself against yourself, - And will henceforward rather die than doubt." - TENNYSON, _Geraint and Enid_. - - -(1) - -The first moments of Laurent's grief were savage. He stood for some time -at the window, his hands clenched together before him, his head against -the grey panelling at the side, choking down the spasms of grief and -fury which rose in his throat. He could not bear to look at the silent -room. At last he stumbled over to Aymar's deserted bed and flung -himself there, face downwards. God only knew where Aymar would lie -to-night! - -But very soon his mind was plotting the details of his own escape. This -window here by Aymar's bed, after dark, because it looked out round the -corner, not on the facade; it would be quite easy. If he could only -have elicited from L'Oiseleur where he intended to go! But Aymar seemed -to have no plan--how could he? The fiat had been to them both like an -unforeseen sentence of death. - -Laurent stirred and gripped the pillow--Aymar's pillow--where his face -was buried. The remembrance of the offer of Aymar's cross--a death-bed -action--was not comforting. That Aymar could attempt such a thing -showed--what did it show? Laurent clutched the pillow harder. For -L'Oiseleur had at last definitely confessed that he could not clear -himself. Did he then know himself to be irretrievably ruined over this -black business, in which, after all, that shadowy de Fresne had not -played the villain? And could it be that in consequence he contemplated -taking his own life? Was that why he had tried to bestow on his friend -that significant gift, and was that why he had said: "You will never -see me again"? - -Laurent sprang up and threw open the window by the bed. The sentry very -rarely paced round this corner. If he did, there was a convenient bush -almost under the window. And the prisoner had not wasted his -opportunities for observation during his walks on the terrace, so that -he knew roughly the extent and lie of M. d'Arbelles' domain, was aware -that it was not hampered with walls, and had a very good idea at what -points the sentries were posted. But there were hours yet to get -through before dark. - -At about eight o'clock, as he was sitting in gloom and fever, watching -the rain which had now come on, there unexpectedly entered to him -Lieutenant Rigault. He looked concerned and somewhat shamefaced, but -Laurent soon discovered that this embarrassment was not, as he at first -supposed, on Aymar's account, but on his, Laurent's. The Colonel, it -appeared, had given orders that one of the old dungeons which survived -from the original château was to be prepared for M. de Courtomer's -reception, but this retreat was in such a condition that it could not -be ready till the morrow. Rigault feared, however, that this would be -M. de Courtomer's last night in his present quarters. - -Laurent (who was privately of the same opinion), while thanking him for -the interest he took in his fate, intimated that he considered no -dungeon was deep enough for Colonel Guitton to expiate the turning out -of a wounded prisoner, scarcely able to stand, to die, perhaps, of -exposure. But the young chasseur, while admitting that this had seemed -to him rather inhuman, asked whether Laurent, in their place, would be -disposed to condone treachery by making much of a traitor. - -"Making much of!" exclaimed Laurent contemptuously. "You haven't run -much risk of that at Arbelles, have you? What about yesterday's -proceedings?--Were you there?" - -"We all were; we had to be--orders. But do not go away with the idea, -pray, Monsieur de Courtomer"--as Monsieur de Courtomer bent upon him a -very pregnant look--"that the Colonel had it all his own way at that -interview! There is not much of the Early Christian martyr about the -modern Saint Sebas----I beg your pardon! He said some pretty stinging -things himself." - -"He could hardly say anything stinging enough in reply to that -suggestion that he should accept a commission with you!" - -"Oh, he simply said he would rather die than do that. It was not very -judicious," commented Rigault reflectively, "because then the Colonel -was able to retort, 'I daresay you would rather like me to have you -shot, since you think, no doubt, that the balls of an enemy -firing-party would efface the marks of your own. I should never do -_that_; a soldier's death is too good for you.' And," finished the -young officer, as Laurent flushed hotly, "if the facts are as Colonel -Richard reported them, I quite agree with that opinion." - -"If you talked till next year, Monsieur," retorted Laurent scornfully -and impolitely, "you would not get me to believe that it is Colonel -Guitton's excessive highmindedness which has led him to do what he has -done to-day! He has never forgiven M. de la Rocheterie for baulking him -over du Tremblay's plans. There is personal vengeance behind his -abominable action." - -"Yes," said Rigault thoughtfully, "I believe you are right. It is not so -much what La Rocheterie has done, as what he refused to do. . . . But, -with regard to his turning out, he had his money, you know, Monsieur de -Courtomer. He could have gone to the village inn, if he had chosen, -instead of starting off to nowhere along the Saint-Caradec road." - -Laurent became very attentive. "He went along the Saint-Caradec road?" - -"Yes. He turned to the right at the château gates." - -"You are sure of that? Naturally I am interested to know where he has -gone." - -"Naturally. Yes, I know he did. The fact is," said Lieutenant Rigault, -looking out of the window, "that I happened to be in the avenue at the -time--by pure chance, I assure you; I was not there as a spectator of -. . . misfortune. Well, when La Rocheterie got to the gates--he had no -escort then--the sentry would not let him pass; evidently he had no -orders to that effect. I foresaw that he might be turned back, and have -to come up the avenue again, and that would have been cruel. So I -hurried down and told the sentry that he was released; and I saw, -therefore, that he turned along the Saint-Caradec road." - -At that absence of explicit orders--intentional, he felt sure--Laurent -had ground his teeth. And how many _had_ been in the avenue to watch -him? "I wonder he ever reached the gates at all," he muttered savagely. -"Did he look very much exhausted?" - -"I must confess that I would not have backed him to go much farther," -admitted the young Imperialist. "Indeed, I think he was holding on to -the gate when I got there, but when he saw me he stood up straight and -thanked me very civilly." He paused a moment, and then added, it seemed -against his will, "I admit that I am puzzled by him. I cannot square -what he has done with . . . what he seems to be." - -But Laurent was not so elated by this confession as he might have been -in earlier days. What did it matter now? He said nothing, and Rigault -went on, "I watched him to the bend--about a furlong it is--he was -walking very slowly, but fairly steadily." - -"What is along that road?" enquired Laurent in a gloomy and exasperated -voice. - -"Nothing till you come to Saint-Caradec. It is not a high road, properly -speaking, but the country people sometimes use it. La Rocheterie might -get a lift in a farmer's cart." - -"And if not?" - -"I don't know," replied the other, also rather gloomily. He gave a short -sigh. "I wish it had not happened. . . . As to the Colonel's intentions -with regard to you, we are going to raise a strong protest directly -there is a chance of being listened to, so we must hope for the best." - -To this evidence of good feeling Laurent made no response whatever; he -was with Aymar in the rain, on the road that led to nowhere. Rigault -went to the door. And when Laurent, staring forlornly through the -blurred window, said to himself, "If only I knew where he was!" he had -really forgotten the Imperialist's presence. - -He was reminded of it by a touch on the shoulder. The young officer had -recrossed the space between them. And he now remarked to the prisoner -in a rather strange and hurried voice, "The windows of this room are -only sixteen feet from the ground." - -"I calculated that they would be about that," returned M. de Courtomer. -And then, suddenly realizing what a surprising thing had just taken -place, he turned and stared at the speaker. Lieutenant Rigault of the -garrison of Arbelles got noticeably red, somehow found the captive's -hand, gulped out very low "Good luck!" and bolted for the door. - - -(2) - -Many times during the last few weeks had Laurent told himself how easy -it would be to escape from captivity if he were ever to cast his -thoughts that way. Yet, in the event, the simplicity of his departure -rather staggered him; for, twenty minutes after he had clung bat-like -to the sill of the window by which Vert-Vert also had left the château, -he was outside the domain of M. le Baron d'Arbelles altogether, and was -creeping, with looks to right and left, along the dim pallor of the -Saint-Caradec road. - -He had encountered no obstacles of any kind whatever, and only a minute -or so of suspense, while the sentry stood meditating on the other side -of the bush which momentarily concealed the acrobat after his drop. It -was a dark night, which would have been auspicious for an ordinary -fugitive, but was not so fortunate for a fugitive who was searching for -someone else. However, Aymar must be somewhere along this road (always -supposing that he had not got a lift) because he would never have had -the strength to climb its high banks even if he wished to leave it. - -But soon, a little to Laurent's dismay, the bank and hedge on his left -broke into what seemed to be a thicket of some extent. Instantly he -felt sure that Aymar had turned in there, and that he should find him. -He went in. But under the trees it was so dark that he began to -stumble. He listened, but only heard gently running water; he called -very softly but without result. He dared not go on for fear L'Oiseleur -should be there after all, asleep or unconscious; yet he could not -search the thicket thoroughly until it grew lighter. So, feeling, -unreasonably enough, that he was somehow betraying his quest, he lay -down in a dry ditch and presently swam off into an uncomfortable -slumber. - -But before the first thrush began he had hunted through every foot of -the coppice. L'Oiseleur was not there--not a trace of him. All these -hours, then, had been wasted; while Aymar--in what plight was he by -now? The night had not been warm. - -Horribly disappointed and anxious, Laurent stood on the side of the -thicket farthest from Arbelles and surveyed the prospect. The tiny wood -gave on to rolling country, fields of large extent. He could not free -himself from the conviction that Aymar had been in the wood at some -time, if only to rest. By which way would he have left it in that -case--by the fields or by the road? It seemed to Laurent that he must -search both exits. He resolved that he would first cover a section of -the road--the more hazardous proceeding for himself--and then search -the field back again to the copse. After that it would become a choice -between the next section of the road and the open country. - -Looking to see that the coast was clear, he ran cautiously up the road, -glancing to either side as he went. It was perfectly empty save for a -meditative rabbit in the middle, who whisked off at his step; it gave, -in fact, in the morning stillness, between its holly hedges, the -impression of not being meant for human foot at all. - -He clambered over a gate into the field, and was just setting his face -once more for the thicket, when something about a haystack not far off -caught his eye. Part of it had been sliced away, but not completely, so -that there still remained, about two feet from the ground, a ledge -rather wider than a man's body. And on this ledge a man was -lying. . . . - -Laurent stood stock still, his heart thumping suffocatingly. The next -moment he was at the refuge so nearly missed. Aymar was lying slightly -curled up, his face towards the wall of hay, his head pillowed on his -bent arm--as a tired boy might lie. Laurent stooped over him. Yes, -thank God, he was breathing naturally--in fact, he seemed to be sound -asleep. - -But he looked deadly weary. Laurent touched his left hand, lying loosely -on his breast; it was very cold. So he took off his own coat and spread -it over him, and, reluctant to wake him yet, squatted down beside him -on the grass just out of his line of vision, and said to himself -contentedly, "I knew I should find him!" - -He had not been there, however, for more than five minutes or so when -the sleeper stirred, sighed, and woke; then, realizing that there was a -covering over him where covering had been none, raised himself on an -elbow and gazed round in bewilderment. - -"Good morning," observed Laurent, getting up and coming into view. "I -have kept my word, you see. And I have brought you your breakfast." -Voluntarily or involuntarily, he had adopted a thoroughly British -method of cloaking his feelings. Aymar gave an exclamation and, falling -back against the hay, stared as if he hardly knew him. At last, rather -weakly, he began to laugh. - -"I told you I should do it," said Laurent cheerfully, very much pleased -with the success of his little coup de théâtre. But on that he suddenly -found himself deprived of further speech. He went down on his knees by -the ledge of hay and mutely embraced him, French fashion; after which -he began to fumble in his pocket for the provisions he had brought--the -major part of his own supper. - -". . . How did you do it, Laurent--how did you do it?" Aymar was asking -incredulously. - -"I climbed out of the window," responded the adventurer briefly. "Have -you had anything to eat since you left yesterday?" - -"I was not hungry. I had the brandy, you know." - -"Heavens above, you must be starving! Eat this quickly. No, first----Is -the eau-de-vie in this pocket?" - -"Always that brandy-flask," commented Aymar, trying to smile, as, -supporting himself on an elbow, he took the little cup. But his hand -shook so much that Laurent caught it from him with an exclamation, and, -seating himself on the ledge, slipped an arm round his ex-patient and -supported him while he held the cup to his lips. There was re-awakened -fury in his heart. - -"This is like old times," remarked L'Oiseleur, and lay still a moment -against his friend's shoulder. - -"There's only one alleviation," muttered Laurent, with some of the fury -audible in his voice, "and that is, that your release was undoubtedly -vengeance on that scoundrel's part. Viewed in that light, it is almost -a compliment." - -"Oh, are you speaking of Guitton?" murmured Aymar. "I had forgotten him -for the moment. I was thinking about someone better worth considering." -He caught at the hand that had held the cup, and pulled it to him. "I -was convinced that I should never see you again, Laurent. . . . Shall I -ever be able to repay you?" - -"I don't know what you are talking about," said Laurent, as gruffly as -any of his English forbears, but he returned the pressure of the two -cold hands which held his. "Now eat; and when you have eaten you can -tell me how you found the strength to get so far." - -So Aymar ate, when Laurent had consented to do the same, and told him. -It appeared that he _had_ gone into the copse, and been there for -hours, perhaps--he did not seem sure. Nor was he, evidently, quite -clear whether he had lost consciousness there or not; but he admitted -that he had thought, "quite erroneously," that he could not possibly go -farther. . . . However, towards evening he made another effort, drank -some water, and went on by the field way, rather blindly, his only -object being to put as much distance between himself and Arbelles as he -could. In the twilight he almost stumbled into the haystack, and having -thus fortunately come on it, subsided there. - -"Well, thank God for the haystack," observed Laurent. "Were you cold in -the night? It's horribly open here." - -"I am never very warm now," said Aymar simply. "Yes, it is open. And -that is why, mon ami, you have stayed here long enough. It is high time -you went on, for if they have not discovered your absence already----" - -But Laurent exclaimed, as the speaker had once incautiously done to -Guitton, "For what do you take me?" And he continued with warmth, "Why -do you suppose I was at the trouble of wriggling out of that window? -Directly you feel able we will go on (though I shall not be missed till -breakfast-time) and as you know the district a little, perhaps you can -think of a suitable place to make for. Was there not some woman from -your part of the country? . . . No, Aymar, really it is no use -arguing--it only wastes time. Remember that I have English blood in me, -and that it is quite as obstinate as your Norse. I only give in to you -when I am in awe of you--which at this moment I am not." - -So Aymar himself surrendered, and they started, he on Laurent's arm, -across the great field towards another little wood, both as affording -cover and as being in the direction of the farm of La Baussaine, where -lived this woman from Sessignes who had known Aymar all his life, and -had married and settled and achieved widowhood in this region. -Provided, said Aymar, that her elder son, a soldier of the Imperial -Guard, were not at home--which in existing circumstances was -practically impossible--she would be only too glad to give them -shelter. - -In the little wood Laurent made his companion sit down and rest, for -even the short, sustained exertion had rendered him very breathless. -Indeed to progress thus, in stages, was the only possible method. Even -so, after about an hour, the proceeding was making nearly intolerable -demands on his little stock of strength. The stages began to get -shorter, the rests longer. Twice there were gates to climb, once a -hedge to push through, once retirement into a ditch was thought prudent -to avoid a herdsman. And when they came forth from this retreat they -had still, Aymar calculated, a good mile and a half to go; on hearing -which, and surveying the speaker, Laurent wondered rather despairingly -whether they would not have to try to find a nearer refuge. - -A large, uncompromising drop of rain on his nose startled him at that -moment, and he looked up. Was it possible--a thunderstorm on a morning -like this? However, one could not argue about its unfitness; the point -was to prevent Aymar from being instantly soaked to the skin. In the -middle of the open pasture which they were skirting he espied a long, -low object that looked like the shelter over a sheep trough, save that, -fortunately, there was no trough beneath it now. - -"Quick, Aymar!" he exclaimed, almost dragging him along. They had to -crawl in on hands and knees, but once inside it was just possible for -Laurent, at all events, to sit upright. Aymar lay down at full length, -his head on his friend's knee, and shut his eyes. And then the rain -descended. - -"Talking about rain," observed Laurent suddenly, "how wet did you get -yesterday?" - -"I don't know," replied Aymar. "I did not trouble about it. You talk as -if I were a girl, my dear Laurent. Do you suppose I have not slept -scores of times in the open before--and in the rain, too? I am a Chouan -. . . that is to say, I was," he added in a lower tone, and fell -silent. - -"I wonder if a thunderstorm ever came à propos," he remarked a few -moments later to the accompaniment of the first peal, and shivered -suddenly. - -Laurent looked down at him rather unhappily. "I am afraid you must be -horribly tired, and the devil knows how long this storm is going on. I -wish we had something left to eat." - -But Aymar answered, without opening his eyes, in a voice gone suddenly -remote and drowsy, "I am neither tired nor hungry--a little cold, that -is all. I think I am going to sleep." - -Perhaps that was the best thing that could happen to him, and if it did, -Laurent saw some chance of slipping off his own coat and wrapping it -round him. But he had had little sleep himself that night, and, lulled -by the downpour on the shingled roof, he half dozed off as he sat -there. He was recalled by a violent shiver running through the -shoulders resting against his knees. - -"That letter," said their owner reflectively. "That letter . . . I am -glad I burnt it. It was the only way to cleanse it. It had been in his -horrible hands all this while." Here he shivered again, but went on -almost immediately, his eyes fixed on some point out in the rainy -landscape, "Yes, he had it all the time, and never guessed. And -downstairs, for all his questioning . . . I could hardly bear it . . . -he never found out." - -"That was fortunate," murmured Laurent vaguely, uncertain whether Aymar -were speaking to himself, or expecting a reply. But speculation gave -way to alarm the next moment, when a third shudder drove through -L'Oiseleur's body, and his teeth clicked together. - -"Mon ami, what is the matter with you? Are you so cold as that? Come up -closer to me. Confound this rain!" And he edged himself nearer, till he -could get his companion into his arms. Aymar's hands were as cold as -ice, but there was a faint flush on either cheek. - -"I saw the Colonel looking at my wrists once," he began again, with a -complete absence of his usual extreme reserve. "He said . . . he said -it was not _there_ that he should like to put a rope. . . ." The -narrator gave a sort of laugh. "It was round here!" He carried his hand -to his throat, and a double flicker of lightning ran through the -shelter as though to emphasize this disclosure. - -"Damn him!" exclaimed Laurent passionately, while the long roll -reverberated overhead. - -"I suppose he might have done it if he had chosen," proceeded Aymar with -the same uncanny fluency. "We could not either of us have prevented -him, could we, Laurent? They laughed, some of them. . . . I did want -very much to stand all the time . . . but I was not able to. I had to -sit down. And I did not mean to lose my temper, but I did--once--and it -only made it worse for me, because----" But his teeth were now -chattering so that he could get no further. - -"Oh, don't try to talk!" cried Laurent. "And why, in God's name, are you -shivering like this?" - -For his brief experience of nursing had been mainly surgical, and he had -never imagined that shivering was other than a semi-voluntary action. -But Aymar's whole body was beginning to be convulsed every few seconds -by a sort of galvanic shock, and his teeth were now going like -castanets, to the complete exclusion of any more confidences. Laurent, -really frightened, stripped off his own coat and wrapped it round him, -attempted to pour brandy between the chattering teeth, most of it being -spilled in the process, and held him as closely as he could to the -warmth of his own body. - -Gradually the fit passed, but it had so exhausted its already spent -victim that he lay in Laurent's hold inert, with closed eyes. Whether -this seizure were due to last night's exposure or no, it was clear to -the perplexed Laurent that Aymar was going to be ill--was ill already, -or he would never have volunteered those revelations--and they were -nothing like in safety yet. For all the splendid suppleness that had -once been his, L'Oiseleur, lying across his knees like this, seemed -uncommonly heavy; he knew that he could not carry him more than a few -yards. - -A ray of sunshine suddenly struck on to the head on his arm. The living -bronze glowed (as once in the detested cart) and, looking up, Laurent -realized that the storm was over. But of what use was that now? -However, he must do his best. - -"Aymar," he said, stooping to his ear, "it has stopped raining, and we -must go on. Can you hear me?" - -"Yes," answered Aymar--and actually began to struggle up. "Yes--I'll try -. . ." - - -(3) - -"And so M. Perrelet, back at Arbelles, is the nearest doctor?" repeated -Laurent thoughtfully, looking at Mme Allard. - -Madeleine Allard was forty-nine years of age and still comely. She had -lost her husband, but she had at La Baussaine six cows, ten pigs, -fifty-five hens, and an idiot son. To her that afternoon as she was -kneading bread had entered her afflicted offspring making signs that -there were strangers approaching. Now one of these strangers--only to -Madeleine he was no stranger at all--was ensconced in her absent son -Jérôme's bed, and the other was standing in her kitchen making -enquiries about medical aid, which would certainly have to be procured -somehow. - -"Could you send for M. Perrelet then, Madame?" asked Laurent. - -"I could send Jeannot with a letter, Monsieur--he could not take a -message, poor boy. He is not as other boys. And, as villages frighten -him, he would probably deliver the letter at the wrong house, or -perhaps not at all. Yet certainly M. le Vicomte must have a doctor, and -as soon as possible.--Could you not go for M. Perrelet yourself, -Monsieur?" - -"Yes, of course, I _could_," said Laurent reflectively. There did seem -something ironical in the prospect of abandoning his friend, whom he -had escaped to find, and risking, for his sake, the experience of a -much more rigorous captivity. He would probably never succeed in -reaching the village, for the whole garrison of Arbelles must be on the -alert about him; still, even if he were retaken, he could doubtless -contrive to get a message to the surgeon (who was to return, he knew, -that evening). "Yes," he resumed, "I will go directly it is dusk--if M. -de la Rocheterie is not better." - -Mme Allard intimated that in her opinion there was small hope of that. -Aymar's condition had deeply shocked her. To Laurent, indeed, it was -still something of a mystery how he had succeeded in transporting him -from the sheep-shelter to La Baussaine, seeing that no real reliance -could be placed on his legs, and less and less on the directing brain. -And the effort had tired Laurent himself more than a little, as Mme -Allard for all her preoccupation now observed, and she begged him to -eat and sleep; should the soldiers come she could very quickly hide him -under the cider-press . . . but where to conceal M. le Vicomte, ill as -he was, she did not know. So, for Aymar's own sake, Laurent had to tell -her, to her bewilderment, that the Bonapartists would not search for -him, since they had released him themselves. - -The light was failing when, some hours later, he went down the three -steps into the low-ceilinged bedroom on the ground floor to take his -final resolution; for though he would go unhesitatingly, he still hoped -that he would not have to go. But Mme Allard, who was sitting there, -shook her head, and Aymar, sunk in the big, billowing farmhouse bed, -now seemed very drowsy and confused; his hands were as hot as they had -previously been cold, and his breathing sounded quick and shallow. And -when Laurent tried to feel his pulse he said dreamily, "You will find -that much more convenient, Monsieur, when the bandages are off." . . . -No; Aymar must undoubtedly have M. Perrelet's care, and he himself, if -necessary, pay the very unpleasant price of obtaining it. He dared not -take an articulate farewell of him, lest his intention should be -divined. "Good-bye, Aymar," he said within himself, and went sadly from -the room. - -Then he was furnished by Mme Allard, who had followed him, with an -unattractive blue blouse and a sort of rough cape smelling horribly of -the farmyard, and an old hat, and directions for his five-mile journey -to Arbelles, to be taken, for greater safety, across country. And, -looking down at himself, the Comte de Courtomer thought what a pity it -was that the only patois with which he could sustain the character -which he represented was broad Devonshire. - -He regretted this still more when, between ten and eleven, he stood -under the smoky oil lamp opposite M. Perrelet's door in the main street -of Arbelles village, where every house, including the surgeon's, seemed -to be wrapped in the blankest of slumbers. He had had an eventless -journey, so far as human kind were concerned, though the darkness had -betrayed him pretty deeply into a stagnant ditch between two fields. By -carefully avoiding the neighbourhood of the château he appeared very -successfully to have avoided any of its garrison; but now a series of -modest taps on M. Perrelet's front door--and he dared not attempt a -more sonorous summons--had failed to bring any one. If he could not get -admitted to have private speech with the doctor his position was rather -precarious, for any public parley was highly undesirable. But that must -be risked; as must, also, the chance of that discreetly curtained -window not being that of M. Perrelet's bedchamber after all. - -Laurent withdrew from his pocket a handful of small stones collected en -route for just such an emergency, and launched them upwards. They -tinkled against the glass and fell back baffled on to the cobbles. -Twice he did it. Then the curtains were violently wrenched asunder, and -between them appeared a stout white form. In another moment the sash -went smartly up. - -No miracle-working saint could have been more rapturously greeted by a -suppliant than was that nightcapped head by the young man in the street -below. But he dared not proclaim his rapture. - -"Who is it?" asked the head shortly. - -"You are wanted, Monsieur Perrelet," responded Laurent in a cautious -tone. - -"That's no answer," snapped the surgeon. "I'm always being wanted. But -I've got to be wanted to some purpose to-night. Are you from Mme -Lambert?" - -"No, from Mme Allard. It's a very urgent case," pleaded Laurent. "If you -would only come down----" - -"Mme Allard! Why, she's fifty, and a widow!" objected M. Perrelet. -"Stay, is it that cousin of hers I promised to attend? You are sure it -is not a false alarm? - -"Oh, no!" replied Laurent earnestly. "It's . . . an old patient of -yours. If you will only come down I will explain. He's been having the -most horrible shivering fits, and now----" - -"_He!_" fairly bellowed M. Perrelet from the window. "He! Why did you not -say at once that it was a man? For nothing but a confinement will I -stir from this house to-night! Go away, wretched bucolic!" And he -started furiously to draw down the window. - -Now Laurent was indeed desperate. Having no stave that he might uplift, -and fearing to hit M. Perrelet if he threw a stone, he swirled off the -cloak that he wore and sent it flying window-wards. A good deal of its -unsavoury bulk caught in the descending sash and stayed its progress. -The window went up again with even more passion than had propelled its -descent. - -"What is this filthy object you have thrown up?" demanded M. Perrelet in -a fury. "Pah! it stinks! I shall be infected with I know not what!" And -he threw the offensive garment down again with all his force at its -wearer. - -But Laurent, still afraid to pronounce either his or Aymar's name, was -now trying a different and more hazardous method of self-revelation. He -stepped back across the narrow street and came under the light of the -lamp on the other side, where, snatching off his hat, he exposed his -features to its rays, M. Perrelet, and any one else whom the -altercation might have drawn to their windows. And at the sight of this -young man in a blouse, holding his hat rigidly at arm's length and -pointing to his own face with the other hand, all M. Perrelet's powers -of speech (fortunately) deserted him for the moment. He disappeared -from the window without even shutting it, which Laurent took for a -hopeful sign. Darting across to the door, he was standing just outside -when it opened to reveal the doctor, now clad in a dressing-gown and -with a candle in his hand. - -He waved the intruder into the nearest room and then said in a resigned -manner, "Now, perhaps, you will be good enough to explain, Monsieur de -Courtomer, why you are serenading me. I presume you are on parole. It -appears to be a masquerade as well . . . pfui! that garment again!" And -holding his nose he added, "I will gladly contribute some bergamot to -your costume." - -"You can't object to it, sir, as much as I do, who have had its company -for five miles," protested Laurent. "But let me discharge my errand, -and then I will leave you at once, or I may get you into trouble. You -obviously don't know that I escaped last night from the château!" - -"The deuce you did! Why this curious fancy for Arbelles then, and this -flattering midnight visit to my door? Ah, I forgot; you said you wanted -me for someone or other." - -"I do," said Laurent significantly, "and I'll tell you why!" - -Now M. de Courtomer had counted, during his trudge, on making some -impression upon M. Perrelet with this recital, if ever he succeeded in -penetrating to his presence. Nor was he disappointed; indeed he was -satisfied--and even surprised--at the little doctor's language, and, -considering what he himself felt on the subject of Colonel Guitton, his -standard of requirement was not low. So angry, in fact, was M. Perrelet -that he made short work of Laurent's half-reluctant request that, if he -did not actually give him up, he should see no more of him. M. Perrelet -insisted, on the contrary, on driving him back with him in his gig, -into which the young man was now directed to put the mare, while her -owner dressed. And very shortly the doctor and the escaped prisoner -were driving comfortably away in the darkness. - -Once past the château gates unchallenged (for the sentries knew this -equipage well) Laurent remarked cheerfully that he should have liked a -peep at the dungeon, of whose preparation he had already informed his -companion. - -"Humph," said M. Perrelet, "you would not have found it at all amusing, -and it would probably have meant rheumatism for the rest of your -days--no, that's wrong, for I should have had you out of it in a brace -of shakes. But you don't seem to realize what a risk you are running -for that young man. Not but what," he added, "there's something about -him, even at his most difficult, that makes one want to do things for -him." - -"You once said that you felt something of the sort the first moment you -saw him, I think," observed Laurent. - -"So I did," assented the old doctor, "and he wasn't looking his best, -either . . . lying there senseless on the floor of the hall, half -stripped, roughly bandaged, and very extensively bloodstained. Add to -that your friend Rigault had thoughtfully thrown a bucket of water over -him, in the hopes of bringing him round--young idiot! I said, 'Good -God, what's all this?' for every officer in the garrison seemed to be -standing round him; and the Colonel replied, 'It's the Royalist leader -L'Oiseleur, who has just been brought in shot--dying, if not dead. But -I want him saved, if you can possibly do it.' . . . I thought myself at -first that it was hopeless . . . cold as ice he was to touch -anywhere--and then that damned pool of water. However, I got him -wrapped up and had bricks heated, and while I worked at him they told -me the story of how he had been found and what he had done--a shocking -story, and one which at first I saw no reason to doubt. . . . But -somehow, when I had his head on my arm, although as you know I'm no -sentimentalist"--Laurent smiled in the darkness--"I found myself -thinking, 'I never saw any man who looked less like doing what they say -he has done!' . . . Yes, when he decided at last to come back to the -world he was quitting, and his chest lifted a trifle, and I said to -myself, 'Continue, my young man; you've had the habit of breathing for -about five-and-twenty years, I suppose; just take it up again--it's -quite easy!' . . . when that happened, I was ridiculously pleased, I -admit . . . I little thought I should have it all to do over again -within the week!" - -They drove on in silence for a while, M. Perrelet having presumably just -drained his powers of invective to the bottom over Guitton's latest -brutality, and Laurent conscious that he himself could not produce -anything new or better. - -"Yes," resumed the old surgeon after a few minutes, "I've changed my -mind. Perhaps you have converted me. I am convinced now that La -Rocheterie is innocent, and that he knows who is guilty, and, though I -think he's foolish, I cannot help admiring him for holding his tongue, -because I can see what it has cost him.--You know, Monsieur de -Courtomer," he added gravely, "there were times when I was a little -afraid for his reason, especially when it turned out that his men did -shoot him. But he may thank his stars for the activity of that cavalry -patrol on the first of May." - -"Cavalry patrol? . . . but it was not cavalry that found him, surely," -returned Laurent absently; he was thinking of that desperate "I cannot -clear myself." - -"I know that. I mean the one that captured you, my boy!" - -And on that they drove round a turn and straight into a patrol -themselves . . . only it was infantry this time. - -M. Perrelet acted with singular promptitude. - -"Imbeciles! no, I am not to be stopped for any senseless questions! -Sacrebleu! you know who I am--Dr. Perrelet from Arbelles, and I am off -in a tearing hurry to the farm of La Claviere. What?--this is the boy -who fetched me, of course! Let go the mare's head--she'll have me in -the ditch! And every moment you delay me----" - -A lantern flashed. "It's M. Perrelet all right," said a gruff voice. -"Let go!" The surgeon slashed at the mare, who plunged, and the lantern -light rocked past Laurent's face without revealing it. They were off -again. - -Laurent drew a long breath. "Monsieur Perrelet, you ought to be a -general! I suppose this _is_ the last place they would expect to find -me. But if Guitton discovers----" - -"Je m'en fiche de lui," observed the little doctor with great calm. -"Now, I wonder if those gentry have been looking for you over at La -Baussaine, and worrying that lad of mine--you're both of you nothing -but lads to me. Short of that, it is better than anything one could -have hoped for, that the place should be searched while you are out of -it." - -And when they got there, they found that this desirable thing had really -come to pass. Laurent was rewarded, therefore, for having run into -danger by being preserved from it. No, said Madeleine, they had not -troubled much about M. le Vicomte; their business was not, they said, -with the red-haired renegade, whatever they meant by that word--and -anyhow M. Aymar's hair was not red! She thought that he was rather -better the last hour or so; at any rate, he was quite sensible. - -Aymar was, indeed, to Laurent's great relief, much more himself; he gave -M. Perrelet his most charming smile as he stretched out a hot, dry hand -and began to thank him for coming, a proceeding which the latter soon -cut short. - -"No--and M. de Courtomer doesn't want any thanks, either! Be quiet, -young man! Have you got a pain there when you breathe--or there? I -thought so. Have you been coughing?--Monsieur de Courtomer, oblige me -by going to bed! No; I will not have you here to-night; it is not -necessary." - -But the moment his back was turned L'Oiseleur beckoned. - -"How could you do it, Laurent!" he whispered, seizing his hands. "I -should never have consented if I had known. No man ever had a friend -like you! . . . But I will not try to thank you; it has gone beyond -thanks between you and me now!" - -"Go to sleep, mon cher," said Laurent. - -"I would, only . . . it's so odd, every now and then I am in the wood -again . . . I can count the trees--nine beeches, and the may-tree, -and----" - -"What!" exclaimed M. Perrelet, turning round "--still there? Be off at -once!" - -So Laurent threw himself on his bed and slept till nearly sunrise. Then, -feeling suddenly wakeful, he thought he would see if M. Perrelet would -let him relieve his vigil for a little. - -In spite of the prohibition he crept downstairs to Aymar's door. He -heard his voice, so he must be awake. He opened the door gently without -knocking. Before he had time to get inside, M. Perrelet was on him, -and, driving him back into the passage, closed the door behind them -both. - -"What do you want?" he demanded quite fiercely. "I thought I told you I -would not have you here!" - -"I'm so sorry----" began Laurent meekly. - -"Then don't come again!" snapped the doctor, and he went in as quickly -as he had come out. - -"And I was going to do him a good turn!" thought Laurent, as half -ruefully, half thankfully he went back to bed. - - -(4) - -When he came out of his room at seven o'clock Madeleine informed him, -rather to his surprise, that M. Perrelet had gone, M. le Vicomte being -much better, and in fact, asleep at the moment. The doctor, however, -had said that he would come again in the evening to see how he did. - -So evidently this threatened illness had relaxed its grip. Laurent could -not be too thankful. He stole into Aymar's room. His friend was better, -and, like himself, he was free, and the sun was shining, and there was -a bunch of stocks by the bed. . . . Of what use were these things to a -man whose face wore, even in sleep, a look of such ineffable sadness? -It struck Laurent to the heart, that look. The consolations which he -had been adding up in his mind were too facile--even freedom. Yes, -perhaps freedom most of all. What was Aymar, when he was well enough, -going to do with his freedom, if he could not clear himself? He turned -and went out of the room. - -To distract himself he then set out in quest of a hiding-place that -might have baffled the soldiers last night, and finally selected the -roof of a large barn near the house, which was overhung by the branch -of a huge walnut tree. No one who was not unusually agile could -possibly have gained it by means of that branch, and, for that very -reason, searchers were unlikely to imagine that a fugitive had gained -it at all. But Laurent, with time heavy on his hands, tried the ascent, -and found it feasible, if hazardous. - -When, therefore, he sat in the afternoon with Aymar, somewhat languid -but evidently much better, it amused him to find the invalid obsessed -with the idea that the soldiers would return and make a more thorough -search, and that Laurent ought therefore to find himself a refuge -beforehand--one, moreover, which should if possible be unknown to -Madeleine, so that she could deny the knowledge of his whereabouts. -Laurent heard him out, and then told him that the refuge was already -secured. "Perhaps I had better not tell you either what it is," he -added, laughing, but Aymar insisted upon knowing. - -"It sounds a most excellent, breakneck spot," he observed, "but, -Laurent, it would be so much better if you did not wait to play the -squirrel, but left me to-day. I am well looked after, and nobody will -hunt for _me_! I do beseech you not to go on risking your liberty for -me! You risked it too desperately yesterday, going back as you did into -the very lion's mouth for my sake, since I am sure Guitton would have -treated you abominably if he had got you into his hands again." - -"Oh, he had made preparations before I left, in the best mediaeval -style, for doing that," replied Laurent light-heartedly, and told him -what they were. "Imagine to yourself anybody in this century -'languishing in a dungeon'! The very word strikes me as ludicrous!" - -"But the fact would not be. And you knew that when you went back -yesterday!" - -"It made passing the château in M. Perrelet's gig all the more -enjoyable." - -"Laurent, to please me--don't stay here! Get back to Vendée!" - -"But, my dear fellow," protested M. d'Autichamp's aide-de-camp, "I tried -to do that once, and came to grief! I shall go by sea when I do go. But -it would be foolish to attempt it till the hue and cry for me has died -down a little--till the soldiers, for instance, have paid this second -visit on which you seem to have set your heart.--Will you bet on it, by -the way?" - -"Englishman!" retorted Aymar, smiling; and lay silent for a little. -Laurent sniffed the stocks by the bed and said, "I wonder when Père -Perrelet will let you get up?" - -"To-morrow, I hope. He ought to be pleased with me. But I did not see -him this morning; he slipped away when I was asleep." - -"A lamb this morning, then! He was quite fierce in the night. I came in -about three o'clock--at least I tried to come in, but he would not let -me. He almost used force to keep me out. You were having a conversation -with him, I fancy." - -Aymar, who was turning about in the bed, became suddenly rigid, leaning -on one elbow. - -"I, a conversation with him! . . . I never spoke in the night . . . I -was too drowsy. I hardly knew he was there. I . . ." - -He broke off, and Laurent was amazed to see a flood of colour mount up -from his bare throat to the very roots of his hair. It was gone in a -moment, however, and he dropped back on to his pillows and began to -speak of some thing else; but Laurent could see that his attention was -wandering, and, thinking that he was tiring him, he left him not long -afterwards. - -It was about six o'clock that he heard the wheels of M. Perrelet's gig -and ran out. "He's much better, Doctor!" - -M. Perrelet seemed in a great hurry. "I need not have come, then," he -muttered as he got down. "Do you mind holding the mare, Monsieur de -Courtomer; she's a little fresh." And he went into the farmhouse with -hardly a glance at him. - -Laurent did as he was desired for a minute or two, then he whistled to -Jeannot and made him take his place. He wanted to hear M. Perrelet's -jolly voice rallying his patient and saying that he had got him there -under false pretences. But instead of that it was very quiet in Aymar's -room, and the young man, seeing through the half-open door that the -surgeon was listening to his patient's breathing, stayed silently -outside. - -"Yes, there is no trace of anything," he heard M. Perrelet say, in a -voice singularly free from jollity. "You have been extremely lucky -. . . I shall not need to come again. Have the wound in your shoulder -dressed every third or fourth day for a little; the other dressings can -come off now. You may get up the day after to-morrow. If you are going -to stay on here for a while I will speak to the good woman about you." - -"Have you dismissed M. de Courtomer then?" Laurent heard Aymar reply. "I -have not succeeded in doing so." - -"No, quite so," answered M. Perrelet in a very peculiar tone. "I am -afraid he carries his fidelity too far." - -Aymar's hand suddenly gripped the blanket. - -"Tell me one thing," he said in a whisper which, nevertheless, Laurent -heard well enough. "Was I . . . delirious . . . last night?" - -"You had that--misfortune," replied the old surgeon, and stood looking -down at him, his little gimlet eyes almost invisible under a frown. -Then, as the young man in the bed flung his arm across his own eyes, M. -Perrelet abruptly brushed away something--a fly perhaps--below his -spectacles, and on that Laurent, very uncomfortable at having -eavesdropped, came openly in. - -"Ah, Monsieur de Courtomer," said the doctor, "I can leave my patient -with every confidence in your hands now, for the time that you are -here. He will not need me any more." - -And Aymar said, in a strange, suffocated voice, "I have nothing to offer -you, Monsieur Perrelet, in exchange for my life, but thanks, which are -. . . equally worthless." - -"They are good enough," returned M. Perrelet roughly, "for an old fool." -And without another word he walked out of the bedroom. - -Laurent, puzzled and embarrassed, followed him. - -"M. de la Rocheterie is all right," said M. Perrelet in an -unenthusiastic voice, his foot on the step of his gig. "There is no -more danger of pulmonary trouble, though he has had the nearest escape -from congestion of the lungs that I ever came across." - -"Was that why he was delirious last night?" - -"How do you know he was?" - -"I heard you say so just now." - -The old surgeon looked sharply at him. "You did not hear what he was -saying when you came to the door early this morning, did you?--Not, of -course, that it matters," he added hastily. - -Laurent stared at him. "No, I didn't catch a word. Why, was he saying -anything uncomplimentary about me?" - -"No, no!" returned M. Perrelet. "Oh, no, not at all! Besides, delirium -is too strong a word; he was only rambling." And he climbed up, but not -before Laurent had seen his face relax in obvious relief. "Well, I must -be off, Monsieur de Courtomer; I have an appointment. I sincerely trust -that you will keep out of Guitton's reach." - -He bent down, gripped his late assistant's hand very hard for a second, -and, looking fixedly at the glove he was pulling on, said gruffly, -"Life is full of disillusionments, young man; never trust it!--But all -the same, though I have never regretted being a bachelor, I could have -done with a son--if he were like you! . . . Get on, mare!" And the gig -passed out of the yard, leaving Laurent thoroughly bewildered. What an -extraordinary thing to say to him! - -As he got into the farmhouse he heard Aymar's voice calling, an unusual -phenomenon. He hurried to his open door. L'Oiseleur was sitting up in -bed. - -"Ask M. Perrelet to come in here again when he has finished with -Madeleine," he said earnestly. "I have something to say to -him--something particular." - -"Oh, I am sorry!" ejaculated Laurent. "He has just driven off. He did -not see Madeleine at all." - -Aymar remained an instant motionless. Then he said in a dulled voice, -"It's of no consequence," and lay down again, with his face this time -to the wall. - -He was extremely silent all the rest of the evening, and as by ten -o'clock he looked to Laurent much more ill than he had done at that -hour in the morning the latter decided to spend the night in his room, -in an ancestral and not uncomfortable chair. What could Aymar and M. -Perrelet have disagreed about, as they obviously had, and when could -the disagreement have taken place? Clearly only during the doctor's -first visit--during the night, in fact. Then Aymar had been fibbing to -him when he said that no conversation had passed between them. Pausing -a moment over this distasteful idea he remembered with relief that, on -M. Perrelet's showing, Aymar had been slightly light-headed. His friend -need not then have been consciously lying to him. Still, one couldn't -quarrel in delirium--the thing was preposterous; and surely no doctor -would take offence at anything said in that state! What could M. -Perrelet have been thinking about to be so touchy? He had seemed this -evening as if he hardly cared what happened to the man he had dragged -back from death and been so devoted to--"that lad of mine" as he had -called him less than twenty-four hours ago. Laurent began to feel -rather annoyed with the old surgeon, and, remembering, too, what he had -said about his own "over-fidelity," even angry. What a cruelly unjust -thing to hint at to Aymar, who had tried so hard to get his friend to -leave him! - -Aymar's own voice broke in on his reflections and preparations. - -"What are you doing there?" he demanded rather sharply. - -"I am going to spend the night in here with you." - -Aymar flung round instantly. "No, indeed you are not!" he said with -vehemence. "If you do, I don't sleep in this bed!" - -"Certainly I will not, then," returned Laurent, somewhat offended. He -resumed his coat. "I don't wish to force my society on you to that -extent!" - -"Laurent," said his friend quickly, beseechingly, "I beg your pardon! -I'm . . . I'm in a vile temper to-night. I am better alone, that is all -I meant. . . . Forgive me for saying that!" - -"My dear fellow!" said Laurent, instantly melted. He came over to the -bed. How frightfully strained he looked! "Of course I forgive you! -Well, let me shake up your pillows for you. You have something to drink -there, haven't you? Promise me, at least, that you will call me if you -need anything?" - -He gave him his hand to show him that he bore him no rancour for his -display of petulance, but he was rather embarrassed when Aymar bowed -his head and put his lips to it. Decidedly L'Oiseleur was deeply shaken -out of his composure to-night. - - - -It was not until he was himself half undressed that the explanation of -everything came on Laurent like a thunderclap--of M. Perrelet's -unaccountable demeanour, of Aymar's distress, of his own -semi-banishment from his room just now. Last night, in fever, Aymar had -let slip his carefully guarded secret--_and knew it_. Moreover, to have -sent away M. Perrelet, who was so fond of him, who only yesterday was -so whole-heartedly proclaiming his belief in him--to have sent him -away, as it had, a changed man, it could be no honourable mystery, -after all. It _was_ something disgraceful, something of which, for good -reasons, Aymar could not clear himself . . . as he had acknowledged -with his own lips. - -That was why M. Perrelet had pushed him, Laurent, out of the room last -night, why he had asked him this evening if he had overheard anything, -and been relieved at his reply. He wanted him, poor fool, to preserve -his illusions. . . . Fool, fool, indeed, as Rigault, he knew, had -always thought him, and blind beyond belief! And the fact that it had -taken him hours to recognize what was now so horribly clear to -him--that he had not at once realized the sharp significance of the -doctor's profoundly altered attitude towards his cherished patient, -seemed to open beneath Laurent's feet further abysses of self-delusion. -He had been so secure in this fool's paradise of his. . . . But it was -Aymar, Aymar himself who had shattered it--Aymar who had so plainly -showed alarm when he told him this morning that he had been talking in -the night--Aymar whose demeanour to M. Perrelet also had altered . . . -guiltily altered. . . . Aymar who had driven _him_ out of his room for -fear of a recurrence of the same thing. . . . Aymar who had in fact -betrayed himself! - -And with a sensation as though his heart were being slowly cased in ice -Laurent de Courtomer sat on the side of the farmhouse bed staring at -the dwindling candle, till at last it went out and left him in physical -darkness also. - - -(5) - -The coffee in the bowl steamed invitingly, and as long as Madeleine was -in the kitchen Laurent made some pretence of eating the bread. The -moment that she was gone he took his head between his hands and all but -groaned aloud. - -A very much curtailed visit to Aymar's room this morning had shown him -what a wretchedly bad actor he himself was--almost as bad as M. -Perrelet, whose bad acting it had nevertheless taken him, poor -dunderhead, such a long time to see through. Aymar, he was sure, must -have noticed the constraint in his manner--he who felt that the Aymar -he had known and believed in and loved existed no longer--never had -existed. It was that thought which made the blackness of his misery. - -He took a great gulp of the hot coffee. How was he going to get through -the day like this in the company of this unknown person, this -_simulacrum_ of L'Oiseleur, this man to whom no decent human being -would ever willingly speak again? And even as he fiercely drank down -the remainder of the coffee Fate answered his question by showing the -unlikelihood of his being required, or indeed able, to spend it in this -way at all. For Mme Allard burst abruptly into the kitchen -gesticulating--"They are on their way--they will be here immediately! -Hide, Monsieur, quickly!" - -"What, soldiers?" cried Laurent. "Where?" - -"Riding along the road. Jeannot has seen them. Oh, be quick, Monsieur, -before they reach the house!" - -"I've got a place," quoth Laurent. "Tell M. de la Rocheterie then!" And, -suppressing the instinctive desire to rush in to him, he sped out of -the farmhouse towards his walnut tree. - -He might well congratulate himself on having chosen a refuge beforehand, -and also on having already scaled it. Dropping with a thud, he flung -himself flat on the thatch between the two sloping dormers of the barn, -and almost immediately the foremost soldiers came clattering into the -yard below. A moment later Laurent heard orders given to make a cordon -round the place and search the outbuildings first, the voice that -issued these being undoubtedly that of a _maréchal des logis_. They had -then no commissioned officer with them, though, by the sound, they -numbered a score or more. More clattering and shouting showed that -these orders were being obeyed. - -Laurent held his breath. But he knew that there existed no ladder at La -Baussaine long enough to reach this roof. He heard the dragoons in the -barn below, cursing; he heard them saying that this time they had got -to find him, that Arbelles would be too hot to hold them if they did -not. . . . - -It seemed a long time before they gave up the search outside, and went -into the farmhouse. And with the temporary fading of excitement and -apprehension the anguish of the night rolled back again over Laurent's -soul. He stretched himself out on the warm thatch of his eyrie and -buried his face on his arms, and began to suffer even more than he had -suffered then, because he was less stunned now, because this morning -the agonizing readjustment of ideas had begun in his mind--that -readjustment which brought quite logically in its train the conclusion -that all the time "they" had been quite right at Arbelles. L'Oiseleur, -whom he had so championed, on whose behalf he had gone through a whole -gamut of emotions, had done a thing so infamous that, as Colonel -Guitton had said, shooting was too good for him. . . . The Imperialist, -hateful as he was, was less despicable, after all, than the man he had -ill-treated. . . . Laurent writhed at the thought. - -The situation could not go on; that was manifest even to his -"over-fidelity." He saw now the true meaning of that remark, not so -unjust to Aymar after all! What was he going to do, then? Leave La -Rocheterie here without seeking to plumb the shameful secret, or tax -him with it, and have to witness his avowal . . . or his attempt to lie -about it?--No, not that. At least, as he had never attempted to justify -himself, he would not lie. - -Why not? Why should he be so sure that La Rocheterie would not lie? He -asked himself that, and all the reply that came was a picture of a face -whose eyes were not those of a liar, nor the firm and sensitive -mouth. . . . That mouth had said to him less than four days ago, "Try -to go on believing that I am not a traitor!" And here, already---- - -No, no! He did not believe it! The wave turned upon itself. There must -be some other explanation; Aymar could not, could not have done it. -Those very words were in themselves a denial. And in that case, if he -taxed him with the thing, he broke their friendship for ever. If Aymar -were innocent, he could never forgive him. - -The sun was so hot now--for time was going on--that Laurent was obliged -to clasp his hands together over the back of his neck. But nothing -could interrupt his thoughts; they went circling back to their first -standpoint. Innocent; with that "haunted" look on him did he seem -innocent--had he behaved all along as an innocent man would behave? M. -Perrelet's early observations on that point came back to him. Yet Aymar -had tried to recall M. Perrelet yesterday evening. He had perhaps some -explanation to offer of whatever it was he had said in the night. . . . -But why could he not have offered him, Laurent, some explanation during -all these weeks of companionship? Aymar had seemed to feel that himself -at their parting the other day. If he still was not going to tell him -the story he would have to ask him for it--not so much because he -believed him guilty, but because he could not endure the strain of -ignorance. Aymar _must_ tell him why he "had no one but himself to -thank." - -By the time that Laurent had come to this resolution fresh sounds from -below suddenly warned him that the soldiers were emerging from the -farmhouse. He had been so absorbed that he had not realized that it -must be nearly two hours since they came. Well, they had not found him, -and unless they did so now . . . - -An altercation seemed to be taking place about their ill-success. Only -scraps of it floated up to him. "We ought to have gone on." . . . "It -would not have been any use. Why, the impudent devil was laughing!" -. . . "Yes, to begin with . . ." "I could have bet my boots that the -cupboard . . ." . . . "What shall you report, _maréchal?_" "Why . . . -hunted high and low and could find no . . ." . . . "What about that -unmade bed . . . coffee . . . ?" . . . "I did not see them," returned -what was probably the non-commissioned officer's voice, and Laurent was -sure that he winked. - -"They've been questioning Aymar," he thought, amid the sounds of -mounting and moving off below. "I suppose the search was amusing, but -he must be in better spirits than I am to have laughed at it. . . . At -any rate, he has not treated me as he treated his men!" - -Then he was horribly, bitingly ashamed of himself. - -He was too much obsessed by the thought of what he was going to do to -allow a really prudent interval ere he descended his walnut tree, but -once on _terra firma_ he approached the house with a lagging step. As -he went along the flagged passage to the kitchen he heard a sound of -sobbing, and surmised that the troopers had made themselves unpleasant -to Mme Allard. However, nothing seemed to matter much--not even that -they had failed to find him. - -Madeleine _was_ sobbing, searching meanwhile in a press. But when she -heard his step she turned round. - -"Oh, Monsieur de Courtomer, an awful thing has happened!" She dabbed -with her apron at her face, disfigured with crying, and Laurent -ejaculated quickly "What? Tell me!" - -She gulped a moment, then recovered speech. "After they had searched -every hole and corner for you, everywhere you can conceive, and I had -told them I had no idea where you were, they began to threaten M. Aymar -if he would not tell them . . . they said the most abominable things to -him . . . and at last they said that as he was a Chouan they should -imitate the Chouans----" - -"Imitate the Chouans--what do you mean?" exclaimed Laurent. - -"What they used to do in the old days to make people speak," gasped -Madeleine. - -"Good God!" said the young man, turning pale, for he knew by repute of -those past methods. - -"--And they turned me out of M. le Vicomte's room where they had been -questioning me, too, and when I came into the kitchen here there was -one of them holding something in the fire--a ramrod, I think it was. I -tried to get it from him and fling it away, but they held me . . ." - -But Laurent was no longer there. With a cold sweat breaking out on him -he was at the door of the bedroom. His horror had carried him there -like a whirlwind--and then he feared to enter because of what he might -find. But the first thing he saw was Aymar, raising himself a little in -the bed, and saying eagerly, "Are you sure they are gone? For Heaven's -sake don't show yourself----" - -"They are gone--but if they were not--Aymar, what in God's name have the -devils been doing to you . . . and how could you let them . . . it -wasn't worth it--my liberty! Let me see! Oh, if I had known! Let me -see!" It came pouring out in incoherent distress, and, as L'Oiseleur -relapsed on to his pillows again and shut his eyes, he was bending over -him half choking: "My God, my God, what have they done?" - -"I see Madeleine has been frightening you," said Aymar rather faintly, -but with the glimmer of an amused smile. "That was all they did to me, -mon ami--tried to frighten me." - -And all the time the trickle of blood on his chin from his bitten -underlip gave him the lie. - -"Don't believe him!" cried Madeleine at the door, a bottle of oil and a -bunch of rags in her hand. "They did more than that. . . . If only I -had known where you were--I'd have told them fast enough!" - -"I wish you had, I wish you had!" groaned Laurent. "For pity's sake tell -me . . ." - -"It's his arm, Monsieur," said Madeleine. And Laurent, now perceiving -that the bedclothes were somewhat suspiciously bestowed, lifted them -off and saw. - -Only one of the burns was really severe, and that not nearly as bad as -it might have been, given such an instrument and so unscrupulous an -intention, but the five imprints of the iron between right wrist and -elbow were more than enough for Laurent. The even spacing of an inch or -two between each gave them an air of deliberation that was sickening. -He fell on his knees by the bedside, uncontrollably moved, his English -strain all swept away, and put his head down on the hand of that seared -and blistered arm with the tears running down his face. - -Aymar drew a sharp breath. "My dear Laurent," he said, opening his eyes -and smiling at him, "excuse me . . . but your method of treatment . . . -I believe oil, and not . . ." Then he fainted. - - -(6) - -A greater peace reigned next afternoon in Madeleine Allard's little plot -of garden, where the great pear tree stood sentinel over the stocks and -gillyflowers and the old lavender hedge, than any one acquainted with -the events of the previous day would have believed possible. In the -shade of the pear tree had been placed the ancient chair, and in this, -with his swathed right arm extended on its shabby leather, and his legs -on another chair, was ensconced L'Oiseleur. Laurent, elbow-propped, lay -near him on the grass, and every now and then threw at some prowling -hen one of the tiny unripe pears which strewed it. - -"You would not do for the artillery, mon cher," observed Aymar lazily, -smiling down at him under halfdropped lashes. - -"But I am not trying to hit," retorted Laurent, equally lazily. - -Abased in spirit to the very dust as he still was, he was also -extraordinarily happy. For he had Aymar back, the real Aymar, who, -wounded, weak and alone, had five times gone through agony for him--it -must have been agony, whatever he said. He shot a swift but almost -adoring glance at him now, where he leant his head back against -Madeleine's best pillow-case. He was nearly as colourless as the linen, -and the circles under his eyes were very deep and dark, but at least he -did not seem to be in pain any longer. Yet while Aymar, ill and -defenceless, had been undergoing _that_ for his sake, he, in security, -had been thinking. . . . The very remembrance almost choked him as he -lay there under Aymar's eyes. If he knew . . . if he knew! - -Aymar, who had heard the soldiers talking, believed Guitton to be at the -back of the disgraceful business. It appeared that he had so bullied -the first search-party when he learnt (not, however, for hours -afterwards) of L'Oiseleur's presence at the farm that the second hardly -dared to face him without the escaped prisoner, whom he correctly -assumed to be there also. Indeed, Aymar was of opinion that the Colonel -had gone so far as to hint that there was no need to stand on ceremony -with _him_. . . . Perhaps that was even why they had been sent without -an officer. He asserted that he bore the dragoon no ill-will for -proceeding to extremities; they were really desperate--and if their -commanding officer had assured them that, since he was beyond the pale, -it did not matter what they did to him, could they be blamed for -believing him? They had only used the ramrod as a last resource, and -unwillingly--or there would not have been such a long prelude of -threats first. - -But, however much their victim tried to extenuate them, Laurent felt, as -he said, that he was not so proud of being a Frenchman as he had been. -His disgust and horror suddenly got the better of him again now, and, -abruptly smiting the grass, he swore. And then, for the twentieth time, -he said, "How _could_ you let them do it! And how I wish I had not told -you about that dungeon!" - -"My dear fellow, you are making a tempest in a teacup once more," -responded Aymar. "And do you suppose that the exact degree of captivity -with which you were threatened made any difference? Or"--unconsciously -he threw back his head a little against the pillow--"or that if you had -been my worst enemy I should have yielded up the secret of your -hiding-place to force? Think of that aspect of it, if it is any -consolation to you; also of the fact that I got a testimonial out of -it. For though they began by remarking that I was not likely to require -any violent persuasion----Oh, I'm sorry, I did not mean to tell you -that--they ended by saying that I was a stubborn devil, which I took as -a high compliment. . . . No, Laurent, in all seriousness, it was -child's play to what it might have been." - -"Even if that were true," said Laurent, pulling up grass distractedly, -"you did not know whether at any moment it might not cease being -'child's play'--nor when it was going to end at all!" And as Aymar said -nothing to this, he shot out the query, "Why did it end?" - -"Perhaps owing to the intervention of your patron saint," suggested -Aymar, smiling. "He had considerable experience of the effects of heat, -we are told.--No, I think they were ashamed to go on any longer, and a -little frightened at what they had done, insignificant though it was. -Moreover, iron does not keep hot for ever, and though they talked of -going into the kitchen to reheat it I really think they dared not face -Madeleine again. My impression is that she screamed continuously -throughout, and that distressed me more than anything, because I was -afraid you might hear her, and come in." - -"I only wish I had!" sighed Laurent, running his fingers through his -hair. "But, Aymar"--he was unable to leave the hated subject--"if the -accursed thing was cooling, as you say, how is it that the last burn is -so much the worst?" - -Aymar looked up at the pear tree. "Because they kept the ramrod on about -three times as long, that is why. . . . What is that book you are not -reading?" - -Laurent raised himself and laid on his knee the little copy of _The -Vicar of Wakefield_ which he had inadvertently brought away from -Arbelles in his pocket. - -"Ah, my old friend," remarked L'Oiseleur, and fell to turning over the -pages with one hand. - -Laurent returned to his pose on the grass. Yes, Aymar could talk and -even jest about yesterday's ordeal; he would never be able to do so -about that horrible inquisition at Arbelles, in which he had suffered -no actual physical violence. - -Presently, indeed, the reader gave an exclamation of amusement. -"Laurent, listen to what I have lighted on!" And he read out, in his -careful English, "'My friends,' said I, 'this is severe weather in -which you are come to take me to a prison; and it is particularly -unfortunate at this time as one of my arms has lately been burnt in a -terrible manner' . . ." - -Laurent could not help smiling. "Really," he remarked appreciatively, -"that book is extraordinarily apt. It always seems to hit the -situation." - -"Yes," agreed Aymar, "for it goes on to say, 'And I want clothes to -cover me.'" He glanced at the three or four inches of wrist protruding -from the sleeve of M. Arbelles' coat. "But how did this unfortunate -divine come by his burnt arm? I have not read it." - -"By rescuing his infant children from his house, which burst into flames -before his eyes in what I have always considered the most surprising -manner. If you'll give me the book I will find the place--it is a few -chapters earlier." He reached up, found the page, and read: "'It was -now near midnight that I came to knock at my door: all was still and -silent--my heart dilated with unutterable happiness, when, to my -amazement, I saw the house bursting out into a blaze of fire, and every -aperture red with conflagration. I gave a loud convulsive outcry, and -fell upon the pavement insensible.'" - -"Very surprising, indeed," assented Aymar gravely. "But tell me, why did -you say that the book was always so appropriate? I do not remember in -our readings any other circumstances of the life of M. Primrose which -your ingenuity could apply to either of us." - -Laurent bent his head to conceal from him how red he had got. How could -he have been such a fool as to let slip that remark? For what had been -in his mind faced him now as he turned back from Chapter xxiv to -Chapter xxii--the famous and disturbing heading of the intermediate -chapter, which had given him such a shock at Arbelles--'NONE BUT THE -GUILTY CAN BE LONG AND COMPLETELY MISERABLE.' - -"I--I can't find the other place," he stammered, hastily turning over -the leaves to get away from the damning phrase. - -"But surely you can remember what the incident was?" persisted Aymar. -"Come, now!" and he threw a pear on to the book, while the unwary -Laurent, thankful at least to have got the volume out of the enquirer's -hands, cudgelled his brains desperately. At last inspiration leapt into -them. - -"This is what I meant. Don't you remember, somewhere near the beginning, -where his daughter falls into a torrent--not a salmon river, -though--and is rescued by a stranger who plunges in?" He turned -feverishly in search of the episode and read it, and encouraged, by his -escape, looked up at his friend with a meaning smile and added, "We are -told a little earlier that 'the stranger's conversation, which was at -once pleasing and instructive, induced me to wish for a continuance of -it.'" Then he closed the dangerous volume firmly, returned it to his -own pocket and dropped his head again upon his arms on the warm grass. - -"The sun is getting round," observed Aymar presently. "No, I am all -right. I like it on my feet. Come and lean up here; you will be out of -it then." - -So Laurent dragged himself nearer and rested his back against the side -of the chair. Aymar amused himself by gently pulling his hair. - -"Tiens," said Laurent with a little yawn, "that is what Maman used to do -to send me to sleep when I was small. It generally did; if not, she -would tell me a fairy story. Tell me one!" His head dropped on to -Aymar's knee. - -The hand left his hair, and there was silence. - -"If I told you a story, Laurent," came L'Oiseleur's voice at last, "it -would not be a fairy story. Nor do I think it would send you to sleep." -And, after a longer pause still, he added, so low that Laurent barely -heard it, "No, not to-day." - -But Laurent was already carrying the words with him into a land of -dreams where they interpreted themselves as something quite different. - - -(7) - -But even as misfortune pursued the Reverend Dr. Primrose, pressing on -him a fresh calamity in every chapter, so with Dr. Primrose's readers. -The day of peace to which they were both looking forward when Aymar was -next morning installed again under the pear tree was rudely broken by -the advent of a letter to Mme Allard from Jérôme, her elder son, -announcing his immediate return, ill. And Jérôme, there was no -possibility of doubt, would instantly denounce Laurent's presence to -the garrison at Arbelles. - -"But not yours, surely," broke in Laurent when he heard this, thinking -of Madeleine's devotion. - -"It is true that he would not find me a very profitable speculation," -said Aymar drily. "But I do not choose to risk a second turning out at -the hands of an Imperialist. Madeleine has a plan for despatching me to -her brother-in-law, at Port-Marie, about six miles away, on the coast. -There is no need, however, for you to wait until I can be assured of a -fresh shelter. I suggest that you hurry off at once, especially as the -letter speaks of an Imperial victory on the frontier. Jérôme may arrive -to-day." - -Laurent sat down upon the grass. "We go together," he said simply. "Tell -me now about this brother-in-law." - -It appeared that Michel Royer was a fisherman of some means and of -Royalist leanings, having been out in the war of '99. There was -therefore reasonable hope that he would shelter them, and Jeannot had -been sent on the farm mare with a letter to ask this favour. - -Laurent took it very philosophically; there was nothing else to do, it -seemed to him. "The coast, too," he observed. "Here is the finger of -Providence. Was I not talking of returning by sea?" - -But he could see that Aymar was not finding philosophy so easy--who -would, as weak as he? He lay back frowning, looking very tired. - -"Yes," he said listlessly, "you might find it convenient." - -"But you?" said Laurent. "It is not good for you to be bundled about -like this, and, moreover, it is not necessary. You ought to go home now -to be nursed; you need so much care still. And Port-Marie is in exactly -the opposite direction from Sessignes, is it not?" - -Aymar shut his eyes. "Yes," he answered, his voice grating a little, "it -is; but it may be very convenient for me also to be on the coast. When -I am a little stronger, I shall very likely leave France altogether." - -Laurent stared at him, thunderstruck. The clean-cut, sensitive mouth was -set in a line that was half resolution, half pain. God in Heaven, what -did he mean by that? As he tried in one and in the same mental process -to arrive at his inner meaning and to ward it off from him, the face, -the chair, the background all rocked for a second before his sight. - -"_Leave France altogether!_" he repeated when he could find his voice. - -Aymar opened his eyes again, but he did not look at him. "Yes," he said. -Then he added, "Perhaps." And on that Madeleine, sniffing audibly, came -hurrying over the grass in her heelless shoes. - - -(8) - -It was evening, saffron and sea-green. Jeannot had come back from -Port-Marie with a letter. Michel Royer would receive the two gentlemen, -but they must not arrive till dark, and he would meet them at the -turning under the chestnuts, half a mile out of the village. - -"_I shall very likely leave France altogether._" - -Whatever Laurent said or did in that wind-blown, lovely, interminable -day of waiting had those words sounding through it. Surely, though -Aymar might feel, as he had said, that he was unable to clear himself, -surely, with the consciousness of innocence to sustain him he might -try--or, at any rate, remain and mutely endure till that very endurance -should speak for him. Instead of that, L'Oiseleur, the incarnation of -courage and daring, was contemplating running away! That, surely, could -only mean one thing. - -The ramrod with its attendant heroism and horror had altered nothing; -facts were too hard to be melted in the crucible of emotion. Laurent -began to see that now. And, numb with misery, he fought in the little -garden-plot with the spectre which yesterday, in the same place, he had -thanked God was laid for ever. - -At last it was dusk, and they could start. That Aymar's burnt arm should -run no risk of contact with anything they put him on the right hand of -the one long seat; Laurent sat next him, and Jeannot drove from the -left. And very soon Madeleine and her tearful farewells and the low -buildings of La Baussaine were gone. - -Heavy clouds were lumbering up over what had been the sunset. Aymar -hardly answered anything that was said to him, and indeed conversation -was difficult, for the idiot boy's driving was rudimentary, the farm -cart, though light, springless, and the roads which they had to take -abominable--one succession of deep ruts, in and out of which they -continuously rolled and jolted. About halfway it began to rain. Laurent -silently arranged the piece of sacking provided round his friend's -shoulders, and as they sat there, with bent heads, holding their rough -cape round them, it seemed to him that they were rather a sorry pair of -outcasts. Yet it might have been amusing and venturous, this odyssey. -Perhaps that was what L'Oiseleur was feeling so intensely. But if that -horrible thing should be true . . . he had made himself the outcast. - -And more than once Laurent's thoughts went back to that drive in -England, rather more than a year ago, when he hardly knew him, and was -so elated at taking home a lion. He remembered thinking afterwards that -he had been too garrulous, and that his guest in consequence had -withdrawn himself a little. Now L'Oiseleur was infinitely farther away -than when he had been a stranger; and Laurent himself had never had -less heart for converse. At last they came to the sharp turn of the -road where they were to meet Royer. But even in the gloom under the -trees it was apparent that there was no one there. Aymar climbed -wearily down, remarking that they were perhaps too punctual, and, the -idiot boy refusing to wait on events, but driving off again, the two -fugitives were left stranded in the semi-darkness to await their host. -The rain, however, had stopped. - -"This begins not to be amusing," remarked Aymar after a few minutes; and -indeed there was no amusement in his voice. "Dieu! How tired I am!" - -He had sat down on a log that lay, in the long wet grass, close to a -broken-down gate which had once closed the entrance to a little lane, -and against this gate he now leant back. Overhead the chestnut leaves -were gently dripping. - -"I'll go along the road a little and see if I can meet the man," said -Laurent. - -In a few moments he came striding back, rather angry. - -"Aymar, where are you? A confoundedly annoying thing has happened. I met -Royer in the road there, and he says he has changed his mind. It is too -risky, he thinks, to take us into his house in the village, but he says -that just along the coast to our left there is a smugglers' cave, the -'Panier', which we can easily reach, and which is quite habitable. He -will show us the way, and he is bringing some provisions with him. He -will be here himself in a minute or two." - -Aymar on his log in the dusk was silent for a couple of seconds, then he -said, "If this is a joke, it is a damnably bad one." - -"It is not a joke. I am far too much annoyed to jest. But of course we -cannot force the man to take us in." - -"Well, I," declared L'Oiseleur, "am not going to set out at this time of -night for a cave along the coast." - -"But you cannot spend the night here by the side of the road!" cried -Laurent. - -"Why not?" enquired his friend. - -"My dear Aymar, after that fever--itself the result of a night in the -open!" - -"I assure you," replied Aymar, dropping his head on to his hand, "that I -don't care if I get a hundred fevers. I am not going any farther. I -. . . can't." - -Laurent stood looking down at him in dismay. L'Oiseleur's courage -failing him at last! What on earth was he to do? - -"Let us go to the inn at Port-Marie then--if there is one--and risk it," -suggested he in some desperation. - -"You mean that you would run the risk for my sake? I have already been -told that I allow you to carry your devotion too far. No; go to your -cave by yourself; I will find it in the morning--perhaps." - -"I wish M. Perrelet had minded his own business!" said Laurent sharply. -"Come on, Aymar!" - -"I tell you I am going no farther. Leave me, for God's sake!" - -"Don't be absurd! How can you imagine that I should do such a thing?" - -Aymar made a dimly seen gesture. "It's all I ask! . . . Leave me--leave -me! You would if you knew!" - -And, as by a fleet arrow, Laurent was transfixed by annoyance. If only -he did know instead of having to listen to these eternal hints and -innuendoes! - -"But _till_ I know!" he riposted sharply. "L'Oiseleur, for God's sake be -a man! . . . Here is my arm." - -Aymar pulled himself instantly to his feet. "No, thanks!--Which is the -way?" - -It was too dark to see his face, but his tone showed only too clearly -the effect of this adjuration. Even as he asked the question Michel -Royer had come up. Laurent, keeping down something in his own breast at -once miserable and fierce, drew the fisherman a little aside and -whispered to him, "My friend is ill. He may want assistance--but don't -touch his right arm. Give me half of what you are carrying." - -The transfer was made. "This is the way, gentlemen," said the vague -figure, in a hoarse voice which seemed to have known many tempests, and -led off past the broken gate and down the very track by whose entrance -Aymar had been sitting. Aymar followed, without a glance at his friend, -and that friend brought up the rear, in a perfect daze of misery, -irritation, and anxiety. - - -(9) - -Some three quarters of an hour afterwards Laurent stood, lantern in -hand, in the smugglers' cave, the "Panier," and looked remorsefully -down at Aymar, lying at his feet on the rough bed of sailcloth and -seaweed in the profound slumber of exhaustion. His own burst of -irritation had subsided now, and the sight of that bandaged arm made -him doubly ashamed of it; though as for having forced Aymar, as he had, -to use the last shred of his strength, he did not see what else he -could have done. But at least it was he himself, and not Royer, who, -when they had reached their goal, had guided L'Oiseleur, blind with -fatigue as he was, to this couch, on which he had dropped like a log, -not to move since. - -Royer had gone, promising to come again to-morrow. The "Panier," as far -as Laurent could see by lantern-light, seemed wonderfully dry and -spacious, and there was a sufficiency of food and coverings. So there -was nothing to do but to go to sleep; and in sleep he could forget the -cruel rebirth which had taken place in his mind . . . perhaps in sleep -it would even go from him again. He lay down as quietly as possible by -L'Oiseleur and pulled a little of the covering over himself. - -But it was soon obvious to him that he was not going to sleep; he was -far too conscious of Aymar's proximity--too conscious that his theory -about Aymar was crumbling to pieces as Aymar had foretold. Yet it was -he himself who felt the traitor. How could he bear to lie there, almost -touching that arm, martyred for him, and realize, as he did at length, -that that martyrdom could not change the past! It still was "If you -knew!" It still was that L'Oiseleur, for all his courage and endurance, -quailed before the thought of a future in his own country. Why . . . -why . . . why? - -His thoughts buzzed and stung like flies. And now the recurrent plunge -of the tide, the sound that none can stay, began to torment him. Every -time the waves splashed outside they seemed to reiterate something -monotonous and final, some message charged with ruin and farewell. And -when Aymar, who had lain beside him all the time like a man drugged or -dead, stirred, and in stirring touched him, it was more than Laurent -could bear. He slipped from under the covering and groped his way -across the cave to its mouth. - -It was a cloudy night. The sea looked dull--not sinister, not violent, -just a dimly seen expanse of moving mud. There was no moon visible and -not a star. It was like his own thoughts. Laurent sat down on a keg at -the mouth of the cave and gave himself over to the contemplation of -these. - -They were far more bitter than on that night at La Baussaine, when the -veil of self-deception had first been rent, more bitter even than in -that hot vigil on the roof, because of the stage of revulsion and -remorse which lay between . . . and fruitlessly. For his reason coldly -said to him, "His undoubted affection for you, his more than undoubted -strength of will, may have carried him for your sake through an act of -heroism, and yet that does not prove that he could not have done . . . -the other thing." And it was in vain that his heart cried out, "Yes, it -does, it does, it does!" because reason then retorted, "Why, then, has -he not told you 'everything,' as he said that day at Arbelles he wished -he had? Why did he not tell you yesterday under the pear tree? -Evidently he will not--till you ask him!" But that Laurent would never -do now. He would leave him, but he would never ask him for his secret. - -He could not abandon him yet, but when Aymar was well enough he would -say that he must go back to Vendée (as Aymar had urged him) and thus -their parting would have no special significance about it. All the -same, he would be tearing him out of his heart for ever, deliberately -slaying and burying the friendship which had come to mean so -immeasurably much to him . . . and condemning himself to go through the -rest of his life not knowing the real truth. - -He covered his face with his hands, and pictures of the bright and -dishonoured head rose constantly before him: Aymar that night in -Devonshire, under his roof, looking at him with that quiet and -immensely attractive smile--Aymar in the great salon at the Hôtel de -Saint-Séverin with the King talking to him, the magnet for every -gaze--Aymar at Arbelles, helpless, suffering, despised . . . and all -the dearer for it then--Aymar wringing out his wet locks by the -swirling river in which he had just risked his life--for him. . . . And -he wondered if he would always see that picture-gallery when they had -parted, and he heard his name mentioned with loathing--his friend, his -friend, who could not have done the thing they said he had, even though -his own men believed it and had wreaked vengeance on him--even though -he, Laurent, his champion of champions, was at last brought to saying -so, too. . . . - -Was he indeed saying that? saying it with the slow, hot tears running -down against his fingers? The sea was saying it relentlessly. . . . He -took away his hands and brushed off the moisture, and found that he -must have been there much longer than he knew, for it was light -outside, with a cold and heartless light, and from the port a sail was -stealing out as Aymar's might one day. And with that, out of the -darkness still prevalent within the cave, there came Aymar's voice, no -more than a little drowsy. - -"What are you doing over there, Laurent? Did I disgust you so with my -. . . my want of manhood, that you will not share the same bed with -me?" - -Laurent jumped. He had no idea that Aymar was awake, nor that he himself -was visible. In spite of the words, the tone was not sarcastic; it -merely held a sort of sad amusement. - -"I . . . I found I couldn't sleep," he stammered hoarsely. - -"You won't sleep sitting on that barrel!" - -Almost unconsciously Laurent got up and sat down on the sand, putting -his shoulders against the rock. "It is dawn," he murmured. - -He heard Aymar sigh. - -"Is your arm hurting you?" - -"No, thanks. . . . Laurent, come back to bed." - -Laurent dug his fingers into the sand. "I was abominably rude to you -this evening," he said with a gulp. - -"It was, I daresay, deserved. At any rate, you succeeded in getting me -here." - -"Well, go to sleep again," murmured Laurent. - -"I will, if you will tell me why you are sitting out there." - -There was a long pause, filled by the sea. Laurent had just made up his -mind to one course of action--and now, suddenly, he was weighing the -opposite. Why not? It was more honest, fairer to _him_. And there was -so much in the voice, though it was even and unemotional, that tore his -very heart. - -"I am sitting here," he said at last slowly, "because I was thinking -about you. Because the last few days I could not help . . ." He leant -forward, clenched his hands between his knees, and said in a rush, -"Aymar, what did you say to M. Perrelet that night?" - -In the darkness Aymar observed quietly, "It _is_ that, then. I thought -so. God knows what I said! At any rate, M. Perrelet did not like it." -He gave a desolate little laugh. "Am I responsible to you also?" - -"I never meant to ask you," said Laurent, fighting down his misery. "You -know what I have always thought about it all. . . . And after that -ramrod, too . . ." A sound like a sob escaped him. "You must tell me -something, Aymar. I'm . . . I'm too bewildered to go on in the dark any -longer." - -Neither sound nor movement came from the other end of the cave; only, -outside, the sea came up twice, saluted the sand, and withdrew. Then -Aymar spoke. "Yes, I must do it. I ought to have done it long ago--I -know it. Only . . . well, you will know soon enough why I did not. Do -you want me to tell you the story now?" - -"Good God, no!" said Laurent, raising his head. "To-morrow. . . ." And -then all his deep affection and a certain cold dread, warring together, -swept over him. He sprang to his feet, and, going uncertainly over to -him, dropped on his knees beside him. "--Or never, Aymar, if you -choose. Let it be never then! I have no right----" - -"No right! If ever in the world a man had a right! You ought not to have -had to ask. As you have asked"--a suspicion of hardness crept into his -voice--"you shall have it, every word, to-morrow . . . or rather -to-day. What time is it?" - -Laurent struck a light and looked at his watch, and had for his pains a -little picture of his friend lying there, with his bandaged arm, -challenged at last, on the heels of illness and suffering and extreme -fatigue. The tinder must have shown the wretchedness on his own face, -for Aymar put out his left hand a little and said very gently, "Why are -you reproaching yourself, Laurent? _You_ have no cause--no shadow of -cause! And as you do not yet know how much I have you could still lie -down here again . . . for a little." - -And Laurent came instantly. He tried to seize the extended hand as he -lay down, but it evaded him; and he lay there on his face, motionless, -dreading the day. But the traitorous thoughts were stilled. . . . - - -(10) - -Despite its spiritless dawn, it was a fine morning, with a breeze and -circling gulls--not at all a morning on which to be executed . . . for -that had been Laurent's sensation on rising. Only he was not sure now -which was the victim and which the executioner. - -The two of them had just finished breakfast outside the cave. Laurent -felt himself far the more outwardly nervous, and when Aymar became -absolutely silent he grew very nervous indeed, thinking that the next -moment, or the next, would certainly hear him begin. But Aymar, -perhaps, was experiencing a shrinking from that moment more acute -still, for when Laurent, unable to bear the tension any longer, -scrambled to his feet and picked up the loaf and the empty bowls, -Aymar, too, got up, and without a word to him walked down towards the -sea. He stood there with his head bent; and Laurent remembered once -more how he had seen him, first in the sunshine, by moving water. He -turned and went into the cave. - -He had barely put away the loaf when Aymar's figure darkened the -entrance. - -"I will tell you what you want to know now," he said. "It shall be as -short as I can make it, but even at that it will take a little time if -you are to hear everything." - -"Shall I come outside?" asked Laurent, not looking at him. - -"No, I can tell you better in here, if you will allow me. The sea is -disturbing--louder than that salmon river of yours." He looked round -for a seat, and finally sat down on the heap of seaweed. - -Then he, too, had been thinking of their first meeting. Laurent fetched -for himself the keg he had sat on during the night. - -"I must say again," resumed Aymar after a moment, "that I am fully aware -you ought never to have had to ask for this. It was owed you on every -count. But at Arbelles I . . . put it off from day to day; when I was -turned out there was not time, and afterwards at Madeleine's, when I -had at least one excellent opportunity, I--well, never mind why I did -not take it. The only good excuse I have for my silence is, that to -tell you the story properly I must have told you something rather -intimate . . . and I did not know you very well at first. My other -excuse is not so good." He paused, and played for a moment with the -earing of the sail near his left hand. "The other excuse is merely my -own cowardice. I thought that when you knew you would----You see how -M. Perrelet took it." - -"But in M. Perrelet's case you were wandering--whatever you said," began -Laurent, feeling a chill at the heart. - -"Yes, I probably made him think it was worse than it was." He raised his -head and smiled, a little drawn smile. "But I am quite clear-headed now -. . . and you will not like what I am going to tell you, Laurent. -(Please don't interrupt me, or I shall not be able to tell you at all.) -Because I know that you have thought, until quite recently, that I was -shielding someone." For the first time his voice betrayed real -difficulty. "And I suppose I was. I was shielding . . . myself!" - -As it came out he looked straight at his hearer, but Laurent, as though -he had been the accused, could not meet his eyes. He put his hand over -his own, his elbow on his knees. - -"Go on," he said, all but inaudibly. He had turned very pale. - -Aymar went on. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - THE ROAD TO THE BEECH TREE - - "Là-haut sur la montagne - Il y a un pré; - Les perdrix et les cailles - Y vont chanter. - J'ai pris mon arbalète, - J'y suis allé; - Croyant en tuer quatre, - J'ai tout manqué. - C'est le coeur de ma mie - Que j'ai blessé . . ." - - -(1) - -The whole unhappy story, the substance of which was told that morning in -the cave, began on the radiant April day when Aymar de la Rocheterie -rode along the high bank of the river Aven on his way from the -conference with du Tremblay and other Royalist chiefs at Saint-Pierre -de Plesguen to his own house of Sessignes. He had left his men, some -five hundred strong, under M. Nicolas de Fresne, his second-in-command, -ensconced, very inconveniently for the Bonapartists, in the Bois des -Fauvettes, a spur on the great forest of Armor. And now, well pleased -with the scheme for which he and du Tremblay were chiefly responsible, -and in which he and his "Eperviers" would presently play a part, he was -intending for once to spend a night under his own roof, since by taking -this particular route back to his little force he would pass the very -gates of the château. And so he could pay his respects to his -grandmother, who ruled it for him, and to his cousin, Mme de -Villecresne, who dwelt there, neither widow nor wife. - -And thus he came, about midday, to the village of Keraven, and found to -his surprise that it was full of troops of the line--but Royalist, for -they wore the white cockade--and just outside its pleasant inn, the -_Abeille d'Or_, encountered their commanding officer, the Chevalier de -Saint-Etienne, who was a friend of his. To him he expressed the hope -that his officers had not eaten up everything in the hostelry, since he -had been intending to get a meal there. - -"Plenty to eat," replied M. de Saint-Etienne, as Aymar took the bridle -of his horse to lead him off. "And I have a private room . . . at least -. . ." he hesitated, "there is someone else in it, but----" - -"Avow," said Aymar, laughing, "that the other person is Mme de -Saint-Etienne, disguised as your youngest subaltern." For his friend -was newly married, and much in love. - -"No," said the young soldier seriously, "it is only a middle-aged -gentleman of my acquaintance, who stopped here to bait, and who is -going to share my meal. Will you not---" He broke off, said rather -hurriedly, "I'll see you when you have put up your horse," and -vanished--to Aymar's considerable surprise, since he was plainly on the -verge of asking him also to share this repast. - -Aymar was going back to the inn door when, just in front of one of the -open windows, a spur came loose, and, stooping to fasten it, he -overheard a man's voice, with an authoritative but kindly ring about -it, saying, "So that was L'Oiseleur you were talking to! I have always -thought that I should like to make his acquaintance; here is the -opportunity. Can you persuade him, do you think, to come in and share -an omelette with a dull old country gentleman?" - -"That is just what I--" his friend's voice was beginning, when Aymar -hastily pulled off his spur altogether and walked out of earshot. By -the time he had readjusted it on the doorstep the young Colonel emerged -and said, smiling, "'Mme de Saint-Etienne' is anxious to make your -acquaintance, La Rocheterie. I am afraid I have already told him who -you are--needless to say, I can answer for his discretion and -sentiments rather better than for my own." - -"Your own discretion, my dear fellow, is as remarkable as if you really -had a lady in there!" retorted Aymar, amused, and putting an arm -through his. "But who is this veiled stranger?" - -"Oh, nobody in particular," said the youthful commander, getting rather -red. "But you know how peppery old gentlemen sometimes are if their -convenience is not consulted." - -Yet it was no "old gentleman" who was sitting at the window of the -parlour into which Saint-Etienne now drew his friend, but a man of -middle age with a distinguished and intelligent face--M. du Parc, to -whom Aymar was duly introduced, and whose conversation, as the three -sat at déjeuner together, he soon found anything but dull. M. du Parc -might be a country squire, but he had a very pretty, mordant wit -tempered by a great deal of natural bonhomie and humour; moreover, -L'Oiseleur could not help feeling that he possessed a wide experience -of life and of men, though exactly in what capacity he could not be -sure. But M. du Parc did not obtrude himself unnecessarily into the -talk; he rather listened with a sort of benevolent shrewdness to what -the two young Royalists had to say to each other. - -Saint-Etienne, it appeared, was much, to his disgust, under orders to -remain at Keraven for three days, according to some plan of Sol de -Grisolles, the general-in-chief of the Royalist forces in Brittany. "I -would not object to waiting," he announced, "if there were only a -chance of doing something meanwhile--and indeed I am rather expected to -make myself unpleasant, if I can. But I find I am not strong enough to -make an attack on the Imperialists over at Saint-Goazec, as I should -like to do." - -"Under a certain Colonel Richard, are they not?" enquired Aymar. "Is it -impossible? How strong are they?" - -"Too strong for me, and sure to be well disposed round Saint-Goazec, -which is easily defended country. But it is deuced tempting, because I -am pretty sure that they do not yet know I am here. But why indulge in -these dreams? I could not bring off an attack." - -"However, you ought to be able to dispose neatly of any parties that -they send out in this direction," observed Aymar. "I drink to your luck -in that respect." - -"Why leave it to luck, gentlemen?" interposed M. du Parc suddenly. "Put -a bit of cheese on the end of a string, and draw it along in front of -the mouse's hole, and the mouse will come out . . . especially if he -doesn't know that there is a cat in the neighbourhood." - -"But we haven't got a bit of cheese, sir," replied Saint-Etienne, -laughing rather ruefully, "and, moreover, if the whole mouse came out, -this cat alone is not strong enough to deal with him, as I have said." - -Aymar had fixed his eyes on M. du Parc. What wisdom and daring there was -in that smiling, rather inscrutable visage! He turned them on his -friend. "But if you had another cat to help you?" - -"Whom do you mean?" - -"Myself," replied L'Oiseleur, a gleam in his eyes. "My men are in the -Bois des Fauvettes." - -"But you could not move them over here rapidly enough, nor without the -Imperialists getting wind of it!" - -"No," agreed the young Chouan, "but I did not mean that. I meant that if -one could only get Richard to march out in that direction, we could -both leap on him simultaneously from our respective positions." - -"Yes," said his friend, "but to march out in that direction is, I fancy, -the last thing he is likely to do." - -Aymar propped his chin on his fists. "Then he ought to have some -inducement provided to make him march out--as M. du Parc has said, a -bit of cheese.--Have you got a map here?" - -Studying the two young men bent over it, M. du Parc himself here -remarked serenely, "Your little problem, gentlemen, reminds me of an -episode in the fighting in '95, when two Royalists of my acquaintance, -commanding bodies of volunteers, were in exactly the same situation as -you. They solved the problem rather neatly." - -"How?" enquired the couple eagerly. - -"By making one of the cats the cheese. My friend contrived to let the -Blues know that he and his men would be passing a certain point at a -certain time, meaning the Republicans in consequence to ambush him -there----" - -"And what happened?" asked Saint-Etienne. - -"The Blues were ambushed themselves by the other party," responded M. du -Parc, with a smile, "and the two Royalist bodies together accounted for -them completely." - -The light in L'Oiseleur's eyes grew, but Saint-Etienne said, "It was a -very risky move, though, sir--since it depended, I suppose, upon the -most exact cooperation." - -"Certainly--but twenty years ago one had to take those risks, so I have -been told." To which M. de Saint-Etienne, looking at the older man with -a little smile, said, "Yes, those were days of giants." - -Meanwhile, Aymar de la Rocheterie, returned to his study of the map, -observed thoughtfully, "When I get my supplies of ammunition I shall be -moving my men over the Aven. The bridge they call Pont-aux-Rochers, -between these wooded heights here--the bridge which I shall in fact -cross--would be an excellent spot for an ambush; but that ammunition, I -am sorry to say, will not reach me before the end of the week, and I -cannot leave the forest until I have it." - -"What a pity!" commented Saint-Etienne regretfully. "The bridge is -ideally situated for me, since, owing to this road here, I could -actually start some hours after the Imperialists and still get there -before them. And, as a matter of fact, an ambush would not be -essential. Your men and mine together would be able to account for -Colonel Richard, if only we could tempt him to come between us." - -L'Oiseleur took his head in his hands and thought. The plan appealed to -him very strongly. Could he not go back to the forest now and move his -men without waiting for the supplies? But the probability was that he -would then never receive these at all, and he was pledged to -cooperation with du Tremblay in eight or nine days, and would need all -the ammunition he could lay hands on. No, the idea must be abandoned. -He explained to Saint-Etienne why. - -"Besides," M. du Parc reminded them, "an indispensable part of the -scheme is that one of you must inform the enemy of your intended -movements, or of your ally's movements, if you will. And it is not, in -practice, a very easy thing to send information purporting to come -treacherously from your side in such a way that the enemy is ready to -believe it. The best plan," he added with a fine smile, "is to appear -to sell it." - -Aymar de la Rocheterie made a movement. "I think I would rather forego a -coup than do--or seem to do--a thing like that!" - -The smile grew. "Oh, _you_ don't do it, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," -explained this astute old country gentleman. "That would be a trifle -too suspicious; the enemy might not swallow the bait. One of your men -who has a grudge against you 'sells' the information." - -They all laughed, and the conversation passed to other matters; indeed, -not long afterwards Aymar was again in the saddle, wishing -Saint-Etienne, and being wished, good luck. And he rode off, thinking -no more of that half-forged scheme for luring out the enemy, save with -a moment's regret that it could not be. The same sun shone, he had -before his eyes the same face--the only face in the world for him--and -nothing warned him that in the _Abeille d'Or_ at Keraven Fate had sat -at table with him. - - -(2) - -The road went for a while under larches, absorbed in their enchanted -dream of spring; and L'Oiseleur rode beneath their green mist absorbed -in his own dream. He was thinking neither of the "Eperviers" nor of the -Emperor, but of the meeting full of pain and self-repression and -happiness towards which he was riding. - -Avoye de la Rocheterie--Avoye de Villecresne as she had been for the -last six years--was Aymar's first cousin. Her father had gone to the -guillotine with his parents; her mother, widowed at twenty-three, had -adopted the little orphaned boy of five, and for two years had given -him such care as her broken heart and delicate health could compass. -Then she, too, died, and the two children passed into the guardianship -of their paternal grandmother, the dowager Vicomtesse de la Rocheterie, -and by that redoubtable lady they had been brought up as brother and -sister. When Avoye was eighteen Mme de la Rocheterie, who was -determined that Aymar should not marry her, brought about for her -granddaughter what she considered a suitable match with a fashionable -and wealthy man much older than herself, the Comte Frédéric de -Villecresne. The inexperienced girl felt no objections to the marriage, -was even rather flattered by the attentions of this man of the world, -while Aymar, her almost brother, constituted so natural a part of her -life that she hardly figured to herself how little he would fill it in -the future. As for Aymar himself, the final arrangements were concluded -when he was away, and without his knowledge. Moreover, he was still a -minor. The marriage took place. Four months later Avoye left her -husband and went to live with relatives of her mother's in Paris. - -Over this outcome of Mme de la Rocheterie's schemes there took place at -Sessignes a combat as fierce as any which the château could have -witnessed since its foundation. Aymar, now of age, insisted that his -cousin should be invited to make Sessignes once more her home if she -wished. She had no other, and she refused to take her husband's money. -His grandmother pointed out that M. de Villecresne's house was still -open to her; on which the young man asked her whether even in the -crusading days of their ancient race any lady of the line had consented -to enter a harem. Plain speech was a luxury from which the Vicomtesse -never shrank, and she joined battle. It was most undesirable that Avoye -should return to live under the same roof as a young unmarried kinsman. -Aymar replied that part of her objection was mere hypocrisy, and -twofold at that; he knew that while, on the one hand, she cared not a -snap of the fingers for other people's opinion, on the other she -considered that no breath of scandal dare attach itself to a menage -over which she ruled. The rest was an insult to Mme de Villecresne and -to himself. Even apart from the fact, of which he professed himself -fully aware, that Avoye had no feelings for him other than for a -brother, as a Catholic she would never divorce her husband and marry -again--for Mme de la Rocheterie, though herself at heart a -free-thinker, was far too aristocratic not to have had her -grand-children reared in the strict tenets of the Church. And if his -grandmother placed so little reliance on his self-control, he would -contrive to absent himself a good deal, to travel, as much as his means -permitted, to go and fight abroad, perhaps. But Avoye should come back. - -And Avoye, not being to her knowledge in love with her cousin, did come -back, and in the end made Sessignes once more her home. Aymar carried -out his programme; but perhaps it was his very absences from the house -which was so full of the memories of their joint childhood which showed -her at last her own heart. Yet, however much now in name only, she was -still the wife of Frédéric de Villecresne, and as such she knew quite -well that her cousin regarded her. She had made the mistake of her -life; she must pay for it. But she did not realize how heavily Aymar -was paying, too. And no doubt it was only because of the tenacious, -self-denying Northern blood which the cousins shared that they were -either of them able to stand the strain of a position which made such -difficult demands, to go on waiting year after year, to face the -prospect of waiting, most likely, for years longer, until death should -remove the barrier to their happiness. - -At times, indeed, it did seem as if they might not have to wait much -longer. Last year, when Aymar had undertaken his self-imposed and -repugnant mission to Bath, to interview M. de Villecresne on a money -matter connected with his wife, he had found the profligate very much -of an invalid. He had recovered, it was true, and returned to France, -but he was ill again now--how seriously Aymar was not sure. Avoye would -tell him when he got to Sessignes. - -He had something to tell her, too--this new plan which he had just made -with M. du Tremblay, for (except his love, of which he was very chary -in speaking to her) there was little in his life that she did not -share. She was, in thought, the comrade of all his hopes and -enterprises--had once been a comrade in deed also. But for that he had -scolded her. - - -(3) - -The towers of Sessignes came at last into view--Sessignes, Sept-Cygnes, -the castle of the Seven Swans emblazoned on the La Rocheterie shield. -Little remained now of the feudal stronghold which the first Aymar de -la Rocheterie had built in the days of Philip Augustus, yet the -château's very position hinted at a warrior's eye. A later and softer -generation would have planted it, not on the scarp, but lower down -where the pastures sloped to the Aven, loitering here by banks of -meadowsweet. - -"Madame is well, Monsieur Aymar; but Mme la Comtesse was summoned away -about four days ago to M. de Villecresne, who is very ill," said the -old, tremulously smiling man-servant in response to his master's -enquiries about the family. - -Summoned away! She was not here! But the shock of that disappointment -was succeeded by the thought, "De Villecresne must be at the point of -death; she would never have gone to him else." Aymar's heart beat so -fast that for the moment he hardly heard what the old man was saying -further. But he mechanically took the letter which he was holding out, -and saw that it was addressed in the hand of his second-in-command, M. -de Fresne. - -"How did this come here, Célestin?" he asked in some surprise. - -"One of your _gars_ brought it, Monsieur le Vicomte, this morning, from -the Bois des Fauvettes." - -"He is still here?" - -"No, Monsieur Aymar. He went back at once." - -L'Oiseleur tore open the missive all the more hastily that he was -expecting nothing from that quarter. It contained a few words to say -that as the looked-for ammunition had arrived earlier than was -anticipated M. de Fresne was, in accordance with his leader's known -intentions, going to move the "Eperviers" over the river at once, -leaving their encampment in the Bois des Fauvettes at sunrise on -Friday. He should expect in that case to be across the Pont-aux-Rochers -by eight in the morning. It did not, he concluded, seem necessary or -even prudent (having regard to the reinforcements just received by the -Bonapartists at Arbelles) to wait for La Rocheterie's return in person, -especially as its exact hour was uncertain; but, knowing that he -intended to pass by Sessignes, he was sending this information there, -so that his leader should not attempt to go all the way back to the -Bois des Fauvettes, but could rejoin his force at some nearer point. - -Portions of this brief epistle were in cipher, but Aymar knew his own -cipher so well that he could read it off. The result rather annoyed -him. To-morrow was Friday; why could not de Fresne wait for his return? -. . . He was just going to put the letter in his pocket, when he -stopped, and, frugal of gestures though he was, smote his forehead. -"Dieu! why had I not this letter at noon at Keraven?" If only he had -known then that the ammunition had arrived, and that he could, in -consequence, safely move his men across the river, he would certainly -have concluded that tempting arrangement with Saint-Etienne. There -seemed a sort of grin of Fortune in sending the news now--just too -late. - -But was it too late? Letter in hand, he sat down under his young -father's portrait and thought rapidly. He would have to ride back -instantly to the _Abeille d'Or_, arrange with Saint-Etienne, send one -of Saint-Etienne's men to warn de Fresne--or better still, go -himself--and then somehow despatch information of de Fresne's movements -to the Bonapartists at Saint-Goazec. - -Yes, but how was he going to do that plausibly? There lay the difficulty -as that shrewd old M. du Parc had pointed out. One of Saint-Etienne's -men would have to play the supposed traitor. He might pretend, for -instance, to have stolen this very letter, and to be desirous of -selling it to the enemy . . . as M. du Parc had advised. - -Sarrasin, the great wolfhound, stared up at him anxiously as he leant -forward, his elbows on his knees. No, it would not do. The Imperialists -could not be lured to Pont-aux-Rochers in the time. There would be two -cats at the bridge, but no mouse. Because, even if he started this -instant to ride back to Keraven he could not get there much before -eleven at night, and, allowing an hour to thrash out the matter -thoroughly with his friend, and to coach up the supposedly traitorous -emissary, the latter could not reach Colonel Richard at Saint-Goazec -before six in the morning, which would be too late. - -L'Oiseleur got up rather sadly . . . and then stood still. For suppose -the letter was sent to the enemy, not from Keraven at all, but directly -and now from Sessignes itself, which was so much nearer--though he had -small idea to whom to entrust it. It would reach the Imperialist -commander this evening, in about two hours, in fact. Meanwhile, he -himself would be halfway back to Saint-Etienne, who had ample time in -any event to get to Pont-aux-Rochers before the enemy. - -And by this plan Aymar was really tempted. It had just that spice of -daring which appealed to him, and he began to walk up and down the hall -considering it. But in a moment he saw that it would be difficult to -make such a sending plausible--doubly, trebly so as in this case the -letter _must_ come directly from himself. And it was exactly that -coming from himself which his keen sense of personal honour could not -stomach. He had an innate aversion to even the semblance of -treachery--to even the appearance of such a horrible thing as the -betrayal of his own men. - -He thrust de Fresne's letter resolutely into his pocket and went to find -his grandmother. Had Avoye gone to her husband because release was -near? - -The silver swans of La Rocheterie, with the golden crowns round their -necks, sailed without progress on the azure of the shield above his -grandmother's head, where she sat by the hearth in the salon, slim and -upright, a book on her knee. She had been a very pretty girl--and not, -it really seemed, so long ago. - -She exclaimed with surprise and pleasure as her grandson appeared at the -door, since, though she had sometimes a very captious method of -showing--or cloaking--her affection for him, and often took a malicious -joy in combating him; at bottom she adored him--fiercely. For the -victory which, at one-and-twenty, his will had won over hers in the -matter of his cousin, she bore him no grudge. The grudge was against -Avoye, who had "spoilt his life," keeping him, the last of his line, -unmarried, when (especially since the Moulin Brûlé and the rest had -added a romantic prestige to his personal attractions and the fact of -his ancient lineage) he might, she felt, have carried off any heiress -in France. - -"So you have left your beloved Eperviers to see an old woman!" she said, -as he kissed her unwrinkled and still delicately coloured cheek. "But -more probably it was to see a young one. . . . She is away, though--as -you have doubtless ascertained already." - -"Célestin told me," replied Aymar, a trifle stonily. "He also told me -where she had gone." - -Mme de la Rocheterie looked at him, and then dropped her expressive -eyes. "But, since he did not know it himself, he could not calm your -agitation by telling you that I expect her back to-night. I almost -thought she would have been here by now." - -A flush rose in Aymar's cheek. Conscious of it, he turned away and -rested his spurred foot on the hearthstone, his hand above him on the -mantel. "And . . . de Villecresne?" he asked after a moment. - -Mme de la Rocheterie breathed a decorous sigh. "Poor Avoye, poor child! -She writes sad news." - -"What, is he better?" exclaimed the young man. - -"Aymar, think what you are saying!" But her mouth twitched with -appreciation. "On the contrary, she was too late. The Comte de -Villecresne died about three hours before she got there." - -L'Oiseleur drew a sharp breath, and, putting his other hand on the high -mantel, bowed his head between his arms. His face was quite invisible, -but there was no superfluity of colour in it now. After a moment's -complete silence he gave a sound which might or might not have been a -laugh. - -"What did you say?" demanded Mme de la Rocheterie. - -"I? Nothing," he responded, without moving. "But what I should like to -say is, For whom in the world is the news of de Villecresne's death bad -news?" - -"Possibly for his creditors," said his grandmother drily. "I suppose -that you have some idea of their number, since your visit to him. . . . -We sup in a quarter of an hour, Aymar." - -No meal in his life had seemed so interminable to the young man as that -of which he partook that evening with the old woman who had brought him -up, whose jealous, half-tormenting affection was perfectly aware that -his whole soul was full of the news she had just given him, the news he -had waited years to hear, and that his ears were straining all the time -for the sound of wheels . . . and who would not so much as glance at -the subject of Avoye's release, nor make even the slightest further -reference to her return. - -But she talked of politics--and he had to attend and reply: of the -coming struggle in the west--and he had to give his opinion of the -small movements which had already taken place; of the shock given to -the countryside by the Bonapartists' summary execution of a woman spy, -a peasant, a few days ago. "A foolish shock," was Mme de la -Rocheterie's comment. "Marie Lasserre knew what she was risking. And I -do not approve, in any case, of women aping men and usurping their -roles. If they do, they should at least be prepared to pay the same -penalty." - -No doubt she was hoping to get up an argument on the subject of Avoye's -exploit at Chalais, which had been so much talked about since the -Restoration. But Aymar did not accept the challenge. And, having -endured various thrusts at his want of appetite (which he hoped he had -disguised) he was able at last to escape from the table and the candles -and the necessity of answering coherently, to the place where a lover -should carry his rapture--under the open sky and the stars. And he went -across the grass of the rose-garden where, late as it was, a peacock -was parading, past the sundial and into the orchard, and leant against -a tree there. Truly his happiness was almost more than he could bear. -And he had waited so long for it--it seemed a lifetime. It _was_ his -lifetime. . . . - - -(4) - -He raised his head at last. Through the apple-boughs the stars peered, -laughing, and there was, as there should be, the fairy boat of the -young moon low in the west. It was indeed a night for her to come to -him, as any moment now she might come. She, too, should look at the -stars between the lattice-roof of blossoms--blossom and star herself. - -Nothing between them any more! that evil shadow which had made a mockery -of her life gone for ever! Aymar could scarcely believe it yet, but his -heart so ached with the almost intolerable joy of the thought that the -strange, sweet pain seemed to seal it as true. He reached up to the -tree under which he stood, and broke off a little bough with its -pink-flushed blossoms, pale now in the starlight. The branch was tough; -he had to tug at it, and as he tugged he felt something give round his -left arm. He knew what it was--that absurd talisman of his. - -He put the apple blossom to his face and kissed it, as he would kiss -Avoye when he gave it to her. Perhaps these moments . . . and still -more, those that were coming . . . were worth, after all, their heavy -toll of endurance and restraint, the meetings that were only pain, the -partings whose full sorrow might not be tasted, the enforced absences, -the perpetual struggle to be content with a little for fear of losing -all. But struggle was over now, and he could lay at her feet a heart as -clean as his sword. - -The peacock's jarring note roused him, and he remembered that the -_jartier_ was broken on his arm. Avoye should weave him a new one--but -not to-night. Early in the morning he would get rushes from the river, -and before he rode away she should plait him another bracelet and -fasten it on . . . if indeed it were necessary to continue this farce -nowadays. He never had to show that he carried on his person the -earnest of his good fortune and his prestige. But he must not let the -broken charm be found; and, putting down the apple blossom, he shook -the twist of rushes down his sleeve and drew it out. Strange that it -had broken like that, when it had survived much more strenuous doings! - -He was fingering it when he became aware of galloping hoofs in the -distance. His heart galloped, too--Avoye at last! No--it was a single -horse, a saddle horse; and it was coming along the little-used -bridle-path that led by the river and almost passed the orchard where -he was. Who on earth could it be? He went across the orchard and -vaulted the gate, and saw that the horseman, riding as a tired and -heavy man rides, had abandoned the path, and was making for the same -point. He must be coming to the château--must know the way well, -too . . . - -"Who is it?" Aymar called out. - -"Is that you, La Rocheterie?" returned a voice full of relief. "Thank -God, thank God! I did not know you were at Sessignes. I have brought -the most terrible news!--Wait a moment." - -He climbed stiffly out of the saddle. It was the Marquis de Vaubernier, -a neighbour and old friend of the family--Avoye's godfather, in fact. -He now came up to the young man, wrenched out of his ecstasy of a -moment ago into what he imagined to be tidings of some military mishap, -and said, "Your cousin Avoye is in the hands of the Bonapartists at -Saint-Goazec, and--Oh, my God, I can hardly believe it yet--they intend -to shoot her to-morrow morning!" - -"Nonsense!" said Aymar sharply . . . but the world went black. -"Impossible!" he repeated after a moment. "Marquis, you are dreaming! -What, in Heaven's name, should they do that for?" - -"Because you allowed her to obtain that information for you," retorted -the old man, tears in his voice. "Because they suspect her--unjustly -this time. They have her in custody at the _Cheval Blanc_ just outside -Saint-Goazec. And they will do it--I have seen their colonel. Have you -not heard about Marie Lasserre?" - -Aymar stood in the starlight as if he had been shot himself, so still -that the old Marquis, wringing his hands, exclaimed, "Good God, man, -can't you speak! There's no time to wool-gather! And find me some place -to sit down--I'm dead with fatigue!" - -"If what you tell me is true," said Aymar in a very quiet voice, "I will -go and give myself up in her place, of course. But I must know a little -more first." He opened the orchard gate. "Come up to the seat in the -rose-garden. I will not take you into the house. There is no need to -tell my grandmother." - -And in the rose-garden, sitting on a stone bench, to the accompaniment -of the discordant cries of the peacock, incoherently but convincingly -the Marquis de Vaubernier told his tale. - -He had been out riding when he heard that a lady travelling with her -maid had been detained by the Imperialist troops near Saint-Goazec; the -replies to his queries convinced him that the lady in question was Mme -de Villecresne, of whose recent journey he was aware; and, becoming -very uneasy, because, as he confessed, he could not help wondering if -they knew of her former "exploit" at Chalais, he went to the _Cheval -Blanc_, where she was detained, and succeeded in seeing the senior -officer there. The Bonapartist's curtness and obvious unwillingness to -speak of the matter alarmed the nervous old man still more, and when -the officer began, in his turn, to question him about the lady, his -chief desire was to get away, lest, as he said now, "I should let slip -something indiscreet about her. - -"And then, La Rocheterie, just as I was going to mount, a young officer -who had been in the room came up to me and said, very gravely, 'It does -not matter what questions you answer or do not answer, Monsieur, about -that unfortunate lady--nothing can make any difference now.' When I -asked him what, in Heaven's name, he meant, he said in a very low -voice, looking, as I could see, as if he could hardly bring himself to -tell me, 'Her fate is fixed; she cannot be allowed to go free. _We know -too much about her_.' And when, God help me, I still did not take in -the full horror of what he was saying to me, he whispered, 'Another -Marie Lasserre!' - -"Then, Aymar, I did understand, and I frantically caught his arm, and -said I would go back instantly and see their commander again. The young -man said, 'Useless! We, his officers, have all remonstrated. Yet we -have not quite given up hope, though one must say that, but for a -miracle, she will be shot to-morrow morning. A spy is a spy, even -though she be of noble birth.' Then, hardly knowing what I did, I said -I must see _her_ at once; but he declared that it was out of the -question, and that he himself would be cashiered if it was known that -he had even told me about it; that all I could do now for her was to go -home and pray. . . . So I did not see the child--I came straight here, -riding as I have not ridden for twenty years. And at least _you_ are -here. . . ." - -Aymar had stood rigid before him, his hands gripping each other behind -his back. Now he said thickly, "Marquis, it must be a mistake." - -"Whose mistake?" asked the old man. "Not mine! I wish it were! I tell -you the colonel's manner was most sinister, and when that young officer -held my stirrup for me I saw the tears in his eyes." - -"But perhaps it is not Avoye at all?" - -"They spoke of her by name. Besides, I saw her carriage in the yard--one -of yours." - -"But--but it is an incredible thing to do!" said Aymar, as one speaking -in a nightmare. - -"That is what everybody said about Marie Lasserre . . . but they did -it. . . . Oh, Avoye, my little Avoye!" He began to break down. -L'Oiseleur walked away to the sundial. - -When, after a few moments, the old man followed him there, Aymar was -slowly tracing out the figures on its metal plate, cold with dew. "What -are you doing, La Rocheterie?" he exclaimed, seizing him by the -shoulder. "It is your fault that she is in danger!--There's no time to -lose. . . . Think of something, for pity's sake!" - -"For pity's sake, be quiet then!" flashed out the young man. "Cannot you -see that I am trying to think of some way? Do you suppose that I do not -want to save her a thousand times more than you do--that I would not -give every drop of blood in my body to spare her a pinprick--that I -would not get on your horse this instant and ride to Saint-Goazec and -give myself up . . . if I could!" - -The passion in his voice silenced the Marquis de Vaubernier, and he went -off to the other side of the lawn. And Avoye's lover, his elbows on the -sundial, his clenched fists pressed to his head, was fighting hard -against the almost overwhelming impulse to do what he had -said--fighting because it did not seem to him consistent with his -honour and his obligations. Was he not bound to du Tremblay by their -joint scheme (more his, indeed, in conception than the other's), did he -not know that his own men were useless for any enterprise requiring -foresight without his leadership--that de Fresne knew nothing of the -fresh arrangements, and that without seeing him it would be very -difficult to ensure his grasping his part in them? No, if he -surrendered himself to this Colonel Richard, as he longed to do, though -for him it would only mean prison and inactivity (for of shooting him -there could be no question) he was making the enemy a present not only -of himself, but of his small yet valuable force as well, stultifying -his comrade's plans--in short, deserting his post. And yet it would -have been so sure, so easy; to have him, L'Oiseleur, in their hands, -they would certainly open the door of the cage to any woman, were she -ten times a spy. - -But if honour forbade him to surrender himself, what could he do -instead? Try to rescue her? Almost impossible, single-handed. None of -the servants would be of any use. If he had Eveno, or a couple of his -best men . . . but even the Chouan who had brought de Fresne's letter -had gone back. . . . - -The blood leapt to Aymar's face. Why, he had the way to save Avoye in -his very hands after all! He had only to utilize the scheme almost -completed that noon with Saint-Etienne--almost entered upon on his own -initiative when he found de Fresne's news. He had only to strike a -bargain before the information--the letter--was given up; and the very -fact that he had now a bargain to strike lent infinitely more colour to -the genuineness of the whole affair. In fact, Avoye's danger gave him -the pretext which had been wanting. He might not only save her, but -snatch also the military success which had so tempted him. Had he not -already contemplated the sending of that letter with nothing but that -success to gain by it? And, since Saint-Etienne and his regiment were -so much nearer Pont-aux-Rochers than the Bonapartists were, there was -no more risk than before: if he sent the letter at once, from -Sessignes, he still had ample time to ride back to the _Abeille d'Or_ -and complete the arrangements. - -He snatched his subordinate's letter out of his pocket. Vaubernier, of -course, must take it; he could not. The striking of the bargain--no -easy task--must be entrusted to that agitated old gentleman; but again -there was no help for it. His very agitation ought at least to convince -the Imperialist commander of the genuineness of the motive behind the -sending of the information. And though the scheme was less sure than -the one he longed to adopt--that of paying for his love's freedom with -his own--yet, if this Colonel Richard should suspect the existence of a -trap somewhere, so long as he was ignorant of Saint-Etienne's presence -at Keraven he could not possibly know in what the trap consisted. And -surely the chance--however much he recognized it to be merely a -chance--of crushing a very obnoxious enemy was worth more than the -gratification of shooting a woman. - -With the letter in his hand L'Oiseleur looked across the dim garden at -Vaubernier, considering what instructions he should give him in order -to convince Colonel Richard. And then it slid into his mind, more than -a little dizzied by the violent transition from rapture to horror, that -he was going deliberately to commit the very act on account of which he -had a few hours earlier rejected an alluring scheme. He was sending the -letter himself. In other words, he was about to sell information--and -information about his own men--in order to save a kinswoman's -life. . . . At least, that was how his action would appear to Colonel -Richard--how he must pray indeed that it would appear. . . . - -The spring night seemed suddenly very cold. Was he really going to lay -at an enemy's feet the most precious thing he had--his untarnished -honour? For Avoye's sake, yes . . . till the day came. When the -Imperialists fell into the joint trap prepared for them he would be -abundantly cleared. - -He went over the lawn. - -"Monsieur de Vaubernier, do you mind what figure you cut in this -business--not but what I am reserving the least reputable for myself?" - -"With Avoye's life at stake!" said the Marquis tremulously. "No, you can -make of me what you will." - -Aymar looked hard at him. Obviously it would really be more convincing -that Vaubernier should pretend to have stolen the letter from him, or -something of the kind, and should affect to be the person really -responsible. . . . No, in spite of his willingness, he could not let -him brand himself as a traitor--an old man like that--for the ensuing -military coup would hardly clear him, who had no part in it, as it -would L'Oiseleur. - -"I only want you to be an intermediary," he said firmly. "I propose, -Marquis, that you shall strike a bargain with Colonel Richard for my -cousin's safety with this letter, which contains important information -about the movements of my force to-morrow. It is a letter which I have -only just received from my second-in-command. You must assure Colonel -Richard that it is genuine, that you have had it straight from me . . . -and if he wishes to know how I could bring myself to do such a thing, -you must lay stress on the fact that Mme de Villecresne is my cousin. -You must not give him the letter till he promises to let Avoye go; it -would be better if you could contrive not to interview him with it on -you. . . . But I do not ask you to take any responsibility; all that -rests on me. You are merely a go-between." - -"I understand," said the old gentleman. "And I understand, also, of -course, that you intend----" - -"You had better understand nothing of the kind," put in Aymar quickly. -"Colonel Richard will question you; you must know nothing ---_nothing_--but that I am horribly concerned for Mme de -Villecresne's safety--which God knows is true enough!--and you will be -prepared to swear that the information is genuine, for I have told you -so, on the word of a gentleman." - -And, even as he said it, he wondered how much faith Colonel Richard, -when he got that letter, would put in the word of a man who could send -it. - -"Perhaps you had better not know, even, what is in it," he went on, -looking down at it. "Indeed, unless one strikes a light, you cannot -see. I think that I will seal it up. I can get into the house without -being seen." - -He went through the open window of the dining-room and lit a candle on -the writing-table there. But first he read the letter through again, -and realized that place and time, and a little besides, were -unintelligible, because they were in cipher. If the letter was to be of -any use as a bribe, he must with his own hand decipher these passages. -And Aymar hesitated, penetrated through and through with the horrible -apparent significance of what he was doing. But it _was_ only apparent; -it _was_ only a ruse. And, if he could help it, Avoye should never know -the means he was employing to save her; no more than he himself would -she like the sound of it. Vaubernier must, if possible, make it a part -of the bargain that she should not be told the reason for her release; -he must not even see her in person lest she should guess some -connection with him, Aymar. And almost more than from Avoye must what -he had done for Avoye be kept from his grandmother, who considered -already, as he knew, that his cousin had spoilt his life. It was for -that reason, not to spare Mme de la Rocheterie's sensibilities, that he -hoped even Avoye's danger might not reach her ears. It was just -conceivable that Avoye herself, on her return, might keep it from her. -If she did not return. . . . But that was unthinkable! - -Unthinkable or no, that nightmare thought had him in its grip as he -hastily wrote in the words above the cipher. Then he sealed up the -letter again with his own seal, and went back into the garden to -deliver it to his messenger. - -"_Sans tache_," he said to himself as he went. "Oh, Avoye, my darling!" - - - -"Ah, here you are at last!" said his grandmother, laying down her book. -"I was just thinking how delightful it must be to be young and not to -dread the dew. But I fear that we shall not welcome Avoye to-night -now." - -"No, I do not think that she will come to-night," answered Aymar without -looking at her. "And, if she does I shall not see her, for I must -rejoin my men without a moment's delay. I have come to take leave of -you, Grand'mère; Hirondelle is at the door." - -"What!" exclaimed Mme de la Rocheterie. "Is there anything wrong?" But -she saw in an instant that there was; at least, that he was holding -down some very strong emotion. And he was in uniform again. - -"I hope not. Not if I go back at once. Good-bye, Grand'mère." He took -her hand and lifted it to his cold lips. - -"But, Aymar," she said, roused to real concern, "you have been in the -saddle all day--you ate no supper. You cannot ride straight back to the -Bois des Fauvettes--you will kill yourself!" - -"I trust not to go as far as that!" he answered. "When--when Avoye -comes, tell her I had to go." - -"That is a pity," said the old lady, suddenly moved with sympathy; he -looked so horribly pale and drawn. "I hope, mon fils, that your bad -news is unfounded?" - -"I hope so, too," said Aymar, and was gone from the room. - -And when his grandmother, her book on her knee, heard Sarrasin's dismal -howling in the hall, she knew that he was gone from Sessignes -altogether. - - -(5) - -The April night, its scents and caressing breeze, meant little enough -now to Aymar de la Rocheterie as Hirondelle carried him away at a smart -pace from Sessignes--and farther from Avoye, too. That was the hardest -thing of all, to ride off and leave his love's fate in the not very -capable hands of the Marquis de Vaubernier--so hard that when the young -man had gone a quarter of a mile along the road to Keraven, he suddenly -reined up the bay mare and turned her half round. But no--it was done -now; nothing, not even an appeal from Avoye herself, could make it -other than infamous to go back. He had given the lives of his men into -Colonel Richard's hands until such time as he himself completed his -arrangements with Saint-Etienne. L'Oiseleur set his teeth and pushed -the mare forward. - -Waves of agonizing fear for Avoye broke over him every now and then; and -if they ebbed, it was only to be succeeded by a cold tide of distaste -at what he had done. Oh, if only he could have offered himself in -exchange, instead of engaging on this tortuous and insecure path of -outwitting the enemy! But to give himself up would not be honourable; -it would not really be the _beau geste_ of which it might perhaps wear -the semblance . . . even as what he had done instead was not really -vile, as it appeared. Yet he _had_ branded his own stainless name, -though it were but for a few hours. What if the blot did not wash off -so easily as he had told himself? A ruse . . . yes, but one with a -bargain involved. . . . Moreover, he was undoubtedly trying to trick -the Imperialists into giving him something for nothing. It galled -Aymar's fastidiousness, that idea. But surely Colonel Richard, a -soldier himself, would recognize the proceeding as a move in a game. -Aymar had not guaranteed that the "Eperviers" would be waiting at -Pont-aux-Rochers for the Bonapartists to snap up; he had only -guaranteed that that was what was planned. It was a contest as to which -could outwit the other. If only so much did not depend on how -Vaubernier conducted the negotiations! - -To ride fast was a relief, yet it surprised Aymar to find how quickly he -had covered half the distance back to Keraven. It was not yet one -o'clock in the morning. All the better. He had met the river again, -left it, and was going in the shadow of a wood when he heard a distant -shot. And, as he pulled up to listen, the thought struck him for the -first time, Suppose I fell into an enemy patrol and was captured--what -of de Fresne at Pont-aux-Rochers then? - -The idea turned him cold. How could he have been such a fool as to think -that there was no risk about this business? Till he was actually at -Keraven the whole scheme, all his men's lives, rested on his shoulders -alone. Nervousness about his own personal safety was a feeling which -Aymar de la Rocheterie had never tasted in his life; but he tasted it -thenceforward all the way to Keraven, and it had not a pleasant savour. - - - -The spire of the village church at last, standing up in the light of -dawn. He was here, unmolested, and drew his breath more freely. Then he -opened his cloak as he rode, to show his uniform for the benefit of -Saint-Etienne's sentries. - -But there were no sentries in Keraven. - -So soundly did the village sleep that not a window was raised as -Hirondelle's hoofs clattered on the cobbles of the _place_. And for -centuries her rider sat her there, under the church tower, motionless -and asleep himself--was he not?--in some cold and evil dream. Then the -clock above him struck the hour of three, and he knew that he had not -the fortune to be dreaming. Saint-Etienne's force, on which his whole -plan turned, and which was to have been at Keraven till Sunday, had -gone. - -A few minutes later, bending from the saddle, L'Oiseleur was hammering -frantically on the door of the _Abeille d'Or_. A nightcapped head--the -host's--came forth from a window. "How long has M. de Saint-Etienne's -regiment been gone?" - -"They left about four o'clock yesterday afternoon, Monsieur; a despatch -came ordering them off to Allonnes without delay. I will come down and -open the door, Monsieur de la Rocheterie." - -Allonnes! It was hopeless to contemplate their cooperation at that -distance. They had been gone eleven hours--ordered off not long after -his own departure yesterday. And Saint-Etienne had seemed so certain of -remaining! Still a little stunned, Aymar watched Hirondelle trying to -eat the honeysuckle on the trellis, and thought of the words used in -this place only yesterday about the cats and the mouse. Who was going -to be the mouse now? - -He pulled himself together. Though there could be no triumphant coup for -him, there need be no disaster. Having allowed plenty of time for -Saint-Etienne's infantry to get to Pont-aux-Rochers before Colonel -Richard could possibly reach it, he naturally had ample time to ride -beyond it himself. - -"Get me a glass of wine and a crust," he said hurriedly as the host -emerged half dressed, "and tell me, have you that English horse of -yours? I want him saddled at once, then--no, I'll do it myself while -you fetch me the wine. I shall do better to have a fresh horse, for I -must ride like the devil now to the cross-roads on the other side of -Pont-aux-Rochers." - -"Pont-aux-Rochers?" said the innkeeper. "Then you will be better -advised, Monsieur le Vicomte, to make a detour by Plélan and cross at -the ford, for the Blues' patrols may very well be out in strength on -the other road. I am not sure of it, but there were rumours last -night." - -Aymar remembered the shot in the night. He could not afford to meet any -patrols. "I will go round by Plélan then--but even so I can do it," he -added to himself. "Quick, the stable key!" - -Yes, he could easily do it, even by the longer route. He kept assuring -himself of that over and over again, as the English horse carried him -down the way by the ravine at a pace little short of dangerous. - -Who could have foreseen this horrible trick of Fate? Or had he been -incredibly rash in staking so much on Saint-Etienne's continued -presence at Keraven? Surely not, since Saint-Etienne had his orders to -remain there for three days, and on that assumption they had all but -completed their joint plan against the Imperialists. And, good God, -even had he known that there was a possibility of the regiment's being -ordered off, could he have done otherwise? Could he have left Avoye to -perish, even if this scheme were hazardous? - -But it was not of Avoye now that he was thinking as he galloped on under -the imminent sunrise. Despite the knowledge that, with a horse like -this beneath him, he could get across the river and intercept de Fresne -well before the latter reached Pont-aux-Rochers, his mind was obsessed -with horrible little vignettes of what would happen if by any ultimate -chance he failed to do it. He tried to shut them from his mental -vision, encouraging his horse, but husbanding him as a good rider can, -for almost everything depended on his staying power--himself -unconscious of fatigue, though he had been in the saddle, without much -intermission, since ten o'clock yesterday morning. - -By five o'clock he was on the Lande of Languédias, a desolate heathy -patch of country, riding very hard under clouds and wind. For time, it -seemed to him, was going even faster than he--or perhaps it was only -that the nervous strain was beginning to tell on him. And his thoughts -went faster than either. He wondered what Avoye were doing if . . . O -God, not if! . . . she were alive. Yes, she _was_ alive . . . free -. . . he was sure of it. . . . Rather, what were they saying of him, -Colonel Richard and his officers, as they marched to lie in wait at -Pont-aux-Rochers, unaware that he was racing them by the other -road--racing to stop what he himself had set in motion? - -Racing, yes! Why had he listened to rumours about patrols and gone -round--why had he been prudent against his own inclination? And he -would have done better in the end, perhaps, to have kept Hirondelle, -though she was not fresh. Yet this horse was going gallantly enough, -though the pace was beginning to distress him; there was foam on his -nostrils, and he was sweating more than he should. But de Fresne would -probably be rather after than before his time; he would not leave the -Bois des Fauvettes before sunrise, and there was always delay about -getting the men on the move. . . . It _could_ not be that he should -arrive too late; he had only about eight miles to the ford now, and -three beyond, and he could still get that much out of the innkeeper's -horse--at the cost perhaps of cruelty. He had not yet used the spur at -all; he was keeping that for the end. . . . And what if at the end he -found that the Imperialists were not at Pont-aux-Rochers at all, and -his men in no danger? In that case Avoye . . . but his mind, -shuddering, refused the alternative. No, his men _were_ in danger . . . -but only, please God, in such danger as he could avert. - -Aymar never was to spur the English horse. It was not more than four or -five minutes after this that it put its foot in a rabbit hole and came -crashing down. Its rider had just time to know what had happened, then -a curtain was drawn over everything. - -Later, he gripped the heather and pulled himself to an elbow, sick and -giddy. He had been flung clear. But a glance showed him that his -horse's neck was broken. He sank back again; the fall had been so -violent that probably only the springy heather in which he lay had -saved him from broken limbs himself. For a moment or two he was not -sure that it _had_ saved him. But he sat up again, his throbbing head -in his hands. His horse was dead; if not behind time already he had -little to spare; he had just lost . . . how much? and, worst of all, -there were no dwellings on the Lande, or at best only a miserable -cottage where it would be out of the question to procure a horse. But -somewhere, somehow, he _must_ procure one! L'Oiseleur staggered to his -feet, and, after standing a moment to steady himself and take his -bearings, started to run stumblingly through the tangled heather -towards a thread of smoke just visible about two miles away. - - - -"A horse!" mumbled the old man. "No, my young gentleman, no horses here! -A goat or two. Horses!" He emitted a high cracked sound of mirth. "Not -if you were the King of France himself!" - -A bundle of rags on the other side of the hearth disclosed itself in the -dim and smoky light to be a human being. "Maturin over at the -quarry-pit has a horse," it said, in the voice of a woman. "He uses it -for drawing up the stones--a strong beast it is." - -"Where is the quarry?" exclaimed Aymar. "Quick, it's life or death." - -They told him, slowly. They were not sure of the distance--two miles, -four miles? . . . He tossed them a piece of gold and ran out of the -hut. - - - -How long had he been in finding this place--out of his road as it was? -He only knew that he had nearly missed it altogether. And now the -quarryman was very unwilling to surrender his stocky grey steed--slow -enough, as one could see, but still . . . a horse. - -"I can't spare him, Monsieur, and he is not used to being ridden, and I -have no saddle." - -"That's not of the least consequence. Take off those traces quickly! I -will give you twenty-five napoleons for him--about twice what he is -worth--and if possible I will return him to you and not reclaim the -money. If that does not content you, I shall take him whether you will -or no." - -The quarryman did not look content, but this pale, stern young officer -frightened him, though he made no motion to use his arms. So he stood -sulkily aside, while Aymar got on to the grey's back; only, as he rode -off, he shouted _Thief!_ after him, and threw a few stones before he -sat down to recount the money. - - - -Of all tortures, to ride a slow horse when the very heaven and earth -depended on its speed! Once or twice Aymar thought of abandoning it and -taking to his own legs again, but by spurring the grey without mercy he -did get out of it a certain measure of progress. And there was his own -bodily fatigue, which he could no longer disregard, to reckon with -also. Oh, for half an hour of Hirondelle! But even Hirondelle could not -get him there in time now. - -The ford over the Aven at last! All that shining water had come down -from Pont-aux-Rochers! What had it seen there? - -The grey did not like it; he refused to enter. Twice Aymar lashed and -spurred him; then, desperate, he jumped off, and, in water himself to -mid-thigh, tugged him over. It had meant fresh delay, but nothing short -of a miracle could save the Eperviers now. Ironically, the quarryman's -horse went better after the contest. But all the last three miles his -rider's mind seemed to revolve round one word. Nothing but a miracle -. . . a miracle. . . . O God, send a miracle! - - - -At the cross-roads, not a sign. Had they passed or no? A little way off -in a field, a girl was herding goats. He called to her. - -"Yes, Monsieur, some Chouans--a great many--went by about an hour ago. -There has been firing since. They went along there--towards the -bridge." - -Without a word Aymar set spurs to his horse. There had been no miracle. -But at least he might be in time to die with them. - -Even that was denied him. A mile or so farther along the road turned -sharply to the left; and here, where it was wide and tree-shadowed, and -had a spacious grassy margin on one side, he saw the first fugitives of -all. There were perhaps a dozen; they ran past him in twos and threes, -panic-pursued. Not one had a visible wound. They had just run . . . his -men. - -He did not try to stay them, for even in that hasty passing he had seen -that they were his newer, his least reliable recruits. Then he came on -one fallen by the roadside, with another bending over him. For an -instant he pulled up. - -"What has happened at the bridge?" he asked, but his voice stuck in his -throat, for he knew. - -"It was a cursed trap!" answered the man, panting. He did not look up. -"The Blues . . . ambushed there . . . they have made mincemeat of -us. . . . See, Yannik, if I tie this round your leg you could get on -farther." - -"O God!" said L'Oiseleur, and rode on--rode on blindly to see more men -running under the trees on either side, to hear himself at last called -by name, to find himself then in the midst of a small body retreating -with some semblance of order, and, clutching his bridle convulsively -and looking up at him with wild eyes, his youngest officer, Clément de -Soulanges, a boy of twenty--to hear him crying out of the clamour, "La -Rocheterie, La Rocheterie, why were you not with us? It was awful . . . -I have got away what I could . . . and I think Magloire Le Bihan has -got more . . . he had the rearguard . . . but all the rest----" - -"De Fresne?" - -"Killed, I think. I saw him go down. The Imperialists were all posted -there--they must have known!" And he half broke into a sob. "Oh, -L'Oiseleur, L'Oiseleur . . . !" - -"We will go back to the bridge," said Aymar, turning his ghastly face -away. "My children----" - -A man suddenly scrambled down the high bank into the road, a huge -Breton, breathless and bloodstained. "I saw you, L'Oiseleur, from the -field. We are making for the forest again. You have heard what -happened? God's truth, if we could find the man who did it! My nephew -lies there. . . ." - -"We will go back and avenge him," said Aymar quickly. "How many men have -you over there, Magloire? Bring them into the road. Have they all their -muskets?" - -"Go back!" ejaculated the giant. "You are mad, Monsieur le Vicomte! -After the trouble we have had in getting away as many as we have! The -place is a shambles, more or less!" - -"Magloire is right," said young de Soulanges. "You were not there. -Believe me, it is of no use! The front ranks were eaten up--those that -were not killed. Besides," he added, sinking his voice and pulling with -a bleeding hand at his leader's arm, so that L'Oiseleur bent his head, -"besides, I doubt if you could get them to follow you!" - -And looking round the men whose moods he knew so well L'Oiseleur saw -that this was probably true. It would have been a terrible blow, had he -been capable of feeling it. - -"Very well," he said between his teeth, "then I shall go alone. Stand -back, please!" - -The boy clung all the tighter. "La Rocheterie, you are our only hope! -Don't desert us! Oh, don't do that! It is suicide . . . and to what -purpose?" - -To what purpose, indeed! Aymar tried to loosen the bleeding fingers. De -Soulanges clasped his boot. - -"You will only get yourself captured, La Rocheterie," he sobbed, "and -what good will that do?" - -Captured! That was the last thing Aymar intended--and by Colonel -Richard, too. . . . The fugitives, hearing the altercation, were -pressing closely round his horse now, supplicating like children that -he should not abandon them. And he saw Magloire's face of black -amazement as he turned suddenly round and heard. - -Well, he could always do it later on by his own hand. Aymar made a -supreme effort, and, rallying all his faculties, began to issue orders -as quickly and clearly as if, in the last few minutes, the whole of -life had not gone sliding down to ruin. - -And somehow he got them back, straggling and disheartened remnant that -they were--ninety odd out of five hundred men--to their old quarters in -the Bois des Fauvettes, where for the present they would be safe, and -where (almost more important still) they felt that they were safe. And -there they lifted him, stiff and spent, from his horse--L'Oiseleur, who -had heard of the ambush and had nearly killed himself in riding to warn -them of it, L'Oiseleur, who was so terribly distressed at what had -befallen their comrades, but who, at least, was with them again. Could -they do too much for him? - -Their simple care for him was the final sword-thrust; and when, having -dragged himself into the deserted little woodcutter's hut which was his -own old headquarters, it became apparent that his right arm and -shoulder were by this time temporarily useless from his fall, and -Clément de Soulanges, wounded as he was himself, had insisted on -rubbing them for him, it had been all Aymar could do to refrain from -putting one of his pistols into the boy's hand and saying, "If you want -to do something for me, use _that_!" - -But soon he was too utterly exhausted for remorse or horror or any other -emotion to play on him longer. He threw himself down on his couch of -bracken and sleep descended like a pall. The long day was over. - - -(6) - -But there was a waking--only too early. And by five o'clock next -morning, when Aymar, very drawn but composed, was giving orders to -young de Soulanges, he had already lived through years of torment. He -was despatching Clément to warn du Tremblay of the disaster, and to -tell him that in consequence he must not count on the support of the -"Eperviers." And he had further ordered Clément--much to the latter's -dismay--not to return to him, but to remain with du Tremblay. - -"For I shall probably have to disband this remnant before you can get -back," he said. "You see that, Clément, don't you?" - -"Yes," said the boy miserably. And as he stood with bent head, fumbling -with the bandage round his fingers, he added, "Am I to tell M. du -Tremblay that there was probably treachery at the bridge?" - -L'Oiseleur turned his head away. "You can tell him . . . that it looked -like it," he answered after a moment. - -When Clément was gone he sat down at the little table in the hut and -covered his face. He had chosen de Soulanges to carry that bitter but -unavoidable message because he was fond of him, and wanted to get him -out of the way before he took his pistol in his own hand, or before the -inevitable consequences of the disaster came on him from without. For, -safe as his remaining men might consider themselves in the Bois des -Fauvettes, Aymar knew better. In a day or two the Bonapartists at -Arbelles, hearing of the affair at the bridge, would certainly follow -up their comrades' success and clear out the relics of that nest of -hornets in the wood. And, if he himself had not blown out his brains -before that happened, he could then die sword in hand, which would be -preferable. So either he must disband his men in time, or make a last -stand. - -Yet, now that he had heard fuller details, he knew that the affair had -not been so actually bloody as he had at first been given to -understand. The trap had been so well set that, after the first -discharge from the hidden foe--and in particular after M. de Fresne had -been seen to fall--the leaderless front ranks had been obliged to -surrender. But they comprised his best, his oldest followers; it was -the least devoted, the least trustworthy who, being in the rear, had -escaped, and these would be all the harder to get in hand again. -Moreover, worn out though he had been by the close of yesterday, it was -clear to Aymar that the ambitious hopes of the big Breton, Magloire Le -Bihan, which for some time he had suspected, had vastly grown during -his few days' absence, and were likely to swell still more, now that he -found himself virtually second-in-command. Aymar's very soul was sick -as he got up and went out to inspect his men's depleted equipment--so -sick that something whispered to him, "Why not tell them that it is -you, and you alone, who brought about the catastrophe?" But in that -case reorganization would be hopeless. - -He did not sleep at all that night, and he knew that under the strain of -his paralyzing secret he was beginning to lose his faculty of decision. -Some of the men were slipping away already. On the other hand, there -was no sign of an attack on the wood. He knew that the Imperialists had -always credited him with more followers than he actually possessed. If -they were hesitating on that score he could still keep their -communications cut a little longer by stopping where he was. Magloire -supported this idea. - -So all Sunday he did his best to reorganize the handful that was left to -him. - -About nine o'clock a letter was brought to him. The handwriting was -Avoye's . . . and Avoye seemed now to have receded into another world, -and that hour in the orchard to belong to a life not this. Since his -return to the wood the thought that he had saved her (as presumably he -had) at the cost of other men's blood--men sent blindly to the -slaughter--was so terrible that he had not been able to face it. Now -here was a letter from her. - -He went into the hut and opened it with unsteady hands. It was from -Sessignes, and dated April 28th--Friday. So she was safe--had returned -unharmed. But did he not know that by what had been paid for her -return? He read: - -_"Oh, my dearest, to have missed you, and at such a time! And by so -little, as it were! I could have arrived last night, though late, had I -but known that you were at Sessignes. If only I had! For though I was -stopped at the 'Cheval Blanc' at six o'clock yesterday evening by a -body of Bonapartists, and detained there for a few hours (on account, I -believe, of the movement of troops) at ten o'clock I was told, very -civilly, that I could continue my journey if I wished."_ - -Aymar stopped reading, and leant dizzily against the wall of the hut. -Was he going crazy? She "would have arrived had she but known"! At ten -o'clock, when Vaubernier was still in the rose-garden at Sessignes, she -had been told "very civilly" that she was free to proceed--she who was -to have been shot in the morning! . . . He read on to the end, the -letters dancing before his eyes. - -_"As it was, seeing that it was already late, and that I was tired, and -since I had Agathe with me, and was quite unmolested by the officers at -the inn (having in fact kept my room all evening) I decided, -unfortunately, to spend the night at the 'Cheval Blanc' and proceed -early next morning. But this morning I was told with equal civility, -but quite firmly, that I could not do so for the moment, and it was not -till about four in the afternoon that I was allowed to go on. (I -suppose that troops may have been on the march again, but what movement -I did hear was at daybreak.)"_ - -_"And then I got home, and heard that you had been here last night and -had gone again--gone suddenly, having received bad news. It seems as -though Fate were determined that we should not meet yesterday, and that -I should not tell you myself the news which (though I have prayed and -do pray for him, Aymar) I am not hypocrite enough to pretend was -anything of a grief to me. But I will not write any more about it; I -cannot. Shall I not see you soon?_ - -"_. . . That is, if all is well with you and your men? I do not like what -Grand'mère told me of your departure. It seems to me that my anxiety -for you weighs heavier--now. Send me a line to allay it! Oh, why could -we not have met yesterday! God keep you!"_ - -_Why could we not have met!_ Aymar staggered over to a chair. She had -never been within a hundred miles of danger--except perhaps through his -own action, which appeared to have caused her a further detention. -Vaubernier had then surrendered the letter without ever finding out -that the peril was non-existent. No question of driving a shabby -bargain with Colonel Richard; Colonel Richard had thoroughly outwitted -them both--he had evidently kept Avoye until he was sure that her price -had been paid. But there need never have been a price. . . . O God, -there need never have been a price at all! Some mistake . . . some -terrible misunderstanding--Vaubernier's--the young officer's . . . his -brain reeled . . . Vaubernier's, probably. Did it matter whose? It had -done its work. All the blood it had spilt was wasted; he had sent his -men to death and ruined himself to no purpose whatsoever. - -The shock was such that it almost deprived Aymar of the power to think, -and he sat for hours at the table, the letter open before him, staring -at the lantern which lit its quiet and shattering phrases, as near to -madness as a healthy brain can be and yet not touch its border. When -daylight came he put the letter and a pistol in his breast, and went -out into the forest, so haggard that the men who saw him pass whispered -that L'Oiseleur was getting stranger and stranger, that he was -bewitched. . . . And this was May Day, too . . . when much magic was -abroad. - -But perhaps it was the May morning which joined hands with Aymar's own -youth to pull him out of his pit of horror and despair. And he had a -strong will; for years now he had been obliged to keep a tight hold on -his emotions, only his hot temper sometimes escaping his control. He -lay on the shore of a lake of bluebells, and, though he lay face -downwards, their scent, their multitude and their incredible colour -flooded his brain like strong music. Out of this miraculous blue swamp -soared the old, steadfast trees, brilliant and tender with promise. And -there, after a while, Aymar resolved that this should not be the end. -At twenty-six, with his past, to die by his own hand or by a -self-sought death--it was a confession of complete guilt. Open -confession of his partial guilt was doubtless the easier way to deal -with the burden of his secret, but it could avail no one; it would -almost kill . . . two women. No, he must set his teeth, and though to -be with his men, suspicious, indeed, but not suspicious of him, was -little short of torment to a fastidious sense of honour, he must do it. -If she had never been in danger it was going to be much easier also to -keep from Avoye her central part in the tragedy . . . though Heaven -alone knew how that part had been fastened on her. And who of his own -party would believe a report of L'Oiseleur spread about by the enemy? -More than all, in intention he was absolutely innocent. Never had he -meant to sacrifice his men, even for Avoye. He was _not_ a traitor, -and, but for the most appalling ill-luck, he would not now be wearing -the semblance of one. - -On his way back he met Magloire Le Bihan, who asked to speak to him -about the men's attitude. According to him, they were by this time -demented over the question of the ambush, and were searching for a -victim of their suspicions. And when Aymar observed that an ambush was -within the laws of war Magloire retorted, - -"That depends which side is responsible for it. Come, now, Monsieur de -la Rocheterie, it is too late in the day to ignore the fact that there -was treachery over Friday's business!" - -Aymar measured him. "It strikes me, Magloire," he said frigidly, "that -you are a little forgetting that you owe your present position to -accident, and that if you do not modify your tone you will find your -tenure of it exceedingly short." - -A gleam of rage shot into the Breton's deep-set eyes. "Accident! -Pont-aux-Rochers was an accident, was it? How was it then, Monsieur le -Vicomte, that you knew of it beforehand, and rode to warn us?" - -"That is my affair," returned his leader. "It is enough that I did ride -to warn you; you all know why I was too late. If that is all you wish -to say to me, you can go. Keep the pickets out in case of a sudden -attack!" - -"If that happens, I dare say we shall find that someone knew of that -also beforehand," muttered Magloire darkly. - -"Then you will remember that I warned you of that, too," retorted Aymar. -"I advise you to profit by the warning." And, turning on his heel, he -left him. - -Once inside the hut again he felt very tired. Two nights without sleep, -three days of the most harassing remorse and strain, and now a passage -of arms with his only efficient subordinate! But that Magloire, in -spite of his words, had no suspicion of _him_ he was certain. It was -jealousy and wounded vanity which were driving him. He would have to -give him his congé directly it was possible. . . . - - -(7) - -About two o'clock he was sitting at the rough table trying to work out a -map from memory (all his effects having been lost at the bridge) when -he heard something like an altercation at the door. The next moment it -opened to admit a man who shut it behind him and stood facing him -without a word--a lean, tallish man of about thirty-five, hard-featured -and blue-eyed, and bareheaded save for a bandage round his forehead. - -Aymar stared at him, amazed almost beyond speech. - -"Good God! De Fresne! Then you were not----" - -"I escaped--a careless sentry. No, not killed, if that is what you mean. -Did you think I was?" - -Aymar's head swam for a moment. He was unfeignedly glad, but with de -Fresne he would probably have to have the matter out. He sprang up, -holding out his hand. - -"Need I say what I feel? But you are hurt!" - -"Nothing much. I was stunned for a time." Then, glancing at his leader's -outstretched hand, the second-in-command looked him in the face. "I can -take your hand, La Rocheterie; can you take mine?" - -The red ran over Aymar's features from chin to brow, and, ebbing, left -him very pale. He dropped his hand. "What have you heard?" - -Still looking at him very hard de Fresne put a hand inside his coat. "I -have _seen_ something--something I would almost give my eyes not to -have seen--my own letter in the hands of the enemy! But since, in spite -of it, I find you here with the men, cannot I hope that there is some -mistake about it--that it was stolen . . . lost . . . mislaid, perhaps -. . . and that you did not deliberately send it to Colonel Richard as -he says you did?" - -There was entreaty and pain in the harsh voice, and a loophole in what -it said. No! - -"I would rather not lie to you, de Fresne," answered L'Oiseleur. "I -. . . did send your letter to Colonel Richard. I will tell you why." - -"If you please," said the other stiffly. "You will pardon me if I sit -down." And he walked past him to the table. - -"I am sorry I have no wine to offer you," said Aymar. "When did you last -have food?" - -"I need nothing, thank you." He had spread out the letter on the table -and sat back, rather haggard under his bandage. Aymar came and sat down -opposite him. - -"How did you get the letter back?" he asked quietly. - -"Colonel Richard had me in when I was recovered, and asked me if I had -really written it, and if I thought you had really sent it. I said that -was inconceivable, till I . . . till I saw the deciphered passages and -recognized your writing. On that I said it must have been stolen from -you, and I asked for it, and Richard let me have it--was glad, I think, -to be rid of it, as if it soiled his fingers--and when I escaped . . . -For God's sake, La Rocheterie, be quick and explain the business!" - -"It is quite simple," answered Aymar with dry lips. "I took a risk which -I see now that I ought never to have taken." And, after a moment's -preparation, he embarked on the story, leaving out all reference to Mme -de Villecresne, and making it appear that he had sent the letter purely -as part of a ruse--as he so nearly had done. To avow, with the blood -scarcely dry on the stones of Pont-aux-Rochers, that he had sent it to -save her was more than he could bring himself to do. It would be -dishonouring her. Yet he knew that the suppression was hazardous. - -"And that is the explanation," said de Fresne slowly at the end. "That -is why I find my letter in the enemy's possession, and why there has -been this horrible disaster--merely because you were tempted to bring -off a coup? And that is all you have to tell me?" - -"Yes, that is all," said Aymar with a slight shade of hauteur. - -De Fresne suddenly pushed away his chair and rose, went to the little -unglazed window and looked out, then came back and flung himself down -again. Aymar watched him, sick at heart. He _knew_--or else he -disbelieved. - -"But there is more," the elder man jerked out. "There is more--you know -it! Why do you keep back half, you whom I have never known to lie, when -I want so much to believe you? What about that bargain with Colonel -Richard?" - -"I have not said anything about a bargain." - -"Exactly. That is what I complain of. Because Colonel Richard did." - -For the second time Aymar turned white. "What did he tell you?" - -"Merely that--that you sent the letter as part of a bargain struck with -him. He did not specify what the compact was. But how could any compact -with the enemy be honourable? You tell me the whole thing was a ruse; -perhaps the bargain was part of the ruse then--a mere pretext to make -them swallow the bait? If so, of course . . ." - -He looked at him questioningly. And L'Oiseleur sat silent, very pale, -staring at the knots in the rough table. Since, miracle of mercy, -Colonel Richard had held his tongue as to the nature of the bargain and -since, in the event (though not in intention) the bargain had proved a -farce, no bargain at all, how easy to say so? But he had enough on his -soul. He shook his head. - -"You will not tell me what it is?" asked de Fresne. - -"No. But there was nothing dishonourable in it. I got nothing----" But -here he stopped. - -"Then who did? There must be two parties to a bargain. Is there any one -in the world, La Rocheterie, for whom you ought to sacrifice four -hundred men--and your own honour?" - -Aymar winced. "I have told you, de Fresne," he said rather hotly, "that -the last idea in my mind was the possibility of my men's being victims. -Have I shown myself so careless of them in the past?" - -De Fresne shook his bandaged head. "It looks very bad. If you refuse to -say what the bargain was, it will certainly be thought to be a -dishonourable one." - -"I cannot help what people think. And--pardon me for referring to it--I -have a certain reputation." - -"Yes," agreed the older man. "Yes, that is the tragedy of it." He put -his hands up to his head and sighed. "Such an unheard-of thing--to send -a letter with vital information straight to the enemy. . . . You have -offered me an explanation which I do not doubt is true as far as it -goes, but which has the most important factor left out. How can you -expect it to satisfy me? My opinion, you will perhaps retort, is not of -much account, but you must recognize yourself, La Rocheterie, that you -are in a horrible position. This story will be all over Brittany in a -few days, for all Richard's officers know that you sent the letter." - -"Well?" - -"What steps are you going to take about it?" - -"None," replied L'Oiseleur, leaning his head on his hand. - -De Fresne stared at him, frowning. "I do not think that you are taking -this business seriously enough." - -And at that Aymar raised his head and laughed. "Yes, if not having had -any sleep for two nights, if thinking about it every moment of the -twenty-four hours, and having only this morning finally made up my mind -not to blow my brains out is not taking it seriously, then I am not -doing so!" - -"I'm sorry," said his lieutenant briefly. "Do you intend, then, just to -go on and disregard--what will be said?" - -"I thought I would try that," replied Aymar, leaning back in his chair -and suddenly looking very young and tired. "I would rather tell the -men, but it could do no good, and I think I ought to pull the remnant -together and keep the enemy's communications cut a little longer.--You -see, after all, I am not entirely bought by the Imperialists!" - -"I never said you were," retorted de Fresne gruffly. "But I think that -you will find yourself obliged to take some definite step.--May I say -what I think you ought to do?" - -The young man nodded. - -"Give up your command for the time, go to Sol de Grisolles, and ask for -a military enquiry, so that you can justify yourself." - -"Give up my command--have myself put under arrest!" exclaimed -L'Oiseleur. "No, certainly not!" He looked at the giver of this -unwelcome advice a moment and added, "May I ask what you mean by -'ought'--that it would be to my advantage, or that you conceive it to -be my duty?" - -"Both," answered de Fresne with brevity. - -Aymar's eyes flashed dangerously. "Are you going to teach me----" he -began, and then, with a great effort, stopped himself. "Tell me, have -you communicated any of your knowledge to the men?" - -"No, of course I have not. Except for some necessary converse with -them--in which I learnt that you were here--and for trying to assuage a -certain excitement that there was over my reappearance, I came straight -to you.--You are aware, no doubt, that they are out of hand?" - -"Very well aware! And yet you suggest that I should vacate my command!" - -"It would not, I admit, be a happy moment to succeed you, La Rocheterie, -even temporarily. But I will take the command--if you offer it me." - -Aymar sprang to his feet. "Monsieur de Fresne! This is a little too -strong! I gave you leave to advise me, not to dictate to me!" - -"Don't quarrel with me, La Rocheterie! believe me, I don't want to!" And -de Fresne's tone showed it. "Won't you do it?" he asked again after a -pause. "It is the only profitable step that you can take." - -And for an instant or two, as well as his wearied brain would let him, -the young man did weigh the proposal. But he had just, with no small -effort, screwed himself up to quite another course. This course would -involve having the core of the business dragged out into the light of -day, the unveiling of Avoye's unconscious share in the disaster, the -bandying about of her name, her relations to him. . . . - -"I am sure that you are advising me to the best of your ability, de -Fresne," he said more gently. "And I beg your pardon if I was rather -short with you just now, for, Heaven knows, it would be a thankless -task you would take up. But I cannot do what you ask." - -Nicolas de Fresne sat for a moment without moving; then he got to his -feet with a sigh. "Very well," he said. He looked down at his left -side. "My sword is in the enemy's hands, so I am unable to ask you to -accept it, save figuratively." - -Aymar stepped backwards as if he had been struck. - -"I cannot do anything else," said de Fresne, looking at the hut wall -beyond him. - -"You are resigning because I will not!" - -"If you like to put it that way." - -"Then you . . . you do think that ugly thing of me, de Fresne! Don't you -know me--don't you know my family history? You, who have fought with -me, and know what memories I carry, you think I _could_ betray my -dead!" - -"I cannot reconcile it with my sense of honour," replied de Fresne, -standing up very stiff--the stiffer, no doubt, that he was moved by the -agony in the appeal, "that you refuse to take the obvious method of -clearing your name. I do not say that I think you a traitor, for, as -you say, I know you. . . . But, painful as it is, I must ask you to -excuse me from serving under you any longer." - -Save for the sweep of a pine-branch over the roof the silence was then -absolute. In that silence Aymar put his left hand on his sword; and -very slowly his head went down on his breast. - -When he lifted it his mouth was set, his eyes very bright. "I hope my -sense of honour is not less keen than yours, Monsieur de Fresne," he -said quietly. "I must beg to refuse your sword. . . . I will ask you, -instead, to accept mine." And, unfastening it, sheath and all, he laid -it on the table with the hilt towards his second-in-command. - - -(8) - -". . . Does not that satisfy you?" asked Aymar after a moment. "I cannot -do more." - -De Fresne woke from what seemed a stupor. "You have done too much. Take -it back--I never meant that! I have no right to demand your sword. Take -it and put it into the General's hands." - -His leader gave a little smile. "I had just as soon surrender it to you; -and you have none yourself now.--But perhaps you would rather not wear -mine." - -De Fresne looked from the sheathed blade on the table to its owner, and -abruptly held out his hand. - -But Aymar shook his head. "No--not yet. Afterwards, if you like. . . . -And now, how are you going to account to the men for my departure?" - -"You will have to say something yourself, I think, L'Oiseleur.--My God, -how I hate doing this!" - -Aymar had sat down again. "Let me put you in possession of certain facts -before I leave you," he said composedly. "First, about du Tremblay. Of -course I--you--cannot support him now. I sent de Soulanges to him on -Saturday morning with the news, but you must know nevertheless what his -plans are. I believe I have not yet destroyed the cipher notes I made -at our interview." He searched in a pocket. "No, here they are; and I -can leave them with you as a memorandum. I put them into cipher because -secrecy as to his real intention is all important. You see that on -Friday next he proposes to move along the Aven in such a way as to -deceive the Bonapartists into thinking that he means to cross. But he -will not cross; his real objective is Chalais, which, having caused the -enemy to concentrate, as he hopes, on the wrong side of the river, he -calculates on carrying by a coup de main. Meanwhile--what's that?" - -He sprang up, thrusting the paper back into his pocket, for there had -come a sudden rush of feet and of excited voices outside, and--an -unprecedented thing--the hut door was abruptly flung wide, revealing -two or three of the Eperviers. For a second L'Oiseleur stood amazed; -the next, he strode forward. - -"What is the meaning of this? Who told you to come here?" - -A confused babel from outside answered him. All his remaining men -appeared to be there, and among them, of course, the towering form of -Magloire Le Bihan. But he seemed to be trying to keep the crowd back. - -"If you have a spokesman I will hear you," said Aymar, frowning. -"Otherwise, leave my quarters at once!" - -One of the foremost invaders, advancing a little over the threshold, -thereupon threw out a hand towards de Fresne, and said meaningly, -"Perhaps _he_ can explain what happened at Pont-aux-Rochers!" And -instantly other voices took him up. "He knows who the traitor was!" -"L'Oiseleur, make him tell us!" - -A swift glance passed between Aymar and his subordinate. It was seen and -misunderstood. A roar went up. - -"Comrades, it was M. de Fresne himself! And L'Oiseleur knows it!" - -More Chouans began to crowd in, threateningly; the narrow doorway was -blocked. Very angry, Aymar advanced on the invaders. - -"Leave my quarters at once, men!" he said imperiously. "No, M. de Fresne -is no traitor--far from it! There has been no treachery in this -business, only a mistake." - -The Eperviers retreated a little from before him, but the hut was not -cleared. "Mistake . . . mistake!" the word was flung about. "A mistake -that needs atoning for!" "M. de Fresne's then!" "Let M. de Fresne -explain why he led us into an ambush!" "Aye, and let him explain why he -moved us out of the wood here while L'Oiseleur was away!" - -"M. de Fresne has nothing to account for," cried his leader hotly. "And -if he had, he accounts for it to me, and not to you!" - -"L'Oiseleur knows that it is M. de Fresne," repeated the originator of -this idea stubbornly. "That was why he came riding all that way to warn -us. Let M. de Fresne come out and answer for himself!" - -They were horribly tenacious when once they had got an idea into their -heads; Aymar knew that well. And this most fallacious notion must be -dispelled at all costs. A little behind him, his arms folded, de Fresne -was now facing the intruders with a slightly ironical expression. The -men pushed forward once more. - -"Give us up M. de Fresne, Monsieur de la Rocheterie! Let him come out -and explain to us!" And all at once a perfect howl went up. "What is -that paper he is putting into his coat?" - -For the elder man, suddenly remembering the incriminating letter lying -on the table behind him, had turned his back, and was now thrusting it -into his breast. - -"Go out of this place!" exclaimed L'Oiseleur. He laid a hand on his -pistol. "I will shoot the first man who stirs another step. Go outside, -all of you!" - -They surged back a little. - -"May I speak to you, sir?" enquired Magloire from his place in the rear. -Aymar could not but motion him to come forward. After all, he was an -officer, and had certainly not been inciting the rest . . . at this -moment, anyhow. - -The giant came, saluting. "I told you, Monsieur le Vicomte," he said in -a low voice, "that they were crazy about this idea of treachery, and -now, if there is going to be a mystery, there will be no holding them. -Why is M. de Fresne hiding that paper? There'll be violence if you -can't explain!" - -Yes, de Fresne was hiding a paper--to save him! It was _his_ doing that -his lieutenant was in this utterly false position. What must he be -thinking? Intolerably nettled, Aymar acted on the first impulse that -came to him--a thing he was always too prone to do when the risk was -his alone. - -"You are right," he replied, "and there shall be no mystery. I will show -you myself what is in that paper, and then you will know that M. de -Fresne is perfectly innocent in the matter of Pont-aux-Rochers. -Monsieur de Fresne, give me that letter! You shall have it back." - -De Fresne turned round, appalled. "La Rocheterie, don't do it!" he -whispered. "They will not touch me. Don't show it them, for God's -sake!" - -His words, for all that he had dropped his voice, were audible in the -stillness which had now descended. And they produced, not unnaturally, -a tenfold stronger impression of his own guilt than before. Something -like an ugly rush would have taken place towards him but that the -doorway was so narrow and that L'Oiseleur, springing between him and -the assailants, drew a pistol and cocked it. The wave in consequence -swayed back again. - -"Give me the letter, de Fresne!" he repeated over his shoulder. - -"No, no--it's too dangerous!" - -"Dangerous! At least, then, it shall be dangerous to the right person! -Give me the letter!" - -And, the pistol in his right hand directed at his followers, Aymar held -out his left. - -"God forgive me!" said de Fresne. The letter changed hands. Aymar -replaced the pistol and advanced to the door, and, seeing that he was -really coming outside, the men huddled hastily into the sunshine. Aymar -followed them. - -"Which of you can read?" he asked, looking round. - -"You, Goulven, and you, Hervé Le Bihan? Come here, then. You see this -letter, which is from M. de Fresne himself--there is his name at the -end--and that it is to tell me, as was his duty, of the move he was -going to make over the bridge. You can read that, eh? Well, that is -all--that is the paper which you foolishly think he was trying to -hide." - -He kept the letter in his own hands, while, bending over it on either -side, with grunts and efforts, the two men laboriously went through its -contents, repeating the words aloud, unperturbed by the deciphered -passage. And Aymar looked over their heads at the rest and wondered -what was going to happen next. To hold them in rein now needed a tight -grip, and he was very tired, and more than heartsick. . . . - -"Well, are you satisfied?" he asked patiently. - -"Yes," said Goulven slowly, "that is what M. de Fresne did--he took us -to this place, the bridge of Pont-aux-Rochers. But why did he write it -down so that the Blues knew it?" - -"I tell you," said the young man, not patiently this time, "that he -wrote it to me, while I was away, so that I should know it." And as -they bent their heads once more, and tried to peer at the address on -the other side, he added, "You can see for yourselves that it was sent -to me at Sessignes," and turned over the letter. - -As he did so de Fresne, behind him, made, unseen, a gesture of -desperation--and Aymar himself turned cold as he saw, on the top -left-hand corner of the reverse, a bold endorsement in another hand -than de Fresne's . . . "Sent to me by the Vicomte de la Rocheterie, -called 'L'Oiseleur', on the night of April 27th, 1815.--A. RICHARD." -He shifted his hold of the paper like lightning, so that his left hand -covered that corner instead of the lower; but even so the signature was -visible. Perhaps the slow minds of his followers would not grasp its -meaning. . . . - -"There, Hervé," he said carelessly, managing to master the swift impulse -to snatch the whole thing quickly away, "you see this was really sent -to me." And he was on the point of folding up the letter when a hand -fell on his left wrist. It was Magloire's. He had been looking over the -shoulder of his cousin Hervé. - -"Wait a moment, L'Oiseleur," he said coolly. "What is Colonel Richard's -name doing on the outside of this letter, then?" - -Aymar's blood leapt up at the presumption of the grasp and the tone. He -looked at Magloire with such fire that the giant, muttering, "I beg -your pardon," recoiled. And Aymar, clutching at the first excuse that -came into his head, said haughtily, as he folded up the letter, "M. de -Fresne has been a prisoner; it is quite natural that Colonel Richard -should have examined his papers." - -As acting his composed demeanour was excellent, but the excuse he had -given was, as he instantly recognized, not so happy. It was admitting -that de Fresne had had the letter in his possession again. And as a -result the man Goulven, evidently bewildered, remarked, "But that -letter could not have been among his papers, Monsieur le Vicomte. He -sent it to you; you said so. You had not sent it to him!" - -"No, not to _him!_" broke in Magloire significantly. And, thrusting -aside the man between them, he faced his young leader. "There was -something else written in the corner, L'Oiseleur. Your hand was over -it. Let us see that!" - -He had thrown aside the scabbard. It was war. But before Aymar could say -anything de Fresne, pushing forward, exclaimed quickly, "What Colonel -Richard wrote on my papers only concerns me. Give me my letter back, -please, La Rocheterie!" - -Instantly the dull and tenacious suspicions of that crowd were -rekindled. "No, no, M. de Fresne wants to hide it!" was shouted, and -the words "ambush," "treachery" began once more to fly about. - -But Magloire Le Bihan was unmoved by them, and simply repeated his -request a little more threateningly. "Will you let us see what is -written on that letter, Monsieur le Vicomte, or must we take it from -you?" - -"Take it from me!" exclaimed Aymar, at boiling pitch. "_Take_ it!" Then -he suddenly stopped. - -There was a tense pause. Under the wide-brimmed hats with the pendent -ribbons the eyes of all those eager, saturnine faces were fixed on him. -Should he tear the letter up? No--they would seize the fragments, and -the very action would be a confession of guilt. He stood on the edge of -an unimagined precipice; better to leap in than be pushed. - -"Very well," he said contemptuously, "you can see it . . . and make what -you can of it!" He held out the letter to Magloire, half turned his -back on him, and folded his arms. Almost instantly Magloire smote the -letter and burst into a hoarse laugh. - -"Listen, _les gars_, what is written on this letter--what L'Oiseleur was -trying to hide!" And slowly, clearly, he read out the endorsement, read -it twice, "Sent to me by the Vicomte de la Rocheterie, called -'L'Oiseleur', on the night of April 27th, 1815.--A. RICHARD." - -But his hearers were so puzzled that they merely gaped in silence. - -"You must be fools if you don't understand!" shouted Magloire, -brandishing the letter. "It is not M. de Fresne at all--it is -L'Oiseleur himself who has betrayed us--L'Oiseleur who sent this with -his own hands to the Blues to tell them that we should be at -Pont-aux-Rochers last Friday morning . . . and took care not to be -there himself!" - -Aymar leapt forward. "How _dare_ you----" he began; but his words were -drowned in uproar. "It's not true, Magloire, he came to warn us! -L'Oiseleur, say it's not true!" That brief monosyllable was hurtling -about like a missile, as he braced himself to meet the crucial moment -with the knowledge that his hold was slipping, slipping. . . . But -there was no hesitation in the way he faced the questioners. - -"It is quite true, men," he said steadily, "that I sent the letter to -Colonel Richard, but the doing so was part of a plan for----" - -He got no further, for the simple reason that he could not make himself -heard above Magloire's triumphant bellowing.--There was nothing for it -but to shoot him out of hand. He drew his pistol, cocked it, and -shouting, "I will give you three seconds to stop that noise!" levelled -it at the mutineer. Almost immediately his pistol arm was seized. -Furious, and as surprised as furious, Aymar turned on his assailant to -find that it was Hervé, Magloire's cousin. "Let go my arm instantly!" -he cried. He almost succeeded in freeing it, but in the struggle he -lost his pistol; at the moment it was dragged from his hold the hammer -fell and a man near clapped his hand to his arm with a scream. Next -second Magloire himself had seized his leader's other arm and laid a -powerful hand on his shoulder. "He will shoot us all if we are not -careful!" he shouted. - -For an instant longer Aymar threw every ounce of his strength into the -endeavour to throw off the double grasp. But Magloire only laughed; -even L'Oiseleur, no weakling, was but a child in his hold. Aymar ceased -struggling. If it was useless, it was a mistake. - -But Le Bihan was going too fast for the majority. Out of the clamour -came cries, almost terrified cries, of "Don't touch him! Let him go, -Magloire--it will be the worse for you! He has the _jartier_! The -_jartier_, Magloire! Let him go!" - -And the rebel was obviously taken aback for a moment; he had forgotten -to reckon with a superstition which he did not share. For one instant -hope flared up in his captive's brain--and died as quickly. Deliverance -would never come on that score! - -"_Has_ he got it?" yelled Magloire, his eyes on the young man's face. -"Has he got it? The luck would never stay with a traitor!" - -A quiver went through L'Oiseleur from head to foot. - -"No, he must have it!" cried the bewildered voices. "He always wears it. -Show it us, L'Oiseleur!" - -Aymar, white to the lips, retorted, "I shall show you nothing of the -sort till Magloire Le Bihan is shot for insubordination!" - -"We need not wait for any conditions of that kind!" sneered Magloire. -"_I_ will show you, since L'Oiseleur is so reluctant." And before Aymar -guessed what he was about he had drawn his hunting knife and inserted -it under his left sleeve. - -Less because of what that action must inevitably bring to light, than -because it was so intolerable to him to be held as he was and subjected -to search, Aymar did once more try violently for a second or two to -withdraw his arm from the iron grip. It was scarcely, therefore, Le -Bihan's fault that the two-edged hunting knife cut rather more than it -was intended to do. An instant later Magloire's powerful hands had made -short work of the seams of coat and shirt alike; these were ripped -asunder to the shoulder, and he was gazing delightedly at the bare arm -he held captive. - -He laughed. To him, as to L'Oiseleur himself, the amulet was a farce to -overawe children, but the life of him who once wore it might be -hanging, for all that, on the absence of that frail circlet of rushes. -Aymar had never given the _jartier_ a thought since it had broken in -that blossomladen place which had witnessed alike his brief moments of -happiness and the beginning of this black hour, but now . . . Was that -going to undo him in the end--the foolish, half-fraudulent charm he had -thought he need wear no longer? - -He was for a moment barely conscious that Magloire was holding his naked -arm upwards at full stretch so that all could see the talisman was -gone. Moreover, down that arm was now running a thread of crimson ---blood like any other man's. L'Oiseleur, of the charmed life, was no -longer invulnerable . . . and naturally, since he no longer wore the -charm. - -The effect of the double revelation on those superstitious minds was -paralyzing. The Eperviers began to huddle away in silence from the -leader who had been so lucky because he wore the amulet--and who, by -the same reasoning, was a definite source of ill-luck because he wore -it no longer. The _jartier_ had left him; therefore anything was -possible. And it was May Day . . . when much magic was abroad. . . . -Magloire read all this in the fierce, frightened faces; he nodded -across to Hervé, made a sign, and his own immediate partisans closed -round, so that the giant was able to let another man take his place, -and be free to direct the course of what he had at last accomplished. - -Aymar suffered the change of guardianship without protest. What was the -use of fighting the situation any longer? If his men, his own men, -could turn against him like this. . . . Yet Eveno would have been dead -at his feet before a finger could have been laid on his leader . . . -but he himself had sent Eveno to death. . . . Out of the bad dream that -it had all become now he heard only de Fresne's voice, hot and -incisive: - -"M. de la Rocheterie is my prisoner, men! He has already given up his -sword to me, and he will answer for any mistake that he has made -to----" - -"No!" broke in Magloire still more incisively, "he is ours! And he will -answer to _us_, Monsieur de Fresne! Take him down to the clearing, -_gars_; we can go into this matter better there." - - -(9) - -They took Aymar down the little slope from the woodcutter's hut. He went -unresisting; he was in the snare, the snare of his own devising--he, -the Fowler . . . and now he began to be sure that there was only one -way out of it, and this wood was to see that way taken. - -The clearing was some hundred yards long and thirty wide; the beech -trees in all their new glory stood round it, dazzlingly green against -the more reluctant oaks. There were windflowers scattered under them -like snowflakes, in one place, half seen, a pond of bluebells, and at -the farther end a May tree, robed as a bride. - -Magloire had preceded the little procession, and was now standing near a -large solitary beech at the nearer end of the glade. When they came up -he pointed to it in silence. - -The Vicomte de la Rocheterie, descendant of Crusaders, flushed deeply. -"I give you my word of honour not to stir from this spot," he said in a -low voice. - -The Chouan shook his head. "You might be tempted," he replied curtly. -"And if, later on . . . Hi, Eloi, fetch a rope!" - -And Aymar set his teeth hard as his guards, after a second or two's -hesitation, pressed him back against the smooth grey trunk, rocklike in -its solidity. Even before the rope was brought someone produced a piece -of rough cord, not very thick, and, extending his arms behind him part -of the way round the great tree, they fastened the cord to either -wrist. By that device alone he was effectually a prisoner. The biting -shame of it surged over him in a tide of wrath and defiance. - -"Guilen--Coatsaliou--Le Merzerr--Gloannec!" he called out suddenly, "are -you going to stand by and see this done?" - -A huge hand came across his mouth, forcing his head back against the -tree trunk. "We are all going to see justice done, Monsieur le -Vicomte," said Magloire, the hand's owner. "If it has to be done on -you, so much the worse for you! But done it will be." And as he removed -his hand from the disgusted lips the rope, which had meanwhile arrived, -was passed across L'Oiseleur's shoulders and tightened. And when it was -knotted firmly across his shoulders, across the middle of his body, and -just above his knees he could not stir a quarter of an inch. - -"That will do," said Magloire. "Now Monsieur de la Rocheterie can answer -our questions." - -Aymar's lip curled. "Do you imagine for a moment that I shall do so, -after this?" he demanded. - -"You would be wise," said Hervé Le Bihan sombrely. "We have a right to -ask." He came closer. "Monsieur de la Rocheterie, why did you send M. -de Fresne's letter to Colonel Richard?" - -Aymar took no notice of Hervé, but, turning his head, the only part of -his body which remained now at his own disposal, he looked steadily at -the arch-rebel who had broken his dominion, subjected him to an -undreamt-of humiliation, and was no doubt contemplating the last -supreme outrage, and said, as coldly as if he were judge, not victim, -"My reason was given to M. de Fresne; when it was offered to you, you -refused to hear it. It is a farce to ask me for it now, and you know -it!" - -At that, as though it were an appeal to him, de Fresne sprang up from -the log at some distance on which he had been sitting, his head in his -hands, during the carrying out of the indignity which he was powerless -to prevent. "L'Oiseleur is right!" he cried, coming into the centre of -the clearing. "He has given me his reason; he is ready to give it to a -court of enquiry, the only tribunal which has the right to demand it." - -Magloire shook his head. "We want no courts of enquiry. We are judges -here! Let us have the reason!" - -De Fresne looked appealingly at the beech tree. - -"You can tell them if you like," said its captive indifferently. - -And de Fresne had to bring out, as the only hope of saving his leader, -the justification of the latter's conduct which had been so far from -satisfying him a short time ago. He did his best with it. - -When he had finished there was silence for a moment. Aymar, in a -curiously detached way, was trying to consider what he should say if he -heard that explanation for the first time. He was also becoming aware -of the extreme discomfort, not to say pain, caused by the position of -his strained arm and shoulder. The discomfort was not likely to grow -less. - -"Now, Monsieur de Fresne," said Magloire, "tell us honestly, as you are -a gentleman, what you thought of that explanation of M. de la -Rocheterie's?" - -De Fresne had not expected this, evidently. After a second or two's -unhappy pause he said, looking on the ground, "Everybody is liable to -make mistakes of judgment. I----" - -"Give us a direct answer, please!" interposed Magloire. - -"Tell the truth, de Fresne!" said Aymar suddenly. "It is always best." - -The elder man glanced at the sardonic and defiant face, with the lock of -rust-coloured hair, disordered in the struggle, fallen across the brow, -and looked away. "I . . . I did not think it altogether satisfactory," -he said unwillingly, "and so I advised M. de la Rocheterie to give up -his sword--which you see he has done--and to submit himself to a court -of war." - -A growl broke out. "They do not like that term, my friend," observed -Aymar. "They prefer private murder." - -"It was not murder then, when you sent five hundred men to the death you -had prepared for them?" asked the president of this tribunal, and Aymar -did not answer him. For the last time, possibly, the vain and scorching -tide of regret rose up about him, to the very throat. . . . But he was -paying now--he could hardly pay more bitterly if they did proceed to -murder him. . . . Murder him? No, surely, surely it could not be that -he, Aymar de la Rocheterie, L'Oiseleur, was going to end like this, -here and now. . . it was unthinkable. . . . - -He came back to hear de Fresne saying, "What I believe is that M. de la -Rocheterie had some other reason for his action which he did not see -fit to reveal to me. And it must have been a good reason, worthy of -L'Oiseleur, of the leader who held the Moulin Brûlé." Then his -agitation got the better of him, "Oh, for God's sake untie him! you -can't realize what you are doing--you, his own men!" - -"Our leader, L'Oiseleur, exists no longer," said Magloire Le Bihan. "If -M. de la Rocheterie has any further explanation, as you suggest, he had -better give it to us at once." - -"May I speak to him?" asked de Fresne suddenly. - -"If you promise not to touch the ropes," answered Magloire. - -"I promise," said de Fresne. - -He came up to the tree, whiter than Aymar himself. "La Rocheterie, -aren't you going to try to save yourself? The bargain--what was it? You -must reveal it now!" - -Aymar looked at him gravely. "Mon ami, I cannot." - -De Fresne smote his empty hands together. "Tell them something! I cannot -do anything more. It rests with you alone now." - -L'Oiseleur shook his head. "What I should tell them would do me no good -in their eyes--though it was not dishonourable. And even if it would -save me, I would not tell them--now. . . . No, leave me to my fate, de -Fresne . . . but try to get them to be quick about it!" - -"You should never have shown them the letter!" said his lieutenant, -tears in his eyes. "I would rather have let them think that I was to -blame. If only I had not come back . . . if only I had not brought the -letter! Oh, my God, to see you there like that . . . it is too -dreadful!" - -"No, you are not to blame," replied Aymar steadily, though de Fresne's -words made the ropes seem tighter. "You acted as an honest man in -coming back to me with the letter . . . I can't shake hands with you -now . . . I would like you to keep my sword if you will?" - -De Fresne looked hard at him, nodded, dashed the back of his hand over -his eyes, and, turning away without another word, carried his agitation -and, evidently, his arguments, into the midst of the discussion which -was going forward, with obvious differences of opinion and with -frequent glances towards the beech tree. - -Aymar suddenly felt that he had been there a long time. The sun was hot; -his head was aching, and he would have given anything, almost, in the -world--though everything was ceasing to have value for him now--if he -could have had his arms unbound. - -And now Hervé and one or two others were coming to him again, Magloire -remaining at a distance. "Monsieur le Vicomte," said the former, "you -have heard what M. de Fresne has said. He has acknowledged that he did -not find your explanation of your conduct satisfactory"--de Fresne -suddenly looked round, anguish on his face--"he says that you gave up -your sword and were going before a court of war. But we--what is left -of us after the trap you arranged for us at Pont-aux-Rochers--consider -that we have a better right to try you than a lot of gentry of whom we -have never heard. Do you still refuse to say anything in your own -defence?" - -"I do, most emphatically," returned Aymar. "I acknowledge no right of -the kind. You have defied my authority, you have outraged my person, -and even if you intend to kill me in cold blood I shall not plead to -you. You need not therefore waste time!" - -So they went away--rather hesitatingly, it was true--and seemed to enter -into fresh discussions from which de Fresne's voice emerged from time -to time; he appeared to be threatening them. Aymar had an impression -that they were drawing lots, but on the whole he felt curiously little -interest in their deliberations. He found the delicate little -windflowers at his feet more interesting; what a pity that they had -been so trampled! More and more the peculiar effect of strain and lack -of sleep was beginning to make itself felt--that sensation of having a -hollow in one's brain, of being maimed of one's faculties. But it did -not matter now . . . though it _had_ mattered up there by the hut, -before his control of the mutineers had slipped from him. Yes, he had -made a mess of that; he ought to have shot Magloire at once. . . . "But -I did not seem able to make up my mind," he murmured, as if he were -speaking to someone near. "And besides, everything was my fault." The -windflowers looked up at him then with their shy compassion. - -He lifted his head and gazed down the clearing at the shifting groups in -their gay embroidered jackets, blue and yellow and white. They seemed a -little blurred; did this strange feeling which was growing on him -betoken faintness? Whatever they did to him it would be intolerable to -faint first; they would think he was afraid. . . . Could he bring -himself, rather than risk that, to ask to have his arms--only his arms -untied? Not yet . . . Oh, how slow they were! - -Suddenly, out of nowhere, came a vision of Avoye, waiting for an answer -to her letter . . . the answer that, now, she would never receive . . . -that he would never write--walking perhaps on the terrace under his -window, with the dog Sarrasin beside her, thinking of those long years -of patience, and how they had ended at last. . . . _How they had -ended!_ And they were ending like this! - -For a second or two the young man was hard put to it to keep his -composure. He threw his head back against the great pillar behind him, -the heart in him beating with fury and longing and shame. Still, under -his tight-shut lids, he could see her--grave, but with a little smile -round her beautiful mouth--while he, who, holding her tenderly, should, -only four nights ago, have bent to kiss it, had his arms stretched out -behind him and was fastened himself immovably to a tree, in the sight -of all his men. . . . Another wave of faintness crept towards -him. . . . - ---And then the dullness in his ears was suddenly rent. Two men, shouting -and gesticulating, were running through the undergrowth towards the -central group, and, as he heard what they were crying out, Aymar -understood in a moment what had happened. They were his outposts, and -the Bonapartists were advancing on the Bois des Fauvettes. - -The news fell like a bombshell into the unprepared Chouans. A few ran -bewildered among the trees, seeking cover; the majority were snatching -up their muskets, but with panic in every movement. De Fresne and -Magloire, however, had not lost their heads; the former was obviously -trying to marshal the men into some kind of order to get them away. The -tension held Aymar more painfully than his bonds. For there was . . . -surely there was . . . a chance that he might be forgotten in the -confusion! De Fresne had never once looked in his direction; with a -drawn sword in his hand--which must be _his_--he was shepherding the -men hastily out of the clearing, pointing the way, shouting -encouragements; and Magloire, still farther away, was doing the same. -And the men were obeying--they _were_ filing out. It was not going to -end like this, after all! - -Was it true, indeed, or a dream, that de Fresne had actually turned -back, and was running stealthily up the side of the clearing under the -trees, the bare blade in his hand? He could soon free him with that! O -God, if only nobody turned and saw! - -Vain hope! De Fresne was only a few yards off when Magloire came running -into the clearing again. "No, no--that will not do!" he shouted, -dropped to one knee in the middle and took a quick, steady aim at the -beech tree's target. - -There was a flash, a report, and a violent blow as if someone had struck -him in the left shoulder. Aymar gasped a moment with the shock; then he -saw de Fresne standing with the sword half lifted. - -"Oh, for God's sake put it through me and finish this!" he called out to -him with entreaty in his voice, and set his teeth. But the elder man, -with an oath, sprang for the side of the tree. Before he got there -Magloire, still kneeling, fired his second barrel, but this time the -bullet missed by an inch, whizzing by Aymar's ear into the trunk beside -him. "Go back--you'll be hit!" shouted L'Oiseleur; but de Fresne had -already been seized by two Eperviers who had hurled themselves on him, -and Aymar saw that, farther down the clearing, another man had his -musket at the level. - -If only it might be through the heart this time, and this purgatory be -ended! But with the report came a hot and searing sensation in the -right side, and the young man, biting his lips, writhed mutely for a -second. The next, the whole scene began to swim away from him; yet he -heard, or thought he heard, a sort of long breath of horror or -satisfied vengeance run about the place, and a voice that might have -been Magloire's cry something about Pont-aux-Rochers. . . . His head -fell forward on his breast. - - - -So he never saw how de Fresne, cursing wildly, freed himself from his -assailants, and turned to the urgent business of leadership, since the -tragedy was now played out. But the two men who had seized him, as they -left the wood, turned and fired at the motionless figure against the -tree. One shot sped over the bowed head into the trunk of the beech, -the other ploughed straight across L'Oiseleur's breast, cutting the -ribbon of his Cross of St. Louis as neatly as though it had been done -on purpose, and sending the cross itself spinning to his feet. But he -never moved. - -And after a little the clearing, recently so clamorous with emotion, was -quiet again, and a bird, hopping cautiously out on a twig of the beech -tree, looked down with one round, bright eye on the strange fruitage it -bore. Probably it had never before seen a man stand so still. - - -(10) - -The bird had flown away when Aymar came out of that vague place of -forgetfulness to realities. As he lifted his head he wondered dizzily -why he could not move; then why someone was pressing a knife across his -breast. . . . The rest was coming back; that he could not remember. He -looked down, and saw that a furrow had been cut clean across his -uniform, just below the rope--and not of his uniform only. And his -Cross of St. Louis lay among the trampled windflowers. It all came back -. . . too clearly . . . - -They had left him here, to die, alone, in pain, in ignominy, in the -uttermost shame that could befall a soldier--his own men. And here, -lashed immovably to this hateful tree, sick with the constraint of his -position as much as with the pain of his wounds, and bleeding fast from -all of them, but unable to lift a finger to staunch them--here, on his -feet, looking down the clearing at the drift of hawthorn blossom, he -would remain till he died. - ---No! not while there was his scarcely broken strength still in him! The -determination to be free suddenly possessed him like fire, and now that -only the tall trees watched him he began to struggle like a trapped -animal. But, even with the most furious efforts, he could hardly move -his body at all, for, as he soon found, he was too tightly pinned above -the knees. And, even had the ropes not held him so relentlessly he -could not, try as he would, get his arms free of the separate cord -which held them back, almost agonizingly by this time, against the -great trunk behind him. Each of his efforts only tightened its grip on -his lacerated wrists--for they were raw and bleeding before he desisted -from tugging. And all the while a cuckoo mocked him with its monotonous -and mechanical cry, which held no hint now of the meanings of spring, -but only a horrible mirth. "You are fast, you are fast, you can't get -away!" . . . Yes, this was going to be the end, _his_ end, after all! - -Nor was it, plainly, very far off. The only effect of Aymar's struggles -had been greatly to increase the haemorrhage; the warm stream coursing -down his body from his side had not only soaked by this time through -his uniform, but was appearing as a spreading stain on his white -buckskin breeches. He looked down at it--and at the other stains, too. -It was hard to believe that he, young and strong as he was--or had -been, half an hour ago--was about to die merely from that, the ebb -which any charitable hand could have arrested, which his own might -possibly have staunched if they had not been so simply but effectually -fettered. . . . Yet that was what was going to happen--unless someone -came in time. - -But who could come, except the Bonapartists? And to be found by them -would be intolerable, for his situation admitted of one explanation -only. All the countryside knew of his defeat. It would be almost better -to die than that . . . even by this death, lonely and dishonoured as it -was, the death without alleviation of any kind, which for Avoye's sake -he had brought upon himself--and in vain. - -For the first time a groan broke from him--only to be swallowed up in -the chorus of birdsong with which the green, deserted wood was now -ringing. He made a last effort to wrench himself free. Useless . . . -useless! But--if only he might have seen Avoye to explain before he -died. What would she hear . . . afterwards? She would have all the rest -of her life for the evidences of his guilt to penetrate the unbelief -with which he knew quite well she would meet them at first. Gradually, -as the truth leaked out, she would be forced to believe him guilty in -that sense in which he never had been guilty, since he had suffered a -disgraceful penalty for an act of rashness to which that merciful term -would never be applied now. . . . Oh, if only he had carried out his -intention of this morning, and made an end of himself before the wild -hyacinths became a blur of pain to the sight, and the trees in their -spring bravery merely so many stakes to be tied to! He could have lain -dead with less disgrace, hidden by the bluebells till they died. - - - -Aymar was growing much weaker; he knew it. The sunlight no longer seemed -warm, and his head was beginning to swim. Only one conscious desire was -left soon--to be loosed, to be able to lie down on the beech leaves at -his feet, for the pain in his mangled wrists seemed worse than any of -his wounds, and his position was, nakedly, torture. And he was so -desperately thirsty. . . . But oblivion was advancing with faster -strides now, for the anemones, the laughing May tree, the bright -beeches at which he was staring were beginning to vanish and reappear -again, and every breath was becoming more difficult to draw. . . . - -Then pain went, and he began to have the oddest fancies. He was part of -the beech tree from which he could not stir--he _was_ the beech tree. -He had never been anything else. Once there had been a young man named -Aymar de la Rocheterie, who had run and ridden and fought and moved -about freely; but _he_ had stood here always, year in, year out, bare -in the frosts of winter, clothed with green as now in spring--a -splendid and vigorous tree. . . . But if that were so, how was it that -Aymar de la Rocheterie was gasping so for breath--as he could hear--and -that his head swam so violently . . . and that from the blue sky which -showed through the brilliant leaves above him strange whirling specks -like black snow were falling? How odd that was in spring . . . but was -it spring when it felt so bitter cold? - -As his failing senses suggested the question the spreading bough above -him seemed suddenly to swoop down on him . . . then the great tree -which would not let him go began itself to sink with him into a cold, -suffocating darkness. . . . Aymar gave a couple of deep gasps, and his -head fell forward for the second time--not to be lifted again. He had -looked his last on the Bois des Fauvettes. - -It was thus that the Bonapartists found him some three quarters of an -hour later--save that, with the oncoming of such profound -unconsciousness, the deadly haemorrhage had ceased. Only curiosity, no -thought that, from his appearance, there was a glimmer of life left in -him, led them to cut him down. But of their surprise, their -gratification when, on searching him, they found from his papers who he -was, their discovery of the cipher notes, their rough attempts at -surgery and his subsequent odyssey in the cart, Aymar knew nothing -whatever. Fate showed him some scrap of mercy after all. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - THE ROAD BACK - - "Il est tard, nous voici dans la forêt; vois-tu comme elle est noire? - Nous aurons de la peine à nous en tirer."--_Le Mercure Galant_. - - -(1) - -. . . Was that the cuckoo? No, it must be a gull . . . and that other -sound was the breaking waves. The voice had ceased. - -So Laurent left the Bois des Fauvettes and woke, through the sense of -hearing, to his actual surroundings. He shivered, and withdrew his -hands from his face. Aymar, paler than he had yet seen him since he -left his bed, his eyes sunk in their sockets, was staring past him at -the wall of the cave. There could be no doubt that he also had been, in -spirit, in that ill-omened wood--with this difference, that two months -before he had likewise been there in the body. What could one say--what -could one say? - -And it was Aymar who broke the silence now. "The rest you know," he -said. His voice was extremely quiet, but between his knees his hands -were so tightly clasped together that it looked as if they must break -each other. - -_The rest!_ Why, the first thing of which he was really fully conscious, -after that dreadful finish in the wood, must have been Guitton's -nightmare visit. . . . "Yes. The rest I----" Laurent got out huskily, -and, for the life of him, could say no more. So, after a second or -two's silence, he got up with a gesture of absolute desperation and -went out of the cave. - -His head was spinning with relief and horror and shame. Oh, how _could_ -he have doubted him for an instant! Of course there was an explanation! -But what a story--what a tangle! There was no real culprit, after all. -L'Oiseleur's men had been betrayed by Fate; but Fate had used his hand -in so cruel a manner that he would never be able to deny the fact, -though the intention had been as remote as the farthest star. And, -across the midst of a relief so intense that Laurent's body almost -shook with it, cut the dismayed realization of how difficult it was -going to be for Aymar to avoid the stigma, if any one chose to fasten -it on him. - -But what, for all his passion of sympathy, he never realized, was that -while he stood in the open regaining his composure--not more than three -or four minutes--Aymar himself was waiting for his verdict. In -Laurent's mind was rather the consciousness of his own need of pardon, -and, when the air had steadied him, he went in again with some idea of -seeking that forgiveness immediately. - -But Aymar was no longer sitting on the rough bed. He lay face downwards -across the sailcloth and the seaweed, one arm crooked above his head, -the other, the injured one, flung out straight and stiffly. The hands -of both were tightly clenched. And his attitude held such an utter -despair that it took Laurent by the throat; this was what even the -telling of that story had cost him! - -"Aymar," he began. There was no sign of movement in the prostrate -figure, except that the hands clenched themselves a little tighter -still. But a barely recognizable voice came from it. "If you are come -to take farewell of me . . . you are excused. Go quickly!" - -And at that Laurent saw what he had done. He threw himself on his knees -and bent over him, seizing the rigid, outflung hand in a grip as tense -as its own. - -"Aymar! Aymar! forgive me! How _could_ you think such a thing! I went -out--imbecile that I was--because I was afraid of making a fool of -myself . . . because I could not say what I felt. . . . Aymar, for -God's sake! What have you to reproach yourself with--except the most -damnable ill-luck? . . . Oh, mon ami, look at me, and you will see that -I am speaking the naked truth!" - -But Aymar did not look at him. His shoulders moved suddenly, he brought -his bent left arm under his forehead as he lay there, and in a moment -more Laurent de Courtomer had the dubious satisfaction of accomplishing -what neither physical pain nor prolonged mental torture, neither the -catastrophe of the Bois des Fauvettes nor the contempt and insults of -the Château d'Arbelles had been able to bring about. L'Oiseleur had had -just one turn of the screw too much, and that from the hand which would -least have desired to hurt him. With its relaxation he broke down -completely. - - -(2) - -Occasional glimpses taken over his shoulder, as Michel Royer pulled into -shore near the "Panier" that afternoon, conveyed to him the impression -of two forms lying on the beach between the cave and the edge of the -water; and when he had clambered out of his boat and pulled it up, he -found that his impression was perfectly correct. One of the young men -he had guided overnight--the fair-haired one who wore uniform--was half -sitting, half lying, against a small rock; the other was lying at full -length on the sand with his head propped against him. They seemed so -engrossed in conversation that they did not hear his approach. - -He cleared his throat as he got nearer, and on that the young man -sitting against the rock did turn his head. The other made no movement. - -"Here is our host--if that is the correct term," he heard the former -say. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Royer. To what do we owe this pleasure?" - -"I remembered that there was no wine," said the fisherman, holding up a -piece of old fishing-net. "I have brought ye a bottle; and a rare good -ham, and another loaf or two. And I weren't easy in my mind about your -friend there--him that's hurt." - -He that was hurt said quietly, "I am perfectly well this afternoon, -thank you, Monsieur Royer." And Michel saw the other look down at him -with a smile. - -"I've come also, gentlemen," went on the old man, setting down his net, -and mysteriously dropping his voice, "because I've something to tell ye -which, if it's true--and mind ye, it mayn't be--will likely do ye both -a power of good. They are saying in Sarzeau, so we hear this morning, -that the Emperor's had a great defeat at some place I don't mind the -name of, and his army's all to bits, and retreating." - -"But the last we heard was of a victory won by him on the sixteenth!" -cried the young officer. His friend had suddenly raised himself from -his recumbent position. But for all their questions Mercury could tell -them no more, and presently departed, as he came, by sea, himself only -half believing that his information was correct, and not knowing that -what he had just carried was the news of Waterloo. - -"This may be true, or it may not," opined Laurent at length; "at any -rate, I am going to have a swim on the strength of it. Take care of my -clothes for me!" - -He stripped them off hastily, ran down the beach, and plunged in. Aymar -looked after him with a smile. When the swimmer came back, laughing and -dripping, L'Oiseleur said thoughtfully, "There must be something in -this news. If it is true, perhaps we need not stay here long." - -"Yes," agreed Laurent, rubbing his face with his handkerchief, "but we -can't move till we know something more definite. Meanwhile"--he hurried -into his clothes--"let us go and eat. I am hungry. We will even drink -to the news in the stuff Royer has brought." - -Aymar's arm was over his shoulder as they went towards the cave. At the -entrance he suddenly removed it, and said in a rather unsteady voice, -". . . I find it so hard to believe. . . . Oh, mon ami, are you merely -trying to comfort me when you say you hold me justified, when you say -you would have done the same in my place? Is it true, Laurent, or is it -only your good heart?" - -And, his face as pale as ivory against the darkness within, he looked at -him with eyes that pierced and supplicated at the same time. Laurent -threw down the net of provisions and seized his available hand in both -his own. - -"Aymar, on my honour as a gentleman! Have I not said so enough? You have -brooded over this thing till you are morbid about it. I don't wonder. -But, given what went before, the almost completed plan on the one hand -and a woman's life at stake on the other, I should have done the same. -So would any man. If you will not believe me, what am I to do? Call you -out for it?" - -Aymar freed his hand and put it on his shoulder. "Did I not say that no -man ever had a friend like you?" - -"But it isn't friendship, it's common sense!" retorted Laurent stoutly. -". . . Oh, saints and angels, I have broken the bottle of wine!" - - -(3) - -There was a moon that night. She had the air of sailing fast out to sea -like an enchanted ship, for light clouds were blowing inland at a great -rate, giving her all the effect of nimble motion. And after her, in a -lake of blue, swam Jupiter, following like a pinnace. - -"What a night!" exclaimed Laurent, standing at the mouth of the cave. -"Aymar, go to bed!" - -"Why should I?" demanded his friend, who was sitting there also. "Why -should I, too, not enjoy this spectacle? And I was thinking." - -Laurent removed his gaze from the heavens. - -"Thinking, for one thing," went on Aymar reflectively, "what a fool I -was not to have told you all this earlier. It is always a mistake to be -a coward, Laurent. But I could not bring myself to it. I could not tell -the story in a word or two without producing a false impression either -one way or the other, and . . . well, you see that in giving the -necessary details I have told you things about myself that I never -thought to tell any one in the world. . . . Yet I hated taking all you -did for me at Arbelles, and accepting your championship, when you did -not know the truth. Day after day I said to myself that -_to-morrow_--and then Guitton put an end to to-morrows." - -"Not to speak of the fact," commented Laurent, "that at Arbelles you -were never within a mile of being fit to embark on that story. Nor at -La Baussaine either, if it comes to that." - -"On the contrary, I nearly told you when we were sitting under the pear -tree. But this was too recent," he looked down at his bandaged arm, -"and you had taken it so ridiculously to heart. It would have given me -an unfair advantage." - -"Oh, Aymar, you really are----" "_sans tache_, like your motto," was on -Laurent's lips, but he did not say it aloud. - -"No," said L'Oiseleur, looking up with a smile, "in this case I was not -really a fool, as I suppose you were going to call me. You were too -émotionné that afternoon to be capable of judging anything -dispassionately. You admitted as much this morning." - -"Perhaps so," replied Laurent, who had in fact made a clean breast of -everything. "But I was certainly not going to call you a fool just now. -I should never dare! Have you any idea, L'Oiseleur, how unapproachable -you can make yourself when you wish?" - -"How intolerable, I suppose you mean? But I am not being that now, am I? -Those first days at Arbelles, however----" He broke off, and looked up -at him keenly. "Now, confess, Laurent, that I did not make your task -easy for you!" - -"It was, perhaps, a little like nursing a porcupine," acknowledged the -nurse, smiling. "You _would_ not let me show what I felt. But now that -I know what you had just been through, I wonder you did not go out of -your mind." - -Aymar looked away. "I think I was pretty near it once or twice," he said -after a moment, "or I could not have felt, as I did, that everyone in -the world was against me--even you. Sometimes I used to dream that it -was all a dream--a nightmare. Then I would wake up . . . still in the -nightmare. So--I suppose I wanted to hurt someone, too!" He turned his -eyes on Laurent again. "Yet you stayed, and put up with it--and with -all my subsequent tiresomeness, too! For though I know you have -forgiven me for those early days, what about yesterday evening?" - -"Yesterday evening?" exclaimed Laurent. What had happened in that remote -epoch, yesterday evening? - -"Yes, yesterday evening, when I sat in a ditch and refused to stir, and -you had to use . . . drastic measures! If I can be unapproachable as -you call it, you can certainly be severe, mon ami!" - -"Oh, do let's forget about yesterday evening!" cried Laurent, flushing -in the moonlight. - -"Agreed!" said Aymar, laughing. "As a matter of fact, I don't remember -much about the latter part of it. Between trying to come to a decision -about the future which I had not expected to have to take for days yet, -and the jolting of that infernal cart, I really had such a headache -that I could hardly see. You observe that I am not too proud to make -excuses--to _you_." - -Laurent suddenly sat down by him. "And what excuses am I to make," he -said, averting his face, "for my horrible blindness of this morning? -When I saw what I had done, I could have beaten my head against the -cave wall." - -Aymar put his hand over his. "Never mind. It is the only time you have -ever failed--and I daresay I should have made it clearer to you that I -was absolutely on the rack till I knew what you thought . . . I don't -mind telling you now--only do not let us talk of it again--that in -those few minutes, or hours, or whatever they were, when I thought you -had thrown me over, I saw a third and much simpler alternative to those -of leaving France or staying to face the future. If you had deserted me -I should have done what you did this afternoon, Laurent--I should have -gone for a swim. . . . But I should not have come back again." - -Laurent, hearing the sincerity of that intention in the quiet voice, -turned rather pale. Had so much, then, hung on _his_ verdict? He was -very far indeed from elation; he had never felt more humble in his -life. - -"But that would have seemed like a confession of guilt," he murmured, -hardly knowing what he said. - -"Yes, I know. But I am guilty--in fact, if not in intention." - -"My dear Aymar, don't let us go over all that again now! I am sleepy, if -you are not." He got up and held out his hand. "Do you think I had -better look at your arm again before we turn in?" - -Aymar got up, too, shaking his head. "It is quite comfortable." - -"You are such a confounded liar about yourself," retorted Laurent, -confronting him, "that I never know when to believe you! That worst -burn, when I looked at it this morning . . . I wish M. Perrelet----" He -stopped, seeing the swift pain on Aymar's face, and then plunged boldly -into the subject. "Aymar, what is to be done about Père Perrelet?" - -Aymar pushed at the sand with his foot. "Nothing can be done. For him I -am condemned out of my own mouth." He sighed suddenly. "Let us go to -bed." - -As they were both dropping off to sleep Laurent said, "Aymar, I have an -idea. Will you give me leave to write to M. Perrelet?" - -"To write what?" - -"To tell him that whatever he heard that night was not the whole truth. -That I know it all now, and can assure him that it is not a -dishonourable story, as he must have thought." - -"And as he made you think," finished L'Oiseleur drily. Then, after a -little silence, he added, "My dear fellow, he would only conclude, -either that I had been telling you lies, or that you were very -impressionable." - -"Aymar, he may be impulsive, but you know that he was extraordinarily -fond of you," said Laurent with reproach in his voice. "I think that -was why he was so upset." - -"Well, write me a certificate then," replied Aymar. Then he dropped his -caustic tone, and said quite simply, "You can do whatever you think -best, my dear Laurent. I owe him so much that if it would be any -compensation to him to have a better opinion of me again I should be -glad." And he added, with a deep sigh, as if to himself, "There is a -letter that _I_ ought to have written many days ago." - - - -Laurent woke about an hour later, when the moon was shining straight -into their refuge. He thought of last night, and gave a long sigh of -relief and contentment; and the next moment, though he had believed -Aymar asleep, a hand stole into his, and he gripped it in return. There -was no need of words, and none were spoken; but when Laurent went to -sleep again his friend's hand was still in his. - - -(4) - -As even the most epoch-making news is not conveyed to the brain of man -by a special sense, but through the medium of other men and their -devices, the couple in the "Panier" remained for the next two days -ignorant not only of Wellington's and Blucher's victory, but of -Napoleon's brief visit to Paris, his abdication, the march of the -English and Prussians towards the capital, and all the doings which -were stirring their countrymen. For Royer had not visited them again. - -In the meantime, however, they had plenty to occupy them--plenty of -points to debate. Aymar had quite made up his mind to remain in France, -and face whatever the future had to bring. For one thing, he felt that -he must set himself to repair, as best he could, the calamity which he -had brought on his men, by providing for the welfare of the maimed and -assisting the families of the killed. Laurent, whom the very mention of -the Eperviers roused to fury, soon realized, however, with relief, that -his purpose applied only to those actually captured or killed at -Pont-aux-Rochers or their kindred. Yet to supply their probable needs -alone he began rather alarmedly to foresee Aymar's all but ruining -himself--for he was not a rich man. - -As for ruin in the other sense, Laurent contended that it was impossible -to imagine that their own side could believe the story about him, -L'Oiseleur, though the Bonapartists had naturally been only too glad to -have a handle against a foe. To any Royalist who asked for an -explanation Aymar could say, with perfect truth, that the scheme was a -ruse which had miscarried; Laurent only wondered that he had never made -this retort to his accusers at Arbelles. But Aymar had replied that on -"that horrible Friday" he had not the breath, and that when Guitton -sent for him he was not in the mood for justifying himself. ("No," -thought Laurent, "you are rather too much inclined never to be in that -mood, my friend!") - -The fact that the explanation had not satisfied his own lieutenant was -palpably because de Fresne knew that there was a bargain involved; so -long as the bargain idea did not get about, Laurent contended that the -explanation proposed ought to prove perfectly satisfactory. But, as -Aymar pointed out, there was no guarantee whatever that it would not -get about, that it had not already done so, in fact--and worse, that -the real nature of the bargain might not come out. That, objected -Laurent stoutly, did not make it, in his opinion, worse; it was not a -disreputable compact; it was to save a woman. And on that he elicited -from L'Oiseleur his deep desire to keep from Mme de Villecresne the -knowledge that she had been, most unwittingly, the cause of the whole -miserable business. That desire the young man could understand, but -when his friend asserted that she would further dislike the ethics of -the whole affair, and be horror-struck that he could take so great a -risk for any woman's life--even though it were hers--M. de Courtomer -privately disbelieved him. - -But at any rate there could be no doubt that Aymar was willing to -sacrifice almost anything to keep the secret from coming to his -cousin's ears; what agitated him was the thought that she might already -have learnt it. To comfort him, Laurent pointed out that even "that -devil" at Arbelles had no idea of what the bargain was, and that he, -Laurent, had been told in early days that Richard's own officers had -not known it, which looked as if Richard had kept his mouth shut. But -Aymar's fervent wish that he could ensure Richard's keeping his mouth -shut in perpetuity he dismissed as a thing scarcely in the realm of the -practicable. And there was always the danger of the Marquis de -Vaubernier's letting out something. Although he had solemnly sworn -secrecy he was, as Aymar acknowledged, really more dangerous than -Richard, who had not. Over the possibility of Vaubernier's indiscretion -he worked himself up into such a fever that Laurent agreed to their -starting for Sessignes at the first possible moment. And they waited -with growing impatience for news from Port-Marie which might enable -them to leave the cave in safety, for if the tidings of the Emperor's -defeat had been confirmed, it might possibly have rid the district of -the Imperialists. - -If this were so, it would make Laurent's contemplated journey to -Sessignes less risky (especially if he discarded his uniform), for to -accompany Aymar home he was determined. No arguments would move him -from his resolve, and when Aymar spoke of his military obligations in -Vendée, he shamelessly retorted, first, that they could not know, the -other side of the Loire, but that he was still a prisoner; secondly, -that d'Autichamp had prophesied he should never get back from Brittany, -and had given him leave, in that event, to join a Breton leader; and -thirdly, that in this respect he had obeyed d'Autichamp to the letter, -and was now going to carry out the duties of his position. So when, on -the afternoon of the second day, Royer brought them the authentic news -of the great victory of the 18th of June, they resolved to start on the -morrow, travelling by easy stages. - -It was true that, though the period which they were afterwards to know -as the Hundred Days was over, hostilities were not. In the west neither -side had disbanded; they were watching each other; and in some -districts of Brittany fighting was still going on. But in others the -Imperialists were withdrawing, and Arbelles was said to have been -evacuated already. Royer undertook to procure a vehicle of some kind in -Port-Marie, but a change of attire such as M. de Courtomer would have -consented to wear was not to be had. However, they proposed in any case -not to start till the afternoon, and to travel only as far as the -little town of Sarzeau, where they would sleep the night, and where -Laurent could supply this want. - -"So that we may hope you will be at Sessignes on Tuesday," he remarked -to Aymar. "And then, at last, you can be properly looked after." - -"And I can also begin my campaign of deception," returned Aymar. "I -cannot tell them the whole truth, Laurent, so I shall have to lie . . . -and they will believe me." He stared at the sea--they were just outside -the cave--and added, "The person in the whole world whom I most abhor -the idea of lying to is just the one person to whom I can never tell -the real, the full truth." - -Laurent said nothing, but he could not help wondering whether it would -not really be better for his friend to follow his own instincts and -conceal nothing from . . . that person. But in so delicate a matter he -could hardly proffer unsought advice. - - -(5) - -When Laurent first saw that afternoon the ramshackle conveyance in the -similitude of a chaise which waited for them at the famous turning -under the chestnuts he thought--and said--that it would never take them -even as far as Sarzeau. And though the ancient postilion fixed Lyons or -Marseilles as the goal of which it was, on the contrary, capable, -Laurent was right. The wheel did not, it is true, actually leave the -axle, but its intention of shortly doing so was clear enough. Hence the -prophet of disaster found himself, towards dusk, a mile and a half out -from Sarzeau, trying to help the postilion render the last services to -the worn-out linch-pin, and to prevent Aymar from doing the same--Aymar -who would probably now have to walk into Sarzeau before he could sup. - -"When this happens in romances," observed the amateur wheelwright -regretfully, "some kind Samaritan usually appears and offers -hospitality." - -But it was not till a good twenty minutes later, when the wheel was on -the point of being pronounced good for the short distance, that an -oldish gentleman came walking briskly round the turn of the road, and, -to Laurent's surreptitiously manifested joy, did warmly press them to -sup with him. It seemed that he had witnessed their plight from an -upper window of his house, near by, and had issued forth with that -design, so that, had they wished, it would have been difficult to -reject his invitation. - -So the postilion was despatched with the chaise to the inn at Sarzeau to -order them a room, and, as they walked away together, the old gentleman -made himself known to his guests--M. de Lanascol. Aymar and Laurent -named themselves in response, and as his friend did so a slight spasm -of apprehension shot across Laurent's mind: would not the name of La -Rocheterie be known to their host--what might he not have heard? But -either the name meant nothing or M. de Lanascol had heard nothing. - -Some half-hour later, in a large room with faded rugs and old-fashioned -furniture, they were awaiting a supper which already announced itself -by an appetizing smell. M. de Lanascol had monarchical sympathies, as -he soon divulged; indeed, having regard to Laurent's unmistakable -uniform, he would hardly have bidden the travellers else. And very -shortly, after due elation over the Allied victory and speculation as -to its ultimate results (since, from what he said, it was by no means -obvious yet what was going to happen in France) he was sounding that -young man, in a well-bred manner, on the fighting he supposed him to -have seen. - -"But I have seen none, sir," avowed M. de Courtomer frankly. "I have -been a prisoner since the first of May and have not very long escaped." - -"Escaped!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "Ah, you must tell me about -that, Monsieur! A prisoner in Vendée, I suppose, for I am not wrong, I -think, in taking you for a Vendean officer?" - -"No, you are quite right. But I was captured in Brittany, after carrying -despatches." - -"And on the first of May, I think you said," observed M. de Lanascol. -"Then you had left Vendée before the arrival there of the lamented -Marquis de la Rochejaquelein? Ah, what a loss! There are rumours also, -that since Sunday the Vendeans have lost another fight and another -general. Yes, Vendée has been unfortunate throughout," he finished -regretfully. "Really we have done better here in Brittany. Of course -there have been set-backs, as for instance Sol de Grisolles' defeat at -Auray only five days ago--have you heard of that?--and just about the -time that you were captured, that horrible affair at the bridge of -Pont-aux-Rochers. (But that was due to treachery, as I expect you -know.) Still, Brittany has gathered, I think I may justly say, more -laurels than her sister." - -At the mention of the fatal bridge Laurent felt the blood rushing to his -face. He did not look at his companion, and yet he knew that Aymar, -silent in his highbacked seventeenth-century chair, had suddenly gone -rigid. He himself wished with all his heart that they had not accepted -M. de Lanascol's hospitality. And the old gentleman had now transferred -his attention to his other guest. - -"And you, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, is it indiscreet. . . ?" - -"I have taken part in the campaign, Monsieur," replied Aymar. Even in -that uncomfortable moment Laurent noticed that he did not use the word -"fought." "But, like my friend, I had the misfortune to be made -prisoner near its commencement." - -"Indeed!" said M. de Lanascol. "I condole with you. And . . . wounded, -too, I think?" For under his coat Aymar was still wearing his arm in a -sling. - -"Yes," said his guest rather hesitatingly. And Laurent trusted that in -his zeal for exactitude he would not think it necessary to explain -further. - -"Severely wounded, I am afraid," hazarded M. de Lanascol with -sympathetic interest. "For indeed, Monsieur, if you will pardon the -remark, you look like it. I regret that I did not offer you a glass of -wine on arrival, especially as our supper delays somewhat -unaccountably. May I ring for one now?" - -"On no account, thank you, Monsieur. I am perfectly recovered." - -His host had his eyes fixed on the clear, pale visage. The daylight -outside had now faded sufficiently to allow full play to the -candelabrum on the table at his elbow, whose radiance struck its own -unmistakable colour out of Aymar's hair. - -M. de Lanascol moved suddenly. "Pardon me, again, Monsieur de la -Rocheterie, but if I might presume . . . pray do not take it amiss if I -suggest, that, with your appearance, you should be a little cautious -how you traverse the country round Locmélar. Feeling is very strong -there about the disaster at Pont-aux-Rochers, and though that man -L'Oiseleur was subsequently shot by his own troops for it, it is -rumoured that he is still alive. I once had a glimpse of him, and you -are so . . . you resemble him so strikingly--though, of course, with a -great difference--that I feel a warning. . . . Please believe that I -have no intention of being offensive." - -In the arctic, aching silence which succeeded this speech Laurent knew -not whether his own heart-beats or the ticking of the clock were the -louder. Oh, that they were back on the high road, at the inn, anywhere! - -Aymar was on his feet. He had not flushed; his colourless face was -unbetraying. "I _am_ . . . L'Oiseleur. As you would evidently not wish -to extend your hospitality to him, Monsieur, I will relieve you of the -necessity." - -He made the slightest, most formal inclination of the head, and walked -towards the door. Laurent began hotly, "You are completely misinformed, -Monsieur! There was no----" - -But Aymar stopped him with a look, and after a second he turned and -silently followed him out, leaving the old gentleman apparently -petrified in the act of rising from his chair. - -The door of the hall stood open, for it was a very warm evening. Without -a word the two went through it, and down the steps and along the -straight wide path to the gates. Venus hung in the west, lovely and -indifferent to human hurts; an owl hooted in the distance. The silence -between them was like heavy metal; what was there in all the world to -say? Desperately Laurent cast about for the phrase that should break -it, but they were walking down the avenue before he brought it out. - -"We must go to the inn," he said in an almost unnaturally matter-of-fact -manner. His companion did not reply for a moment. Then he said, still -walking on, - -"They may think me too much like 'that man L'Oiseleur' there also." His -voice was curiously flat and toneless. Laurent braced himself to make -his next suggestion. - -"Then I will go in and order supper. Our room is ordered." - -"Do," replied Aymar in the same expressionless voice. "Supper for -yourself, I mean. I will follow a little later and order mine. You need -not know me." - -"Do you really imagine that I----" began Laurent, and then stopped with -a great sigh, and, coming a little nearer as he walked, slid his arm -into Aymar's and gripped it close. - -They were late for the table d'hôte supper at the inn, and were served -separately at the side of the room, attracting little notice. Laurent's -head at least was spinning from the blow. His own side! His own side -could believe a thing like that of L'Oiseleur, on hearsay, without -investigation. It had not taken long to give the lie to his own -arguments on that score a few days ago. - -Once upstairs alone, in the room which had been reserved for them, Aymar -turned on his companion. - -"Laurent, this has got to end! We must say good-bye." - -Laurent, already unfastening his uniform, shook his head with a smile. -"I am not going to be dismissed like that!" - -"You are not going to be exposed again to what happened this evening!" - -"Probably not. It will not happen again. And at any rate I took no -harm." - -"Did you enjoy it, then?" asked Aymar, suddenly flaring up. "What do you -think _I_ felt like, seeing you involved in my shame?" - -Laurent ceased undressing and looked at him. "If you want me to leave -you on account of your own feelings," he said gently, "I suppose I must -consider it." - -There was an oaken coffer standing at the foot of the fourposter bed. -Aymar sat down on it without a word, and covered his eyes with his -hand. - -"Must I consider it, Aymar?" asked Laurent after a long pause. (He had -thought he could control his voice better than that.) - -"Not if you can . . . bear with me," replied Aymar, in a voice still -less under his own management; and, turning, he hid his face for a -moment against the end of the bed. - -Nothing more was said about parting. - - -(6) - -But neither of them woke next day with any very pleasurable -anticipations. And Laurent, when he went out to buy himself some -civilian clothes, ordered a post-chaise for the rest of the journey -rather than face the diligence and the chance of L'Oiseleur's being -recognized; since, as Aymar had already sardonically remarked, "This -cursed red hair of mine makes me a little too conspicuous, does it not? -And if I meet any Royalist officers, who knows whether they may not try -to arrest me?" - -The very idea turned Laurent cold. It was not, however, possible to -avoid travellers altogether. And when they took their places at midday -at the one long table in the inn at Piriac they were aware of more than -travellers--Imperialist, not Royalist, officers, three of them, all in -the blue with black facings of the engineers. But a moment's reflection -convinced Laurent that he and Aymar, in their civilian garb, had -nothing to fear from them. In any case, it was doubtful whether the -Bonapartists would have the wish to arrest them--even if they had the -means. - -As the meal progressed Laurent found himself studying the face of the -senior officer, a spare, stern-looking man of about forty-five, a face -which, in spite of his thinking it at first somewhat dauntingly severe, -ended by attracting him. - -"Rather a different type over there from our cherished host at -Arbelles," he whispered to Aymar. But Aymar did not reply, for as -Laurent spoke there came the comfortable voice of the innkeeper from -behind them, where he was carving at a buffet. - -"Take this to Colonel Richard!" And, while Laurent gasped, a plate was -borne down the table and placed before the object of their criticism. - -He hardly dared to look at Aymar beside him; but he was aware that the -latter had ceased any pretence at a meal. He sat for some time with his -head bent, crumbling his bread, very pale; after a while he leant back -in his chair, and looked at Colonel Richard with a scrutiny far more -intense than Laurent had bestowed upon him. The Bonapartist, now -finishing his wine, did not seem to notice it; yet Laurent had the -impression that very little escaped those keen eyes. - -"Shall we go?" he whispered at last. But Aymar shook his head. And they -sat on, though many travellers had left the table. - -Suddenly Aymar turned to him. "Will you wait for me here?" he whispered. -"I shall ask Colonel Richard for a few minutes' conversation. He may -refuse, of course, but if not----" - -"Aymar, are you mad!" exclaimed Laurent. "He might do worse than refuse! -For Heaven's sake don't expose yourself to such possibilities!" - -"I must," answered Aymar; but his lips seemed dry as he spoke. "It is an -opportunity such as I could not have dreamt of.--There he goes!" - -And Laurent, scarcely believing his eyes, saw him get up and intercept -the colonel of engineers before he got to the door, and say something -to him. From the short but courteous assent which Colonel Richard -appeared to give, it was plain that, in spite of the "cursed red hair," -he had no idea of the identity of the young man asking for an -interview. They left the room together. - -How could Aymar do a thing like that in cold blood, even for _her!_--for -of course he was going to try to ensure his enemy's silence. The sheer -courage of it took Laurent's breath away. What might Colonel Richard -not say to him when he learnt who he was! Laurent was certain that no -woman, not even Mme de Villecresne, could grasp the depth of -self-abnegation involved in such an act to a spirit as proud and -sensitive as La Rocheterie's. But Aymar was like--what was that line in -Shakespeare about the Toledo blade . . . about the "sword of Spain" -that had "the ice-brook's temper" . . . ? - - -(7) - -The adversaries who had never met went out together into the inn garden. -There was in it a tunnel-like arbour, such as is not uncommon in French -country hostelries; it was covered with a vine, and contained a rough -table with a bench on either side. Colonel Richard threw a glance -within, and saying, "We shall be undisturbed here, I think, Monsieur," -led the way in. - -The sun came greenly through the beautiful vine leaves behind the -Imperialist's severe, upright head. Aymar looked him in the face and -said, "I must tell you first who I am. You shall think it strange of me -to seek you out like this, but I will not keep you long. My name is La -Rocheterie." - -The dry, rough-edged vine leaves seemed to twitter in the little breeze; -there was no other sound for a few seconds. Aymar did not see Colonel -Richard's face; it had vanished suddenly in a light green mist. But he -heard his voice saying curtly, "We might as well sit down, Monsieur de -la Rocheterie," and in a moment more he saw that the Imperialist had -done so. But he himself remained on his feet. - -"It is not worth it, Monsieur. I have only to say----" - -He broke off short. A paralyzing idea had just occurred to him. He was -going to ask a favour of this man, who must despise him from his heart, -who might not improbably have him thrown out of the place altogether. -And surely it would seem to the Bonapartist that he would never dare to -do such a thing had he not believed himself to have a claim on his -opponent . . . for the victory he had put within his grasp? - -Even the clear vine leaves vanished this time. He felt some, however, in -his left hand. . . . And once more he heard Colonel Richard's voice -saying, "I think, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, that if we are to conduct -this interview to any purpose, you had better sit down!" - -And to this, lest the whole conversation should continue in this curious -manner, with a person whom one heard but could not see, Aymar's brain -assented. He found himself sitting on the opposite bench, the table -between them, and in his left hand two vine leaves and a portion of a -third. He did not know how they had come there. - -"That is better," said the Bonapartist, looking at him very hard indeed. -He had eyes like cold, clear water--eyes that would make short work of -treachery. "Well, what is it that you were going to say?" - -The voice, the eyes, steadied Aymar. He began again and his own voice -was as cold as the other's. - -"The letter addressed to me which was brought to you, Monsieur, at the -_Cheval Blanc_ near Saint-Goazec on the night of the 27th of April----" - -"--Excuse me!" broke in the Imperialist, leaning forward, "but if you -have come to tell me that that letter never really came from you . . ." -He paused for a second, and Aymar went on quickly, "That was not in the -least my intention. If my messenger on that occasion tried to take on -himself any responsibility he was quite unjustified. I alone was -responsible for sending the letter." - -There had been a light in the eyes looking at him. It died down now as -Colonel Richard said, "I was going on to remark that I have been -hoping, ever since Pont-aux-Rochers, that there had been some mistake, -and that some day I should hear it. I should not be very hard to -convince that there had been. . . . You say the responsibility for that -act, Monsieur, was yours alone. One has sometimes to shoulder unmerited -responsibility; any soldier knows that. I would so much rather think -that that had been the case." - -Aymar met his gaze full. It was not entirely cold, after all. - -"I am sorry," he answered steadily. "You are very kind. But . . . I sent -the letter--knowingly. I myself deciphered those passages." He had -taken his arm out of the sling, and began to arrange his three vine -leaves on the table, the broken fragment in the middle. "It is of my -motive in sending it that I wish to speak to you, if you will allow -it." - -Colonel Richard had an elbow on the table now. Shading his eyes with his -hand, he motioned to him to proceed. - -And Aymar left his pattern for the moment, gripping the edge of the -table instead. "Am I wrong in fancying, Monsieur, that you have kept -silence on that point, my motive? I have been a prisoner, and scarcely -know yet what reports are going about, but I was in the hands of those -who would not have scrupled to take full advantage of the knowledge, if -they had had it. They did not seem to have it. . . . Might I know that -I have not been deluding myself?" - -For a moment the whole of existence seemed to turn on the answer to that -question. And instead of answering it his enemy might say, and with -justification, "Why should I tell you that? Are you trying to drive -another bargain with me?" - -The almost unendurable tension ended at last. "No, you have not been -deluding yourself," said Colonel Richard slowly. "I promised your -emissary that the lady should know nothing. I kept that promise; but as -it happens I have done more. I mean, that no one else knows for whose -sake you made your disastrous venture--nor indeed that it was made for -the sake of any single person. And, as I have kept silence till now, I -shall continue to keep it." - -"Thank you," said Aymar; and for the moment could say no more. The vine -leaves were in shreds by now. But after a silence he went on, "That is -almost more than I dared to hope. If that lady can be spared the -knowledge, I shall be . . . I am . . . most profoundly grateful to -you." - -Under the shading hand he could see the older man's mouth contract. -Colonel Richard probably wished to get rid of him as soon as possible, -so Aymar took hold of the table to pull himself up. - -The other instantly removed his hand. "Oblige me by staying a moment, -Monsieur de la Rocheterie! There are one or two things I should like to -say to you. Will you tell me what you had up your sleeve when you sent -that letter?" - -Aymar did stay--and very still. "Why should I have had anything up my -sleeve, Monsieur?" - -"Because it is quite incredible that you should have made me an -unconditional present of your men's lives! I thought so at the time--I -think so more than ever now. You had some counterplan connected with -their presence at the bridge; I am sure of it." - -"What does that matter now?" asked Aymar with a long breath, and swept -the torn vine leaves into a heap. - -Colonel Richard leant over the table. "But you would oblige me greatly -if you would answer my question. To me it seems that we have gone too -far to leave the business there." And, as Aymar still did not answer, -he said, half impatiently, half gently, "Well, then, as you seem -determined not to defend yourself, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, take a -further step still, and assure me that you intended your men to be -ambushed, that you did not do everything in your power to prevent it! -Come, now, why did your plan fail?" - -Aymar lifted his head and met the keen, half-compassionate eyes for a -second. Then, very briefly, he told his story to his adversary. - -There was a silence in which even the vine leaves did not stir. - -"Monsieur de la Rocheterie," said the man on the other side of the table -at last, "will you allow me, as an old soldier with, I suppose, twenty -years the disadvantage of you, to give you a piece of advice?" - -Aymar, who had put his head back against the trellis, nodded, a little -bewildered. This was fantastic--and yet very real. - -"Ask for a court-martial, or rather, a court of enquiry!" - -But at that the young man moved and flushed. "Impossible, sir." - -"Why? Not, I am sure, that you would not face it? You seem to me, if I -may be allowed to judge from what you are doing now, to possess a very -rare kind of courage. Why do you say that a court-martial is -impossible?" - -The flush was deeper this time. "You are much too generous," said Aymar -with some difficulty. "For a moment, after the disaster, a -court-martial did seem the only way out, and I gave up my sword for -that purpose to my second-in-command. But since then the case has been -. . . judged . . ." (his voice failed him entirely for a second) ". . . -and besides, I have had time to reflect. A court-martial would involve -telling the whole truth--my motive for sending you the information. It -would be absurd and odious to invite an enquiry and then to conceal a -vital fact. Yet if I tell the whole truth I do the thing I most want to -avoid--bring that lady's name into the business, so that she cannot -fail to learn just what I pray she may never learn. You see that, -Colonel, surely?" - -"Perfectly. But have you reflected that, by concealing your motive for -doing what you did, you are laying yourself open to the imputation of -its being a far more disgraceful one than it was?" - -"I have reflected." His mouth set itself. "The imputation has already -been made." - -"And you are going on like that? What about other people's feelings? You -have a right, perhaps, to immolate your own, but you have kindred, I -expect?" - -"I have not forgotten them," answered Aymar, and for a moment he looked -out of the green-framed doorway into the sunshine beyond. "I should -indeed be selfish if I refused any means, however nearly intolerable, -if they would clear me. But it is just my . . . motive, which seems to -me to render the case hopeless from the first. If I could go before a -court-martial and relate a story of a plan that miscarried, I might -hope to be believed and acquitted, even though . . . even though I have -since been shot by my own men. But to admit that the scheme was -directed to saving a woman's--a kinswoman's--life . . . how could I -hope, after its disastrous failure, to obtain acquittal on those -grounds?--Would you acquit me, Colonel Richard?" - -The Imperialist was looking thoughtfully at the table, one thin sinewy -hand supporting his head, the fingers of the other drumming lightly on -the wood. "I don't know--I don't know. It is a difficult case. -Dispassionately considered I suppose--but hardly any tribunal is really -dispassionate. However, I do recognize that you are not condemning -yourself to obloquy entirely for the sake of sparing someone else's -feelings--which in the end would obviously be the last result you would -achieve by such a course. . . . I have seen that done with such fatal -results, Monsieur, that you must excuse my perhaps unwarrantable -interference in your private affairs. I hope you will excuse it in any -case?" - -"Excuse it!" exclaimed Aymar rather hoarsely. "I have no words to thank -you for your kindness! I shall never forget it. I . . ." For an instant -he put a hand over his eyes, then, removing it, went on, "But I should -like to ask you a question in my turn. How was it that in your first -interview with my messenger, earlier on that evening, he gained from -you the impression that the lady was in serious danger, an impression -which was so much strengthened, immediately afterwards, by one of your -subalterns . . . to my cost?" - -Colonel Richard abruptly got up and began to walk up and down the narrow -arbour. - -"I would rather you asked me any question but that, Monsieur de la -Rocheterie." - -"But I want to know," said Aymar faintly. "It has been such an enigma to -me, how the idea ever arose that you intended to shoot her." - -"If you will be persuaded by me you will not insist on knowing now." - -"It is my only chance of learning the truth," urged L'Oiseleur. He was -getting quite dazed with strain and fatigue. - - - -But when Colonel Richard had finished it was not fatigue of which he was -conscious. His head was propped on his clenched fists, his face -invisible, and the elder man was leaning against the table with his -back to him. - -"Now you know why I almost regretted Pont-aux-Rochers," said the latter, -looking at the floor, "and why I wished I had not let my officers know -from whom I had the information which led to it . . . and most of all -did I regret that I had allowed your lieutenant to have that letter -back again, when I heard----" - -"What had happened to me in consequence," supplied Aymar in an almost -extinguished voice. He raised a face that matched it. "Yes, I -understand. But you are excessively punctilious, Colonel Richard. -Others will not judge so mercifully." - -"They cannot, if you refuse to defend yourself." - -"I have already explained to you why I cannot. And what you have just -told me will hardly render my defence more easy, will it?" He gave the -ghost of a laugh. "My God! it makes me almost a figure in a farce! But -I thank you--I thank you for everything." And this time he got -successfully to his feet. - -"There is no need to thank me," said Colonel Richard almost curtly. -"Have I not to end with an apology? But of what use is it to be ashamed -when what is done is done?" He seemed to be struggling a trifle for his -own self-control; and then abruptly changed the subject. "You are not -travelling unaccompanied, I hope?" - -"By no means. I have a friend with me." - -"You have just been released, I presume?" - -"Not precisely. It was ten days ago . . . if you can call it release." - -"So long ago as that? Then I should say it was somewhat premature. But -for that very reason I must not keep you standing longer." He held out -his hand. "Will you shake hands with me?" And, as Aymar coloured and -hesitated, he added "--if you feel that you can do so, after the -confession I have just made you. Apart from that, there is no reason, -is there, why you should not take my hand?" - -He had gone again--into that curious mist. But Aymar felt his grasp, -returned it, and heard him say, "I have never been so sorry about -anything in my life as about this business--I would offer you my arm to -the inn, but it might not, in the future, do you any good if we seemed -to be on terms of intimacy. But get your friend, I beg you, to give you -a glass of wine at once . . . I wish you--your sword again!" - -Then Aymar himself was walking carefully up the inn garden. - - - -"It was worth it," he said a few minutes later to Laurent in the -deserted dining-room, trying to smile. "He has told no one--will tell -no one now. And he was kind--wonderfully--gave me advice . . . even -shook hands with me. . . . Yes, incredibly kind." - -Laurent drew a long breath of relief. "But after all, you are -L'Oiseleur! And what was the Moulin Brûlé to this?" - -Aymar stared at the wine-glass he had just emptied. "But I got more out -of the interview than I bargained for; something that I think I would -rather not have had, after all." - -"Not Colonel Richard's handshake, surely?" - -"No. Colonel Richard's avowal." - - -(8) - -That evening, as they took their places for supper in the inn at their -next stage, two gentlemen sitting at the neighbouring table finishing -their wine suddenly broke off their conversation, stared, and then, -after exchanging glances, got up and left the place altogether. - -For a moment Aymar looked as though he had been struck in the face; the -next, he was showing an almost uncanny self-control. "I knew that man -quite well once," he observed quietly, and did not refer to the -incident again during the meal. - -But that he hardly slept that night Laurent was aware. As they were -dressing next morning he suddenly remarked rather drily, "I imagine -that yesterday evening, Laurent, must have finally convinced you of the -baselessness of your optimistic views about Royalists. You see that -what damns me--what you overlooked, perhaps--is my own men's having -shot me." And as Laurent admitted that this rumour had, unfortunately, -had two months in which to spread uncontradicted, Aymar retorted, -"_Rumour!_ It is fact! And how, therefore, can it ever be -contradicted?" - -So little answer could Laurent find to this observation that he resolved -to go to no inn at all that day--the last of their journey--but -procured instead a fowl and a bottle of wine to take with them. They -halted, therefore, at midday on the outskirts of a wood, and, leaving -their chaise, turned a little way up a grassy road which penetrated it. -Laurent, bearing the provisions, selected a suitable spot for their -consumption under a spreading tree. "You can lean your back against -this very comfortably," he announced to his friend, who was following -with bent head. - -Aymar looked up--and advanced no more. - -"Don't you like this place?" asked Laurent, surprised at his expression. - -"It is . . . too much in the shade, don't you think?" replied L'Oiseleur -indistinctly. "If you don't mind--there--more in the open." And, -without waiting for consent, he turned and went back towards the grassy -road. - -They ate and drank, and did not hurry to regain their vehicle. Aymar -indeed disposed himself on his face, his head on his bent left arm, and -Laurent settled himself against a fallen tree trunk, and pulled his hat -over his eyes. He was a little sleepy. - -"I did that man who would not stay in the same room with me a service -once," came Aymar's voice suddenly. "He said that he should never -forget it. But I suppose the debt is liquidated by my death. For, as I -say, Laurent, it was not Pont-aux-Rochers which put an end to me, but -the Bois des Fauvettes. I shall erect a tombstone there one day to -L'Oiseleur.--But who, I wonder, am I?" - -His tone was quiet and reflective; he pulled at a blade of grass as he -lay there. And Laurent, nearly as quietly, cursed in French and English -the man to whom Aymar had once rendered a service. - -"That does no good," observed Aymar. "And if you want to swear at any -one . . . Tell me, Laurent, are you at all given to practical joking? -If so, let me relate to you the story of a very successful effort of -that kind; it is rather instructive." - -"But I don't----" began Laurent. Aymar disregarded him. - -"There was a young man the other day--a soldier, an officer, I don't -know his name--who had a great turn for that sort of thing, and a -tolerable gift of playing a part. Happening to be quartered with others -one evening at an inn, he was witness of the arrival of a somewhat -perturbed old gentleman, come to make enquiries about a lady of his -acquaintance, who had been forbidden for a short time to proceed on her -journey--as much for her own sake as for any other reason, since the -road was required for troops----" - -"_Aymar!_" - -"Don't interrupt me, please! The old gentleman came out from his -interview with the subaltern's major in a state of panic. He had -mistaken the major for the colonel in command, the major had been short -with him--bored by the old man's quite needless alarm about the lady, -who meanwhile was peaceably sitting in her room upstairs. It occurred -to this young officer that it would be excellent fooling to raise this -simple old gentleman's fears to an even higher pitch, and utilizing the -fact that a woman spy really had been shot by his own side a little -before, and making a vague statement about the lady's past which -happened to fit the case, he succeeded in so thoroughly terrifying his -victim into the belief of her imminent execution that-- . . . but -perhaps I need not go on." - -"Aymar," came at last from Laurent in a tone of horror, "you do not mean -to say that this is the whole explanation of the mystery about Mme de -Villecresne's danger--the whole cause of . . . everything?" - -"Yes," responded L'Oiseleur unemotionally. "Nothing but that; a -successful practical joke, helped out by circumstances, played in the -first place on a timid and credulous nature, and then, through him, on -one perhaps as credulous--too blind to hazards . . . too fond of them, -it may be . . ." - -Laurent felt frozen in the sunshine. "Was this detestable tale Colonel -Richard's avowal of yesterday?" - -"Yes. But of course he had no hand whatever in the imposture, and was -horrified when he discovered it, which did not happen fully till after -the fight. He was not at the _Cheval Blanc_ at all, you see; he was -quartered at the presbytère, where Vaubernier found him when he went -back with the letter and asked for him by name. But, naturally, when -information was offered him he was not going to refuse it. He could -well assent to the 'bargain,' promise not to shoot the lady of whose -detention at the inn he was not even aware! By sending any one as -stupid and gullible as the old Marquis into this business the gods may -have been looking for amusement. If so, I think they must have found -it." - -His voice ceased, and he lay without moving as before. The sun streamed -down on the unprotected bronze head and Laurent saw the gleam of it all -iridescent, for there were tears in his eyes. All that, those terrible -and still unfinished consequences of ruin and suffering--and those not -to Aymar alone--the fruit of nothing more than a moment's heartless -jocularity . . . it was cruel, utterly and sickeningly cruel! If only -he had that inhuman young scoundrel here to shoot--steel was too good -for him! He would like to stand him up yonder against a tree, and began -fiercely selecting one for the purpose, pitching without reflection on -that which he had originally chosen for their own resting-place. . . . -And then, as he looked at it, it came to him why Aymar could not bring -himself to approach it. Blunderer that he had been . . . it was a beech -tree! - -He stared at it with hostility. Would the spring ever mean again to -Aymar what the spring ought to mean, or would he never in his life see -its green leaves except through a mist of blood and shame? He looked -down at him again. His head was still pillowed on his arm, and he -seemed to be asleep. . . . And he could do nothing for him; indeed it -was now clear that, immediately he had got him safely to Sessignes, he -would have to leave him. M. de Lanascol's news of further misfortunes -in Vendée was confirmed--they had heard it this morning. And just -because all there was in such disarray Laurent felt it obligatory on -him to return, if he could, and Aymar concurred in this feeling. Yes, -he must leave him--to what? - -A step on the green track made him look up from his contemplation, and -he saw that a man was coming out of the wood--a peasant with a bundle -slung on his shoulder, leaning on a long stick. He walked wearily, and -he was dusty; his face looked pinched and ill, and his left hand was -muffled in a bandage. He seemed about thirty-five. - -As he came abreast his pace slackened, and Laurent saw that his left -hand was not bandaged--for he had no left hand at all. It was the stump -that was wound about. He looked so tired and forlorn that Laurent held -out the remains of the fowl and the loaf--without speaking, for he did -not want to disturb his friend. - -But the wayfarer took no notice whatever of this proffered charity. His -eyes were fixed with an extraordinary eagerness on the prone form -beside the giver and, exactly at the moment when Laurent recognized -this, the man let his staff fall, and said hoarsely, pointing down at -the russet hair, "Who is that--for the love of the Virgin, Monsieur, -who is that?" - -Into Laurent's mind leaped instantly M. de Lanascol's warning. He jumped -up, and got between the enquirer and his quarry. - -"What do you want with him?" he asked rather roughly. "No," as the man -tried to move past him, "not till you tell me your business!" And he -seized him by the shoulders. - -But Aymar, behind him, was already on his feet. "Let him go, mon ami; it -is a friend . . . and a friend I thought I had lost! Eveno!" - -He held out his hand, his voice a little breathless. The peasant twisted -himself free from Laurent's hold, and dropping at Aymar's feet, kissed -them with a sob. - -"I heard that you were wounded, L'Oiseleur, and a prisoner--and I was -going to Sessignes to ask. You are wounded . . . but free . . . and -alive . . . thank God, thank His Mother!" - -The passionate devotion that throbbed through his words almost -disconcerted Laurent, no half-hearted adherent himself, but he could -see that Aymar accepted quite simply even this extreme manifestation. -Only, looking down at his follower with evident relief and pleasure, -his face suddenly changed. He touched him on the shoulder. - -"Did you lose that hand at Pont-aux-Rochers, Eveno?" And there was the -sharpest pain in his tone. - -"Afterwards, Monsieur le Vicomte. They cut it off at Saint-Goazec. It was -nothing; they were very kind to me. If we had won at the bridge--if -_you_ had been there--I would not give a sou for it . . . But _your_ -arm . . . you are ill yet . . . have you not been very ill, Monsieur -Aymar?" - -His hand slid caressingly along his leader's sound arm. Aymar stepped -back. - -"Eveno, that hand of yours is my doing. I was responsible for -Pont-aux-Rochers--nobody else. I planned it, and the plan----" He -turned his head away. - -The peasant's face lit up as he knelt there. "You planned it! We thought -it was a mistake of M. de Fresne's. But if it was your plan, -L'Oiseleur, there is nothing to regret. You could have had both my -hands!" - - - -So the carriage, when they started again, contained Jacques Eveno also, -for in spite of his protests Aymar had insisted on conveying him to his -home, a plan which necessitated only a slight detour, since he lived -with his old father on the borders of a wood about seven miles from -Sessignes. - -In the vehicle, therefore, he sat, dusty and abashed, answering his -leader's questions about his treatment and his comrades' fate, but -gazing all the while at L'Oiseleur with the eyes of idolatry. And, -mainly for his friend's sake, Laurent was relieved to gather from what -he said that the actual death-roll of Pont-aux-Rochers was much lighter -than might have been expected. - -Just as Aymar was instructing Eveno to come to Sessignes in a day or two -to help him make a list of casualties, the chaise stopped. Aymar got -out as well as the Chouan, and Laurent followed their example. He saw -the smoke ascending blue from a thatched cottage against fir trees, a -path going into a wood, and two saddle-horses, one of them a beautiful -bay mare, tied to an oak. Aymar, saying farewell to Eveno, did not -appear to have noticed these; but suddenly the mare pricked her ears, -threw up her head, and whinnied. - -Aymar turned. "Hirondelle!" he exclaimed, and made at once for the oak -tree, the mare, when she saw him coming, whinnying again and lifting up -a suppliant forefoot. But before he got up to her her master stopped, -perhaps only perceiving in that moment what Laurent had already -noticed, that it was a lady's saddle she was carrying. - -At the same moment a man--a groom or servant of some kind--ran round the -chaise and gripped Eveno by the arm. "Jacques!" he exclaimed -breathlessly, "is it M. le Vicomte? Thank God! We have been so anxious, -and this very afternoon Mme la Comtesse has ridden over to see if by -chance your father had any news, but he has gone to the village, so she -is waiting . . . I beg your pardon, Monsieur; I did not see you!" - -"Had you not better tell M. de la Rocheterie?" suggested Laurent. - -But Hirondelle's saddle, evidently, had told Aymar already, or else he -had overheard. Laurent just saw him stooping his head to enter at the -low door. - - -(9) - -It would be rather dark inside old Eveno's cottage; Aymar knew that. And -she would be sitting on the settle by the hearth, waiting for the old -man's arrival, and at the sound of the latch she would turn; and, not -expecting him, would not perhaps recognize him at once, so that he must -try not to startle her. And then . . . what came then? Not, at any -rate, what would have happened in the orchard last April, before the -lightning struck him down from the pinnacle of his happiness. Now there -could only be such difficult greeting as a disgraced man could offer -the woman he loved, who did not know the cloud upon him. . . . But -perhaps she did? It might be easier then. - -All these considerations swam through Aymar's mind between lifting the -latch and pushing open the door. - -Inside it was not quite as he had thought it would be. For Avoye was -kneeling by the hearth in her long riding-habit, trying to revive old -Eveno's dying fire for him, and in the creak and groan of the ancient -bellows the lifting of the latch was lost. He had a second or two to -contemplate that picture ere he stepped down the two uneven steps from -the door. - -"Avoye!" he said gently. - -The bellows fell, breathing their soul out; and his cousin, still -kneeling there, but with her head turned, made a little inarticulate -sound and clasped her hands together. - -"I am afraid I startled you," he said after a moment; for he must speak -to steady his own composure. "I did not know that you were here till I -saw Hirondelle. I came to bring back Jacques Eveno, whom I met on the -road. He has been released, like . . . like me!" - -And now she had got up, and was facing him, very pale. Still without -speaking she held out both her hands. Aymar came nearer and took and -kissed them. - -"Tell me that I did not frighten you, my dear, coming in so suddenly?" - -Two large tears brimmed slowly out of her wide eyes and slid down her -cheeks. "You did not frighten me then . . . but now . . . you do. Oh, -Aymar, to have you back, but . . . looking . . ." She put a hand to her -throat. "You must have been terribly wounded." - -He held her other hand still. He might do that, surely! "No. Only it was -a long business, and needed nursing. I had that, unstintedly--from the -friend whom I am bringing now to Sessignes with me, and whom I want you -to know well, and like." - -But whether she took this in he could not tell. - -"To have you back, Aymar--to have you back!" But in her eyes the alarm -outshone the joy. - -"Is Bonne-maman well?" he asked, dropping her hand at last. "I am afraid -that I have caused you both a great deal of anxiety . . . Will you -drive back with us, Avoye? I have a chaise outside." - -"Yes, of course I will return with you. And Eveno is there, too? How -pleased the old man will be! But I thought that----" She broke off, -looking puzzled. - -"No, we were not imprisoned at the same place," said Aymar quickly. "I -will explain about that afterwards. But I had better tell you now, -before you see him, that Eveno has lost a hand." - -"Oh, poor Jacques! Was that . . . because of Pont-aux-Rochers?" He -nodded. - -"Poor Jacques!" she said again, the tears in her eyes. "Still, he might -have been killed." And then, moved to it perhaps by what she saw in his -sad, changed face, she said, with some of Aymar's own occasional -vehemence, "And, anyhow, it is a thousand times worse for you--a -thousand times!" - -He caught his breath. Yes, but for whom was it going to be worst of all -in the end--whom, at least, was he going to hurt most? The way, the -desolating way before him, over her tender and faithful heart. - -She was gazing at him with eyes of such compassion that he could hardly -bear it; she was speaking, too. "Dearest, will you sit down for a -moment--only for a moment? There is something that I must ask you -before we start for home (especially if you have a companion) and I -cannot have you standing, looking as you do." - -She indicated the settle. He sat down. God knew what she was going to -ask him; there would be so many things! She sat beside him and was -about to put her hand on his arm, saw that it was bandaged, touched it -instead with the lightest, most impalpable gesture of caress, and said, -"I only want you to tell me this, if you are free to tell it. We have -heard rumours . . . almost more than rumours . . . that your defeat at -Pont-aux-Rochers was due to treachery. Oh, Aymar, say that it is not -true!" - -Aymar put his head back in the corner of the highbacked settle and -closed his eyes. But he answered firmly, "No, it is not true. There was -no treachery. But you will hear it said everywhere, Avoye." Should he -tell her more? She would have to know it--unless indeed she knew it -already. . . . It became for an instant a question as to whether he -could tell her. . . . - -"What is the matter?" she asked, with alarm in her voice. - -So then he had to go on. He opened his eyes. "And you will hear some say -that the treachery was . . . _mine!_" - -"Aymar!" - -"You had not heard that yet? . . . I will tell you the reason directly I -can. Only you will recognize, Avoye, that with this stain on my honour, -I cannot regard myself at present as . . . as what I was at no time -worthy to be. . . ." - -His will uttered the words, because his will had always intended that -they should be uttered, but as he said them it seemed to him as if all -the blood left him was being drained out of his body. - -Avoye had turned very pale, too. "But is not that rather a matter for me -to decide? You know what I should think of so wicked a slander." - -He shook his head, because he could hardly speak, and her proximity was -getting more than his resolution could endure. So he slipped to one -knee on the hearth and took up the abandoned bellows. "This fire is -nearly out," he murmured. And as he blew the grey wood ashes stirred -and eddied like ghosts; there was no glimmer underneath. The fire was -out. - -And on the settle Avoye de Villecresne, pressing her hands together, was -saying to herself, "You a traitor . . . _you!_ They _dare_ to say such -a thing!" - -Aymar abruptly threw down the bellows and got to his feet. - -"We must not tell Grand'mère. Are you ready to go, dear, or do you still -wish to see old Eveno?" - -She rose. "I am ready to go with you, Aymar," she said, in the sweet -voice which sometimes held an echo of childhood. And she added, very -low, "Always." But the voice which pronounced that word was a woman's. - -Aymar heard; he looked at her with eyes of agony and ardour, lit with -the flame of whose intensity she had never been quite aware, so -carefully had it been controlled. He said, "Yes . . . it might be -_always_ now--since April. . . . Oh, my God, that it could be April -again!" - -And with that cry he caught her fiercely in his arms. - -But the kiss was not fierce; it was the kiss that should have been given -and taken under the stars in the orchard, clean and passionate and -unprofaned. There was only one. Then Avoye dropped her head upon his -breast. "My heart!" she murmured to his heart. And Aymar said, in a -voice she had never heard from him before, "Beloved, your mouth is like -apple blossom." For he was conscious just then of nothing but what he -held in his arms. It was April again--for a few instants. All the -horror and the stain were swept away; he had his brief moment of -rapture, as intense as if she had come to him that spring evening, and -as pure. - -But it was very brief. The truth surged back upon him ten times more -bitter for the ecstasy. He loosed his hold of her almost as if he were -suddenly paralyzed; but her little hands were holding him fast by the -lapels of his coat and all he could see was the top of her head, with -its crown of burnished hair. Yet, though they were so close to each -other, an icy stream seemed to Aymar to drive between them, of such a -deadly cold that it sucked the breath from his heart. - -"Let me go, Avoye!" he said, putting his hands on hers that held him, -and the sharp change in his voice made her look up in alarm. Her arms -went about him very quickly, and, before he quite knew what had -happened, he was sitting once more at her side on the settle. But his -head, this time, was resting on her shoulder. - -Even this he ought not to permit himself. But it was so paradisially -sweet, so unspeakably restful, and he was so tired. - -"I should not have let you stand," the low voice like the song of a -brook was saying in his ear. "Oh, my dearest, now that you are -returned, and I can nurse you back to health . . ." - -"I am tiring you," he murmured, and tried to move; but she held him. - -"No, no, I am as strong as a rock. . . . You have a friend, you say, who -nursed you? Aymar, I envy him!" - -"Little to envy," he got out, and tried again to move. But he seemed to -have neither strength nor will. - -Avoye's glance fell on his attenuated hand, lying inert and open in her -lap. Her own closed on it. "Aymar, what a hand! And cold! Oh, my dear, -my dear!" She caught it to her breast as if to warm it. "And this -bandaged arm . . ." - -He said nothing, and for a few moments they both sat in absolute silence -by the dead hearth. Then he made a great effort, lifted his head, and -drew himself away. It was like leaving the gates of Eden, for he knew -that he would never sit like that again with his head on her shoulder, -with that heavenly feeling of being cared for by her who had always -been his first care. And it was his own act which had shut those gates -. . . betrayed to it by just that care for her. If he had been a really -honourable man he would not have entered Eden now, even for these few -blessed moments. - -And something was stabbing at his mind, so weary now that it was -difficult to discover what it was. At last he captured the thorn. - -"Avoye, I have not yet asked after M. de Vaubernier? Is he . . . well?" - -She gave a little soft, half-amused laugh, which showed instantly that -she had no sinister associations with him. "Poor Godfather! At the -beginning of May he suffered so from sciatica and rheumatism that he -went off to Aix-les-Bains, and he has not yet come back. I saw him just -before he left; he seemed very gloomy indeed, so I hope that Aix has -cheered him up." - -Aymar's heart resumed beating. He got up slowly from the settle. - -"You know, my darling, that we must be keeping the Evenos out of their -cottage, and there is M. de Courtomer waiting. We ought to go." - -She seized her hat and riding-whip. "And you are tired to death, Aimé." - -It was an old childish variant of his name. She slipped her hand into -his, in childhood's fashion, too, as he went to open the door. Just as -he unlatched it she said, glancing back at the dim interior, "I shall -come back here one day on pilgrimage." - -But he whose kiss had sanctified the place for her was silent. A man did -not make a pilgrimage to the spot where he had broken his resolve. - - -(10) - -Laurent, walking restlessly up and down by the chaise, saw them coming -at length--Aymar and the woman who was all the world to him . . . and -who must, by virtue of that distinction, be very specially set apart -from any of her sex. She was also the cause of all that had come upon -him; Laurent could almost wish that she knew it. And, plainly, she was -also the lady of the Tuileries garden. As she came nearer, holding up -her long habit, Laurent saw that she had a face that a man might die -for--a man like Aymar, at all events. . . . - -Then Aymar himself was saying, "Avoye, this is Monsieur le Comte de -Courtomer, to whose care I owe my life," and Laurent had bowed over her -hand. She gave him a charming smile, a little grave, and said, "That is -too valuable a possession to us, Monsieur de Courtomer, to be paid for -in mere thanks. I am glad that you are at least accompanying us to -Sessignes." And while Laurent was answering rather confusedly that M. -de la Rocheterie owed his life, on the contrary, to their good doctor, -Aymar himself went off to give orders about the saddle-horses. - -Directly he was out of earshot Mme de Villecresne came much closer. -"Monsieur de Courtomer, his appearance has horrified me! For God's sake -assure me that there is nothing which care cannot put right--no deadly -injury, nothing irreparable!" - -"Nothing, on my honour as a gentleman," replied Laurent earnestly. "He -is very weak still, but that is all"--"save for mental torment," he -added to himself, as Aymar, returning, announced that Eveno had gone -off in search of his father, and that they could start. - -It was soon blessedly plain to Laurent, as they drove along, that Mme de -Villecresne had no intention of asking any awkward questions, either of -or in front of L'Oiseleur. Whatever she had learnt in the cottage her -love, at least, had suffered no hurt there. Despite her visible -anxiety, there was a kind of submerged radiance about her which would -have told anybody that. As for Aymar, he gave the impression of having -been far away and of having incompletely returned. He said very little. -But Laurent was not conscious, as he had expected, of being de trop in -their company. The atmosphere of care and tenderness which Mme de -Villecresne gradually diffused seemed to include him, too, and the -perfectly unwarrantable bias which he cherished against her began to be -shaken. - -He could study her more at his leisure now. She had much the same -colouring as Aymar, but otherwise the resemblance between them was not -striking. Her hair, where the riding-hat showed it, was brighter than -his, and her eyes were less unusual; they were grey . . . or violet? It -was not till later that he noticed in her, too, that free and noble -carriage of the head which was one of Aymar's most striking -characteristics. But he did observe, as she talked to him, both the -sweetness of her expression and the air of resolution which seemed -somehow to reside in her little pointed chin. - -They were at their journey's end before Laurent realized the fact, or -had obtained that distant view of the château which he had promised -himself. By that time Aymar's extreme fatigue was so impossible to -disguise that his cousin decreed he should go straight to his room -before seeing his grandmother, and she would present M. de Courtomer. - -But these plans were disordered, directly they entered the hall, through -the agency of the huge dog who first leapt upon his master with such an -impact that he sent him staggering, and then set up so tremendous a -paean of joy that the whole house seemed to reverberate with it. It was -hardly surprising that, by the time quiet was restored, an old lady -stood in a doorway, a little Dresden china image, saying, "Why has -Sarrasin been allowed out of the stables? . . . Good God, is -that--_Aymar!_" - -L'Oiseleur dragged himself to kiss her hand. Laurent saw the delicate -colour go completely from her face, and he guessed that nobody there -existed for her at all in that moment save her grandson. She caught him -by the wrist. - -"Go up to your room at once!" she said with a catch of the breath. -"Where is Anselme?" - -"I have sent for him, Grand'mère," answered Mme de Villecresne. "Yes, -Aymar is very tired." - -"_Tired!_" ejaculated Mme de la Rocheterie. - -"Is it not allowed, Grand'mère?" interposed Aymar with the best smile -that he could muster. "However, I will go and rest a little, but -first--Monsieur de Courtomer!" - -Laurent came forward, still feeling that he had no existence. But there -was nothing to complain of in the Vicomtesse de la Rocheterie's -reception of him, for all that. She belonged to an age which had valued -good breeding above anything else in the world . . . except the -privilege of dispensing with it at will. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - THE LOVE OF WOMEN - - "You must have been most miserable - To be so cruel." - E. B. BROWNING, _Aurora Leigh._ - - -(1) - -How is it that the Fate who spins seems sometimes to take pleasure in -falsifying, not only one's anticipations, but even one's apprehensions -as to the pattern which her threads will weave? This reflection, or -something like it, was Laurent de Courtomer's next afternoon at -Sessignes, where he sat on the window-seat in Aymar's pleasant room. -Things had proved so much less trying than he had feared; supper last -night with the two ladies, for instance (Aymar was in his bed), had -been punctuated only by questions such as he could answer. The ladies -naturally wished to know the details of his friend's captivity and -illness, but among these he had been able to exercise selection; and he -was certainly not going to undeceive them when they jumped to the -conclusion that it was on account of his health that Aymar had been -"released." Details of the affair at Pont-aux-Rochers they could hardly -expect from him, nor did Mme de la Rocheterie press for them, while her -granddaughter, as he knew, had already been told enough by her cousin -to avoid that subject, in public, like the plague. - -In the second place, he and Aymar were not going to part immediately -after all. Once again the Spinner had twisted the thread. The newspaper -that morning, which confirmed the account of Napoleon's abdication, and -told them that the King was on French soil again, apprised them also of -the fact that Vendée had made peace two days before. There was, -therefore, not the slightest need for Laurent to return thither, and he -had yielded only too willingly to Aymar's solicitations to remain a -little at Sessignes. Aymar himself had been examined that morning -(considerably against his will) by the doctor whom Mme de la Rocheterie -had summoned, and as a result, had been confined for the present to his -room. Under a promise of secrecy he had also, to Laurent's relief, -allowed the doctor to see and prescribe for the burnt arm. - -He was lying at this moment on a chaise-longue, pulling the ears of the -enraptured wolfhound, whose head lay on his breast. - -"When are you going to ride Hirondelle, Laurent?" he asked, looking up. -"She is at your disposal any time, you know. There are rods in the -hall, and fish, though they are shy, in the stream; and if you want a -gun, you have only to ask Célestin. And if this one-idea'd beast will -go with you, perhaps you will take him for a walk some time?" - -The word seemed to be familiar to Sarrasin, for he beat his tail upon -the floor so vigorously that a light knock at the door was scarcely -audible. A voice was then heard saying, "May I come in, Aymar?" - -Laurent jumped up. It was Mme de la Rocheterie. L'Oiseleur also made -instinctively to rise. - -"Do not be foolish, Aymar; stay where you are," said his grandmother in -her cold, gentle tones. "And do not let me disturb you, Monsieur de -Courtomer. I have brought our invalid some peaches." She had indeed a -shallow basket in her hand, and a scarf thrown over her brilliant white -hair, as though she had been in the garden. "Ah, that incorrigible dog -is up here again!" - -"You mean that I am incorrigible, Grand'mère," said Aymar, -good-humouredly, and he ordered Sarrasin to remove himself to a -distance. - -Meanwhile the Vicomtesse had accepted from Laurent a chair by the couch, -and though she again besought the young man not to depart, he -thereafter vanished, somewhat regretting that a gentleman could not -listen at the keyhole. - - - -Sitting there beside the chaise-longue Mme de la Rocheterie subjected -its occupant to a long, quiet scrutiny. Little, however, of what she -really felt or thought was to be seen on her face. - -"Gellois does not give me a very good account of you, Aymar," she said -at last. "But, from the look of you, I hardly expected it." - -"You know that he is an alarmist, my dear grandmother," replied the -invalid. "There is nothing the matter with me now except that I get -tired rather easily." - -"He says that your heart is impaired." - -"Temporarily, I dare say. I suppose that is why he has condemned me to -lie here in this ridiculous fashion." - -"But, my dear boy, you have been very--by which I mean dangerously--ill, -and you know it. It is of no use to deny it, for M. de Courtomer has -admitted the fact." - -"I hope that you are being very charming to M. de Courtomer," responded -her grandson, shifting the ground a little. "If I have been as ill as -you say, all the more credit and thanks to him that I am well now. He -nursed me with a devotion for which there are no words." - -"You consider, in short, that you owe your life to him?" - -Aymar smiled a little. "If I cannot give him his due without making the -admission which you are so anxious to wring out of me, Grand'mère yes, -I do--to him and the doctor. So be kind to him--for he is not leaving -us to-day after all, I am glad to say." - -"No friend of yours shall have anything to complain of from me, Aymar," -responded his grandmother, "particularly one to whom you are so much -indebted. He seems a well-bred young man, for all his English -upbringing. The name, of course, is good. I suppose he bears _sinople, -three lions argent?_" - -"I suppose so," said Aymar with a smile. "The one thing which I do know -for certain that he bears is--_a heart, or._" - -A smile flickered over Mme de la Rocheterie's face also. "What a pretty -speech! M. de Courtomer ought to be here.--Now I will peel you a peach, -and if it does not tire you to talk, you shall tell me of this -unfortunate business of Pont-aux-Rochers. We have heard the most -unpleasant rumours about it here." - -The young man twisted a trifle in the chair. "Rumours of . . . -treachery?" - -"Yes," continued the Vicomtesse, selecting a peach from the basket. "And -from all the details we could gather, from the completeness of the -disaster--and from the fact that you were not there in person--it seems -to me probable that they are true. But I should like to know." However, -it was with a very undisturbed air that she began to peel the peach. - -Aymar watched her for a moment. "I understand that the idea might have -arisen," he said at last. "But it is a false one. There was no -treachery over the business." - -His grandmother raised her eyebrows. "My dear boy, what was there, then? -A miracle, worked for the Bonapartists?" - -"A miscalculation--a grave error of judgment." - -"Ah, I think I can guess whose!" - -"Can you? I fancy not!" He gave a rather wan, ironic smile. "It was my -own, Grand'mère." - -And at that Mme de la Rocheterie not only lifted her eyes from her -occupation, but looked at him so piercingly that under her gaze the -easily raised flush of convalescence ran across Aymar's own face for an -instant. - -"Your error in judgment, I suppose you imply, because you chose an -incapable man for your subordinate," she remarked. "I warn you, mon -fils, that I have no patience with that kind of quixotry. Our name, -your reputation, shall not be used to shield a man who is a bungler, if -no worse." - -The flush came again, and deeper this time, but it left Aymar very pale. -"If you mean M. de Fresne, he is in no need of shielding--_shielding_, -my God!" he said under his breath. "I committed the . . . the mistake -myself. But if you have no objection, we will not talk about it." - -"As you please," said the Vicomtesse calmly. She had finished her task, -and delicately wiped her fingers. "I have you back safe and -comparatively sound, which is all I care about. The reputation of -L'Oiseleur is strong enough to take care of itself. All the same, as I -do not wish you to be under a misapprehension as to my intelligence, I -must tell you that I do not believe you about M. de Fresne." - -Her grandson gave almost a groan of irritation and anger. "You accuse me -of lying, then?" - -"I accuse you of having a bad memory. The evening that you were here in -April--the evening before the ambuscade--you told me casually at supper -that M. de Fresne, without awaiting your orders, was moving your men -across the river next morning. I could see, though you did not say so, -that you were a little annoyed. Late that evening you received news -which made you rush off post-haste to them; the next thing we hear is -that they have walked into a trap and been cut up. And then you say the -blame is yours, and not your thick-headed lieutenant's! You see, my -dear boy, that you cannot hoodwink me like that!" - -Aymar, taken aback as he was for the moment, pulled himself higher on -the couch. His eyes were bright, his mouth determined. "I absolutely -refuse to have M. de Fresne made a scapegoat any more!" he said hotly. -"I, and I alone, am responsible for what happened at Pont-aux-Rochers. -I will not have another man's reputation sacrificed to save mine!" - -"I was not aware," said his grandmother drily, "that M. de Fresne had -any particular reputation to sacrifice. But if you are going to agitate -yourself over it like this, you shall take all the blame you want. Lie -down again, for Heaven's sake!" She got up and rearranged his cushions. -"I begin to think that part of the reason why you look like a seven -days' ghost is that you are taking this, your solitary reverse, so much -au grand tragique. That comes, my dear Aymar, of being the favourite of -fortune--and of being young. Well, time, unfortunately, will cure the -latter----" - -"And has already cured the first," finished Aymar with a queer little -smile, shutting his eyes for a second. "Thank you, Bonne-maman." He -opened them again and looked at her as she resumed her seat. "It is -plain that you do not know how many men I lost over that affair." - -"But what were your men for?" enquired the Vicomtesse. "I do not say -that you exactly kept them in cotton-wool, but you have always been -ridiculously sensitive about their welfare. One must break eggs to make -an omelette, as the vulgar say.--Well, let us talk of something else. -There is a much pleasanter subject to hand, is there not?" And her -smile, though mischievous, was not unkind. - -But Aymar looked away and said nothing. - -"I have tired you so much that you cannot even talk about _her_?" asked -his grandmother after a moment. "I shall have the young gentleman with -the heart of gold taking me to task." She got up, putting the peach -near him. "Another time, then; just now you can lie here and reflect -how true it is that everything comes to him who waits. . . . Only, my -dearest boy"--she bent and kissed him tenderly--"do try to see your -late reverse in its proper proportions! I should like to point out--if -you will not take the consolation amiss--that now, owing to the signal -victory of mid-June, it is of small consequence what happened to your -little force at the end of April!" - -Of small consequence! Oh, if only it were! As the door closed behind her -Aymar turned and lay motionless, his face hidden in one of his -cushions. - - -(2) - -The wolfhound Sarrasin, who, having a soul above rabbits, usually -disdained the investigation of hedges, paced soberly along at Laurent's -heels one fine evening, four days later, on the return from the walk -they had taken together. Their respective master and friend was not yet -strong enough to accompany them, for he had only made his first -appearance downstairs at déjeuner that day; moreover, he was closeted -with Jacques Eveno, now become a kind of enquiry agent for him with -regard to the victims of Pont-aux-Rochers. - -It was nearly sunset, and Sessignes, as it came into sight, was bathed -in a warm and flattering radiance. Already Laurent loved the place, -which seemed to fit Aymar so well--old and noble and secure and -unpretentious. Yet, much as he delighted in being here, and in feeling -that he was of use to Aymar, both as his only real confidant and as an -accomplice in diverting awkward questions, he was torn also with a -desire to get back to his mother. But Paris was probably invested by -this time; though a friend, he was not likely to succeed in getting -through the English and Prussian lines. Directly, however, that there -seemed to be a chance of penetrating to the capital, he would set off -to her. - -On the whole, these four days, like his first supper-party at Sessignes, -had been less agitating than he had feared. There was strain, of -course, for Aymar, and for him, and, presumably, for Madame de -Villecresne up to a point, because of what she knew; but Mme de la -Rocheterie had not added to the inevitable malaise the extra tension -which he had anticipated. Her attitude at present was one of -half-amused toleration of Aymar's concern for his unfortunate men, and -of a disregard of the possibilities of blame which was sublime in its -contempt. Laurent's only hope was that sleeping dogs might be left to -lie. For, used as he was to the society of old ladies, and versed in -the ways that pleased them, Mme de la Rocheterie inspired in him a -latent terror which his own formidable great-aunts had never roused. -With her, one felt very much in the presence of an intelligence. When -she set that intelligence to finding out anything, he was sure that she -would succeed. He could only pray that his might not be the unwary -tongue to kindle this desire. - -About Mme de Villecresne he had now quite made up his mind. More girlish -than he had pictured her, the widow, the six years' nominal wife (no -older, indeed, than himself) more beautiful even than he had thought at -first, and with a nameless charm of glance and voice, he now found her -bewitching. He was for ever on the watch for the fleeting, -half-tantalizing resemblances to Aymar himself; these, indeed, -completed his subjugation. So, except that in his heart of hearts he -did not think any woman good enough for his friend, he approved his -choice. And, fortunately, there was no shadow of doubt that she loved -Aymar deeply. He had seen her with him in the chaise . . . and looking -at him to-day at déjeuner. And now, if it were not for this horrible -cloud over him, of whose full proportions she was not aware, their -long-delayed happiness was at hand. He did hope that Aymar would have -no hesitation about taking it quickly. From something which his friend -had let fall the other day he was a little afraid. . . . Being cousins, -they would of course have to get a dispensation first. . . . - -The young man reflected on their cousinship as he swung along. Had they -not been lovers they must almost, he thought, feel like brother and -sister, brought up together as they had been from so tender an age. And -his thoughts flew instantly to a picture in the salon of the château -which had charmed and delighted him from the first--a pastel wherein a -beautiful, serious boy of ten or thereabouts held by the hand a younger -girl-child, bright-haired like himself and smiling rather roguishly at -the spectator. The little Aymar had a kite on which his other hand -rested, somewhat as if on a shield, but his attention, obviously, was -concentrated on his companion with an effect of care and protection not -usual at the kite-flying age. It came to Laurent, as he neared -Sessignes, how deeply that same attitude was still Aymar's, and how, to -shelter his cousin now from the knowledge of what she, all innocently, -had brought upon him, he was running what his friend could not but -consider a very grave risk indeed. But it was not for him to say, "Tell -her everything!" Aymar knew what he was doing. - -And the whole future? The nightmare idea of arrest by his own side still -sometimes visited Laurent, since the morning when Aymar had referred to -it. But such a blow was unlikely to fall on him because, having raised -and equipped his Eperviers entirely by his own efforts, he was under -the direct orders of no commander whatever, not even of Sol de -Grisolles himself. Yet, in spite of that, suppose that one day he -_were_ dragged off from Sessignes to answer for what he had done. . . . -That was the terrible part of it--for what he _had_ done. - -"Oh, Sarrasin," said Laurent with a shiver, "you wise dog, if only you -could help your master!" But the wolfhound merely swayed his tail, and -they came up the avenue to the château, and turned along the side of -the house to the highest terrace. And here the sunset, already -brightening behind the woods that flanked the pastures on the other -side of the Aven, was seen in all its half-tragic splendour, like the -death of a hero. It tinged the river and smote on the bright, uncovered -head of her who had been the little girl in the picture, as she stood -by the terrace wall gazing out into the distance. - -Laurent caught sight of her face; it looked so exceedingly grave that he -stopped before she had perhaps, even heard his step. But Sarrasin went -up to her, so she turned, and Laurent, realizing that she wished to -speak to him, approached her. - -"Monsieur de Courtomer," she began rather abruptly, "I want to consult -you about something rather terrible--something which I hope may be kept -from my cousin's knowledge." - -"I am at your service, Madame," replied Laurent. This was indeed turning -the tables in the matter of concealment. - -Mme de Villecresne moved a trifle away, and, looking down, fingered the -warm lichened stone of the terrace wall for a moment. The little curls -at the back of her neck glowed like burnished gold. "It is about -Pont-aux-Rochers. My cousin warned me himself that I might hear it said -that the supposed treachery there was--his own. I had not heard it, and -till this afternoon I could have sworn that it was impossible so -atrocious a slander should even be breathed in Brittany of L'Oiseleur! -Yet this very afternoon I have just heard worse--if it were -possible--and I do not know what to do about it." - -Her breath seemed to fail her for an instant. Laurent looked at her in -mute uneasiness. - -"I pray that Aymar himself does not know. . . . I hardly like even to -repeat it, but my maid tells me that she heard a man in the village -saying he had heard a report that it was Aymar's own men who shot him, -on account of the disaster at the bridge. If only he has not heard it -himself--if only we can keep it from him!" - -She raised her eyes at the last words. But what she saw on the candid -visage of her cousin's confidant caused her to put a hand quickly to -her heart. - -"Merciful Heavens--it is not _true!_" - -Laurent lowered his head. Mme de Villecresne gripped his arm, -breathlessly repeating, "It is not true!--it cannot be!" - -"Unfortunately . . . it is true," responded the young man, more than -unwillingly. - -His fair head and the sunset all reeled together, obviously, before the -girl's eyes. She loosed his arm and sank down on the broad wall beside -him, her face drained of colour; then, as Laurent, alarmed, took a step -towards her, she made a gesture as if to ward him off, and covered it -with her hands. - -"It was only two or three of them," added Laurent hesitatingly. - -She made no answer, and after another terrible silence, during which her -informant rooted up an entire pink from between the stones of the wall, -she rose, her face still hidden, and went from him. - - - -Aymar, sitting at a table in his room with a pen between his fingers and -fatigue on his face, heard from Laurent the account of what had just -happened without comment or change of expression. - -"Where is she now?" he asked, getting up. - -"I do not know. Oh, Aymar, I cannot blame myself enough!" - -"There is no need to blame yourself at all. It will be all over the -place in a day or two. I have just had a terrible scene with Eveno. He -had heard it in the village, too; and he was nearly demented. He wanted -to go off and do murder." - -"He will not, I hope?" exclaimed Laurent, startled. - -"Not now. Besides, he does not know, since I would not tell him, whom to -murder. Ninety men is rather a large order, single-handed." He gave a -weary little laugh, and went to the door. "Really, I do not know which -is more difficult to handle, the rebel or the fanatically faithful!" - - - -For his friend's sake at least Laurent could not but be glad when he -learnt later that he had not succeeded in getting speech with his -cousin. She had gone to her room, whence she did not appear again that -evening. She had a bad headache, it seemed. But the Vicomtesse was in -great spirits at supper, and entertained Laurent with some witty but -rather doubtful stories. "I wonder if she knows what heartache is," -thought the young man . . . and then remembered her guillotined sons. - - -(3) - -"I think that Mme la Comtesse has gone to the orchard for some flowers," -said old Célestin next morning in answer to his young master's enquiry. -And he added, looking at him affectionately, "It is good to see you -about again, Monsieur Aymar!" - -So, wishing that she were anywhere but in the apple-orchard, Aymar went -towards it in the haze of heat which brooded over everything, and -opened the gate, for he could not vault gates nowadays. And when he was -among the trees he saw why Avoye should have come here for flowers, for -where the grass had been left long it was starred with moon-daisies. -Yet for a moment, with relief, he thought that she was not in the -orchard at all. Then he saw her, an empty basket beside her, crouched -at the foot of an apple tree, her head against the trunk, in the most -forlorn attitude imaginable. He quickened his steps. "Avoye, what is -the matter? Are you ill, my dear? Can I----" - -On that he saw that she was crying as if her heart would break. He went -down on one knee beside her. "Avoye, my darling . . ." - -She turned to him instantly, and clung to him like a child. "It is . . . -what M. de Courtomer told me yesterday. . . . I cried nearly all night -. . . now again . . . Aymar, Aymar, I can't bear it for you!" - -Holding her to him, he soothed her as one soothes a child; and indeed -she seemed very small. "My little heart, it is not worth crying over. -It all happened in a hurry--the Blues were on us. It was really one -man's doing only, and he had a grudge against me. My darling, you never -expected me always to come off scot-free?" - -A long sob, shaking her there against his breast, seemed to say that -_that_ was very different. He held her closer. And gradually comforted -by his presence, she grew calmer, and finally ceased to sob. - -And here he was, holding her in his arms again, he who had come out into -the orchard to tell her why he could not marry her yet. And that had -got to be done. This beginning had not made it easier to do. He would -not have the fortitude to tell her at all while she clung to him. So, -somehow, he got her to her feet, and then to a seat under one of the -old apple trees, and, instead of sitting down, too, stood before her. - -"Avoye, I came out here to tell you the story I promised you in the -cottage--the story of how and why this happened to me. It is time that -you knew." - -"Since I know the end," she said pitifully, "need I know the beginning?" - -Aymar hesitated. "If the . . . the end, then, will stand to you for -sufficient reason why, as an honourable man, I cannot ask you to marry -me at present, perhaps not. Will it, Avoye?" - -She twisted her damp handkerchief into a ball. "Why should I not marry -you, Aymar, because you have been nearly murdered for someone else's -fault?" - -So he was not to escape the ordeal of lying to her. For if the tale was -told at all, it should be told in his way. On that point he never -wavered. What, let her, heart-broken as she was already, let her know -that she herself was the cause of what he had suffered? He drew a long -breath. - -"Very well," he said quietly. "I shall have to tell you whose the fault -was, and then you will see things differently." He came and sat down -beside her, under the tree, but not very near. "I will begin at the -beginning." - -To any one who knew how the story was going to end it would have been -passably painful hearing, but when the hearer was a woman and the -narrator was the man she loved it was nearly intolerable. Making the -narrative as brief as possible, Aymar got without interruption or pause -as far as his finding de Fresne's letter at Sessignes, and his thought -of how he could still send it and bring off the move he had discussed -at Keraven. All reference to Vaubernier and his tidings he naturally -omitted, and merely said, "So, in order to lure the Imperialists to -Pont-aux-Rochers, as we had talked of doing, I sent them de Fresne's -letter. I will not tell you how I sent it, nor by whom, nor how I made -it plausible . . . Yes, there was some risk, I grant you, but not -much--or so I saw it then, fresh from my interview with Saint-Etienne. -How deep my repentance was afterwards--but that you can guess." - -Avoye's gaze was on him, smitten, horrified. - -"You actually sent it--you yourself! It _was_ really your doing-- -Pont-aux-Rochers!" - -"Yes," he returned, meeting the gaze. "But it was not treachery." - -"Aymar, Aymar, as if I needed that saying to me! But it was hazardous -beyond words, surely, and . . . and strange!" - -Yes, he could see that there was something repugnant to her, even as -there had been to him, in the act--not in the risk, but in the act -itself. - -"It was a ruse de guerre, Avoye--defensible, I think, from that -standpoint. One cannot, unfortunately, be too particular sometimes as -to the means one uses. And I, too, did not overmuch relish doing it." - -"I see that it was a ruse. And no one, of course, would have blamed you -for it if your real intention had been obvious. But, as it did not -succeed, your men thought that you had sent information of their -movements to the enemy _meaning_ to betray them! . . . Oh, Aymar, I see -it all--how terrible, how unspeakably terrible! . . . But go on, my -darling; what happened next? Some dreadful misfortune, I know it!" - -He went on, his hand shading his face lest it should betray him. But the -agony point of the narrative was past; he hoped he need lie no more. -Avoye did not interrupt again; indeed, when she heard of Keraven -reached at dawn and empty, she put her hands over her face. Aymar -mentioned his interview with de Fresne and his having given up his -sword, laid as much stress as possible on Magloire's insubordination, -let her see that, in a sense, he had had to sacrifice himself to save -his lieutenant, and left, he hoped, in her mind a picture of a -surprise, a scuffle, a chance shot or two . . . just enough, -unfortunately, to give colour to the statement that the Eperviers had -shot their own commander for treachery. - -After that he leant back against the trunk of the tree in silence. It -had been as much as he could do to get through. The tit which for some -moments had been busy, perhaps eavesdropping, in the apple-boughs above -them dislodged a tiny twig, which fell on to his knee. He took it up -and fingered it absently. After all, he had not had to lie much. He had -but told her a half-truth. - -"I wish," said Avoye, breaking the silence at last, her eyes full of -tears, "I wish you had never met M. de Saint-Etienne! It was his fault -that all this happened to you, Aimé; it was he, or his friend, who gave -you this fatal idea. I am sure it could not have been a plan of yours, -to send information in that way, without any real necessity--not -because you were in a difficult situation and had to extricate -yourself, but just for the chance of snaring the Blues. If you had been -in difficulties----" - -Aymar threw away the little twig and roused himself. This was a -dangerous line of thought. But he could think of nothing better with -which to check it than, "I have regretted it enough since, my dear." - -Avoye shivered a little. Then she put a hand on his. "But surely the -Imperialists, who looked after you so well, did not think--that thing -of you? They must have understood?" - -"When my own men did not? No, Avoye, they did not . . . understand." - -She caught her hands together and the tears brimmed over. - -"Oh, why did you not make a better story--save your name somehow when -you sent the letter? Why did you send it at all?" - -And as he did not answer, but sat with downbent head, she went on, "But -I do not mean to criticize, to scold! It sounds so cruel, when you have -suffered so!" - -Aymar lifted his eyes, and smiled at her out of his pain and fatigue. -"No, little heart, I know you did not mean to do that." He put his hand -over hers and they relapsed into momentary silence. - -"Aymar," said his cousin suddenly, "to whom did you say you sent the -letter?" - -His hand loosed itself a little. "I did not mention any name, I think," -he answered warily. "Why?" - -"Because I wondered for a second whether it could have been to the -Imperialists who stopped me at the _Cheval Blanc_--under a Colonel -Richard, I think the name was--for you remember, perhaps, that that was -the very night I was detained. And it would have been a horrible -coincidence, for I heard those men marching out early next morning. But -of course, if it was not to him----" - -There was no help for it if she questioned him. He withdrew his hand -first. "No," he answered, sick at heart and quite composed, "I sent it -to the commandant at Arzon." - -There was a sigh of relief beside him. "I am so glad," said Avoye. "And -I am so glad, too, that you did not know at the time that I was a sort -of prisoner, because it would have distressed you unnecessarily. . . . -You did not know, did you?" she asked, in a slightly different voice. - -He shook his head. Hell must be like this. "I learnt of it first when I -got your letter. Yes, I am glad I did not know.--As for that letter," -he went on after a second or two, "I hope you understood, my darling, -why, as a prisoner, I could not answer it as I should have done had I -been free . . . and why, now, I must not ask you yet to take our name -again." - -"I see why you think you must not," she said gently. "But, Aymar, with a -reputation like yours, you have only to tell the story as you have told -it to me to clear yourself! Other Royalists might perhaps criticize you -for taking too much risk, but as for thinking that you deliberately -betrayed your own men----" - -"No, Avoye," he broke in quickly, "other Royalists do think that--at -least some of them." And as she stared at him incredulously he told her -the story of M. de Lanascol, and of the acquaintance who had walked out -of the inn at his entry. - -"But, Aymar," she said indignantly, "they must be mad! You, with your -past--you, L'Oiseleur!" - -"Darling, you must face it; I have a different past now--a present, -rather. You see, the very fact of what happened to me in the Bois des -Fauvettes condemns me unheard. Royalists, even one's own acquaintances, -are saying--unwillingly, in many cases, perhaps, and shocked as much as -you like--'It must be true, because his own men shot him for it.'" - -A quiver ran through her. "Then it rests with you--and with M. de -Saint-Etienne--to show that it is not true!" And, looking at him with -all her heart in her eyes, she put her hand in his. "If only we had the -dispensation I would marry you to-morrow . . . to show how little I -care for such evil tongues." - -He bent his head over the hand. "You must leave me some pride, Avoye." - -"No one will ever succeed in robbing you entirely of that, my -dear. . . . But I have not left myself much, have I, to say such a -thing?" - -Somehow she was in his arms again. He kissed her hair, and they were -both silent. - -"Aymar, am I hurting you?" she asked suddenly. "Was it--this shoulder?" - -"Hurting me!" he answered in a low voice. "You weigh about as much as a -wren! And if it were not healed it would be from this moment. Don't -move! . . . You can't!" he added with a little inflection of triumph. - -Yet the next moment he had loosed her himself, and stood up. "I beg your -pardon, Avoye. I have not . . . I must wait." - -She saw that he meant it; she knew why he felt as he did. Unnecessary as -she might think his scruples, she was not going to hurt his pride more -than it had already been hurt by making self-control more difficult for -him. She too got up, and gave him her hand. He was her lover, but he -was almost her brother, too. "You shall do what you think best, Aymar. -I can wait also." - -He kissed her hand, and going with her to the orchard gate, opened it -for her without a word. And after he had watched her go he went and -leant against a tree, with his arms folded, in the very place and -almost in the same posture as he had waited her coming with such dizzy -rapture three months before, when she had not come, but instead of -her--disgrace. And Aymar faced that reflection now, standing motionless -as, nine weeks ago to this very day, he had stood against another -tree. . . . What had been blossom above him here on that magic and -hateful April night was fruit now, green and immature; but in his -ruined life the fruit of what he had done had ripened much more -quickly. He had said that he could not ask Avoye to marry him yet--but -when could he? How was he ever going to wash away the stain? - -He leant there long after she had gone, his eyes fixed on the blue line -of woods beyond the sloping pasture, his thoughts entangled, like his -whole existence now, in this dark forest where his own act had plunged -him--leant there till the peacock's ugly note came, as once before, to -rouse him, and he stood up, though this was morning and July, with a -little start and shiver, and went from the apple-orchard which at last -had seen the meeting of lovers. - - -(4) - -Three more hot summer days slid past much as their seven predecessors -had done. But Avoye de Villecresne's face had become shadowed in their -passage. And as, on the third afternoon, Aymar, followed by Sarrasin, -came over the sloping meadows towards the river, more than the now -customary sadness looked from his eyes. Yet, when he caught sight of a -fisherman sitting very much at his ease on the other bank, his face -lightened. - -"Don't jump in this time!" called out Laurent. "Though indeed it is -pleasanter weather for a bathe than it was that day." - -Aymar crossed by the little bridge. "One doesn't bathe, if one can avoid -it, in the presence of Sarrasin," he said, as he came up to him. "He -has a most unfortunate conviction that it is his duty to rescue you. My -first experience of his zeal was exceedingly painful." - -Sarrasin, aware that he was being talked about, sat down, panting -vehemently, and self-consciously offered Laurent a paw. - -"I wonder what would have happened if he had been with you beside the -Dart," murmured Laurent. "Thank you, Sarrasin, once is sufficient -honour! If you pant like that you will frighten the fish--not that -there are any this afternoon, and no one but a fool would have brought -a rod down." - -Aymar threw himself at full length on the bank, and, pushing the big dog -into a recumbent position, pillowed his head upon him, much to -Sarrasin's gratification, and there was silence. - -"Has Eveno gone?" asked Laurent presently. - -"Yes. I shall soon be strong enough to ride and interview people myself. -But I see already . . ." He stopped for a second or two. "Laurent, I am -afraid that some day I may have to sell Sessignes." - -"_What!_" - -"I can see no other way to get the money I require for pensions and the -rest. I can no doubt raise it by loan or mortgage on the place, and I -should not dream of selling the estate while my grandmother lived, but -as I am at a loss to know how I should repay the borrowed money -otherwise----" - -Laurent looked across the river at the fair domain, at the towers for -which he himself had developed such a feeling. "Aymar, that would be a -terrible thing to do!" - -"Yes, it would," agreed the Vicomte de la Rocheterie in a hard, -unnatural voice. "Seven hundred years has it sheltered us. But then the -thing I have already done, unfortunately, is terrible." - -There was another silence. Sarrasin snapped his great jaws at a fly. -Laurent, thunderstruck, began to turn over with fresh hope a resolve -which these last few days had been taking shape in his mind. - -"May I say something?" he enquired at last in a somewhat stifled voice. - -"You know that you can say anything you like," responded Aymar without -moving. - -"Even something that _you_ will not like?" - -"Even that!" - -Laurent fixed his eyes on a point across the river. - -"Have you ever thought of digging for treasure in the old part of -Sessignes?" he asked. - -He was aware that Aymar smiled. "My dear Laurent!" - -"If you did," went on Laurent, unperturbed, "you might find a hoard -which you could devote to those families. . . . You might! Or I might -find one for you!" - -"I only wish you could!" - -Laurent plucked at the grass. "You would not be very particular as to -its date, in that case, would you, Aymar? I mean, you would not require -it to be a very ancient treasure?" - -"What do you mean?" demanded his friend. "You cannot have been so -foolish--forgive me!--as really to have started explorations with that -object?" - -"No," said Laurent. "I have not, but if I did, I know I should find -something. And, as I said, it would not matter for this purpose that it -would be modern money, and that I . . . that I should have put it there -myself." And as Aymar lifted himself on to his elbow and stared at him, -he rushed at the fence. "I have never told you, Aymar, but the fact is -that I have become rather absurdly rich since I first met you. Just -before I went to Vendée my English grandfather died, and left me nearly -all his money--about six thousand pounds a year--and besides that -I----" - -Aymar had sat up, suddenly paling. "Please don't say any more, Laurent. -I am very sorry I ever mentioned the matter to you." - -Laurent plucked more desperately than ever at the grass, but he stuck to -his guns. "You must forgive me, but you gave me leave to say anything I -liked." - -"Well?" said Aymar, not encouragingly. - -"You know that I should never presume to offer you money----" - -"Then what are you doing now?" - -Try as he would Laurent could not help wincing at the tone. He looked at -the dancing water in silence for a moment. - -"It is not for your own benefit, the money, Aymar! Am I to stand by and -see you ruin yourself--see you break your heart--when I could so easily -prevent it? Why, it would be less than one year's income of this -fortune which I do not want and have not yet touched! And after all you -have said--because I cannot forget your words, even though I never -deserved them--after all that, I am so little to you that you will not -let me do you this paltry service! It's"--he laughed with nervousness -and anxiety--"on my soul, it's Arbelles over again!" - -"You don't know what an impossible thing you are asking," replied Aymar, -his head turned away. - -"You have done more impossible," pleaded Laurent. "You went and asked a -favour of your enemy . . . for the sake of another. Yet you will not -take a gift from a friend--though that, too, is for the sake of -others." - -There was a long pause. Sarrasin had a fresh access of snapping, and in -the Aven a fish actually jumped. - -"Perhaps I might . . . take it as a loan," said Aymar at length with, it -was clear, the utmost difficulty. - -"And sell Sessignes to repay it!--Oh, Aymar, it's not for yourself! I -. . . I think it's for me!" - -Another silence. Aymar's head was still turned away; he was digging one -hand into the grass farther than Laurent had ever done. Did it mean -that he was going to accept? Oh, if only it might be! - -And then Laurent became aware of someone approaching the stream. - -"Here is your cousin!" he exclaimed in surprise. Aymar looked up, and -they both scrambled to their feet. - -"Eulalie de Morsan has just arrived, Aymar," Laurent heard Avoye say, as -Aymar went over the bridge towards her. "She is going to stay the -night. I came to tell you; Grand'mère is asking for you." - -On this news Aymar made no comment; he merely thanked its bearer for her -trouble. And as Laurent, inwardly cursing the moment chosen by Mme de -Morsan for her arrival, went up to the house with the cousins, he -learnt that the lady was on her way home from Aix-les-Bains or -somewhere, and had elected to pay them a visit en passant. His -annoyance was, however, a little dispelled on hearing that she had -brought with her the news that Paris had capitulated to the Allies -three days ago. - - -(5) - -Mme de Morsan's start of surprise when she saw Aymar, her shocked "Mon -cousin, how ill you look!" which pleased the "cousin" in question not -at all, her raising of the eyebrows and her surveying of Avoye de -Villecresne, presumably because she had the temerity not to be wearing -mourning, were the first impressions which Laurent gathered at this his -second encounter with the fair traveller, who was graciously pleased, -for her part, to assert a vivid remembrance of their first meeting, and -of their conversation. Later, at supper, she was pretty well occupied -in answering Mme de la Rocheterie's questions about her own doings -during the twelve months or so which had passed since the Vicomtesse -and her nephew's widow had met. Laurent could easily see that Mme de la -Rocheterie had a penchant for this lively, free-spoken, handsome -kinswoman, but that Mme de Villecresne did not share it. Compared with -that opulent beauty in her elegant "half-dress" of rosecoloured -sarcenet embroidered with shaded chenille, she looked like an evening -primrose by a tiger-lily. As for Aymar, he was courteous and attentive, -but no more; indeed, he was somewhat silent in the salon afterwards, -and so was Avoye. - -But Mme de Morsan was talkative enough, and soon began to direct most of -her conversation at the other guest, an attention with which he could -well have dispensed, for the company was not numerous enough to make it -private, and it developed uncomfortable elements. So he had been able -to repay that romantic leap into the river! And had the hero been a -good patient? She could fancy him being just a little exacting, but -since they were such friends Laurent would hardly betray him. And was -it true that it was because he had been so ill that the Imperialists -had released him? Yes, said Laurent brazenly; and Mme de la Rocheterie -here intimated her conviction that their commander, for all his -politics, must have had a kind heart. On this the visitor introduced -into the conversation a topic equally thorny and unforeseen, for she -declared that she could not imagine how this Guitton (Aymar had been -obliged to supply her with the detested name), whatever his humanity, -could ever have allowed such a capture as L'Oiseleur to leave his hands -without giving his parole. Or had he given it? And when Laurent -evasively replied that it would have been ridiculous to insist upon -parole with a man in M. de la Rocheterie's then state of health, Mme de -Morsan, looking pensively at her sandal, opined that it was hardly a -compliment to be released unconditionally. When she further added, even -though with a smile at Aymar and the air of uttering a pleasantry, that -it was obvious the Imperialists must have had some reason for wanting -to get rid of him, a cold and curious suspicion was already worming its -way into Laurent's mind that behind this rather sub-acid banter there -was knowledge of some kind. Yet it was half dispelled by the way in -which she then said, laughing outright, "I will again hazard the guess -that he was a trying patient!" - -"Well," put in Mme de la Rocheterie with the tiniest shade of -impatience, perhaps even of displeasure, "we shall never find that out -from M. de Courtomer, so we can abandon the subject. Tell us, Eulalie, -more of the news about Paris." - -But it appeared that their visitor knew no more than the bare fact of -the capitulation. As she remarked, she did not come from the -neighbourhood of the capital, quite the reverse. - -"I think you said you had been at Aix, did you not?" asked Avoye, -speaking for almost the first time since supper. "Did you chance to -meet M. de Vaubernier there?" - -Aymar's and Laurent's looks met for a second. "The Marquis de -Vaubernier," repeated Mme de Morsan, in evident surprise. "Has he been -at Aix? No, I did not meet him there. When did he go, and why?" - -It was the Vicomtesse who supplied this information, adding that, if he -had returned home, she would have invited the old gentleman over that -evening; he was so fond of a game of whist. And she thereupon suggested -that the four young people should play a rubber. Two of these--probably -three--were profoundly grateful for the suggestion, and they played -cards in peace till bedtime, Laurent only suffering one spasm of -probably needless apprehension and dismay when he thought he discerned -Mme de Morsan looking very fixedly at Aymar's wrists as he dealt. But -he could see nothing there now. - -By tacit consent he went with Aymar into his room when they were -upstairs. - -"Do you think that Mme de Morsan can possibly know anything?" was his -first question. - -"I am sure she does. What it is, exactly, I must find out to-morrow." - -"Yet, surely," observed Laurent, looking bothered, "she could not have -said those things to you . . . about you . . . intentionally, of set -purpose!" (For how could a woman enjoy seeing the man of whom she was -enamoured writhe--not that Aymar had writhed . . . outwardly.) - -"Why not?" - -"Well, because you--because she--because it would be unkind," responded -Laurent, rather red. - -"All the stronger incentive," observed Aymar drily. "I shall have it out -with her to-morrow." - -So Laurent left that subject and embarked, half regretfully, on the -next. Paris having capitulated, he felt that he must go to his mother -at once, premising, however, that the day after to-morrow would be -early enough to start. If Aymar had no objection, he should like to -outstay Mme de Morsan. - -Aymar smiled at that. Laurent took up his candle again, went a few paces -towards the door, and stopped. "I wish I could know to-night, Aymar," -he said wistfully, "if you are going to agree to what I proposed this -afternoon? It would be the best parting gift you could give me--the -thing I want most in the world just now . . . except that you should be -cleared." - -For a very long minute Aymar stood looking down at the floor. - -At last he raised his head. "I wish," he said, drawing a long breath, -"that it were not so hard to give in to what is . . . happiness to me -also." And he gave Laurent the most wonderful smile he had ever seen. - - -(6) - -It was partly with the idea of leaving the field free for Aymar to have -his explanation with Mme de Morsan that Laurent took himself off for a -walk next morning, starting from the water-meadows below the château. -He walked for a good hour and a half, steering himself by the towers of -Sessignes on the rise, and accompanied all the time by the intense and -quiet joy which had dwelt with him since last night--since Aymar had -given him that overwhelming proof of his affection. For that acceptance -of his was a greater happiness to Laurent than even the happiness of -having something to offer him. . . . - -Absorbed in this content, he was returning through the pastures, by the -side of a hedge which divided one of the big fields from the next, when -he was brought back to his surroundings by voices on the other side of -it, a little ahead of him. He had advanced a few steps more before he -realized that one was undoubtedly Aymar's. The other was a woman's--Mme -de Morsan's? - -If so, his manoeuvre had not been very successful. However, he need not -interrupt the interview, for the hedge was too tall and too thick for -them to see him, and if he passed swiftly and quietly they would -probably not hear him either. Eavesdropping was naturally the last -thought in his mind, since for one thing he knew the purpose of the -meeting, and would certainly hear its result later from Aymar. He -quickened his pace to get past, the grass muffling his footfall, when -through the hedge there burst these startling words: - -"Aymar, you cannot be as cold as you seem! Kiss me--kiss me only once, -and you will know that you are not!" - -The voice _was_ Mme de Morsan's. And Aymar's quick "Eulalie, you are -mad. Has the sun----" was swallowed up in the vehemence of her passion. - -"The sun! It is you, with your pallor and your unapproachableness and -your wounded honour! And you would be safe with me as you never will be -with _her!_ I do not care what you did! Aymar, Aymar! . . ." - -Laurent heard no more. He had fled stealthily back on his tracks. Good -Heavens! Poor Aymar! It was certain that the whole of this interview -would never be related to him now! - -He made a wide detour, but when he approached the river some half-hour -later he pulled up again. A lady was leaning over the rail of the -little bridge which he must traverse, staring into the water and -swinging to and fro a tiny pink sunshade. It was Mme de Morsan. Well, -it was unlikely that she would want to kiss _him!_ Raising his hat, he -courageously passed her, noticing that she was more than usually pale -. . . whereas he thought that she ought to have been red. She gave him, -however, a rather absent but quite unembarrassed smile. - -It was Laurent himself who was embarrassed when, after search, he came -on Aymar before déjeuner, in the hall. He had only just come in, and he -had evidently been walking furiously, and was angry with something of -the consuming anger of that penultimate day at Arbelles. - -"Yes, she knows everything," he said curtly, as he went past Laurent to -the stairs, "--everything but the cause, that is. But she will not tell -what she knows." - -"I wonder how you are sure of that?" thought Laurent, looking after his -ascending figure--wondering, also, despite himself, how that one-sided -love-scene had ended. - -Déjeuner then followed, not favoured by the presence of Mme de la -Rocheterie, who, being slightly indisposed, was keeping her room. It -might have gone better had she been there, though to be sure there was -nothing wrong with Mme de Morsan's self-possession. Aymar, who never -addressed her, was steely, and, when the meal was over, became -invisible. There seemed, however, no reason why Laurent should not go -for a last ride on Hirondelle, and so, after bidding farewell to Mme de -Morsan, who was leaving Sessignes at two o'clock, he departed. - - -(7) - -It fell, therefore, to Avoye de Villecresne to entertain the guest for -the last half-hour of her stay, after the latter had duly made her -farewells to Mme de la Rocheterie upstairs. It was to be presumed that, -whatever had taken place between them that morning (for Avoye could not -be blind to his attitude at déjeuner) the master of the house would -reappear in time to hand the departing visitor to her carriage. In the -meantime, Mme de Morsan sat ready in the salon, arrayed in a Russian -mantle of pale salmon-coloured cloth ornamented with a border of maroon -velvet and white silk cord. - -"He is indeed a _fidus Achates_, that young man," she observed of -Laurent de Courtomer when the latter had taken his leave. "Pylades, -Patroclus, and Euryalus all rolled into one. (Did you know I had so -much classical lore? I must have imbibed it from poor Edouard.) But I -think I could better describe M. de Courtomer as Sarrasin on two legs. -I have seen him looking at Aymar with very much the same expression." - -"We owe him more than we can ever repay," said Avoye. She hated -discussing anybody she liked with Eulalie de Morsan. - -"Yes, indeed you do," agreed that lady. "Nevertheless, it is dreadful to -see our poor Aymar so changed." - -Worst of all was it to discuss Aymar with her. "He is getting stronger," -replied Avoye briefly. - -"But, mon Dieu, what he must have suffered . . . in his pride!" - -Avoye winced. "Yes, Pont-aux-Rochers was a terrible blow." - -"Oh, I was referring to the Bois des Fauvettes," said Mme de Morsan -lazily. - -"You mean his capture? Naturally he felt that, at such a time." Avoye -got up, went quickly to her work-table, and opened a drawer. "What do -you think of this new kind of embroidery, Eulalie? I have been wanting -your opinion on it." - -Mme de Morsan took the specimen brought to her, but she did not look at -it. She looked up at the girl instead. "Something happened to him -before his capture, did it not? . . . I see that you do not want to -discuss it. Neither do I. But I must admit that I find it very -interesting, the profound resemblance that there is at bottom between -all men, however exceptional they seem to be. It is really something of -a relief to know that our dear Aymar is human, after all--as human as -any other man." - -"I have no idea what you mean," returned Avoye frigidly, intensely -disliking words and tone and smile. - -The smile grew. "No? And yet it is wonderful to think that to-day, just -as in the Middle Ages . . . You remember the legend of the original -Oiseleur, and how he lost the _jartier_ through a woman?" - -"Yes." - -"Well, history is only a series of repetitions. Forgive the truism!" - -"As I say, I do not know what you are talking about," repeated Avoye, -but more warmly this time. - -"Has not Aymar lost the _jartier_? Well, if he did not exactly present -that to a lady, he presented her with something more valuable--his good -name." - -Avoye lifted her proud little head. "Are you trying to inform me, -Eulalie, that report has introduced a woman into this story?" - -"No, ma chère. Report has left her out--fortunately for our cousin. But -she was there all the same. I happen to know the true version, and I am -willing to share it with you." - -"I am not quite sure," said Avoye, considering her, "that you always -know what truth is, Eulalie." - -"You are frank--quite like Tante Athénaïs for once--merci! But I do -know; it is others, you will find, who have tampered with it. Ah, my -dear Avoye, with your little white ingénue's mind . . . if you knew!" - -"Please drop these hints, Eulalie, and tell me straight out what you -mean!" - -"With pleasure," replied Mme de Morsan, arranging her mantle. "Ask -Aymar, then, whether he did not really send his famous letter to the -enemy as the price of a woman's life!" - -"Absurd!" exclaimed Mme de Villecresne, now thoroughly roused. "I wonder -you have not more sense!" - -Eulalie smiled sweetly. "Oh, I know why you are angry. You think that -there is only one woman in the world for whom Aymar would do such a -thing." - -"Aymar would not do a thing like that for any woman!" - -"Again the ingénue! Ask him!" - -"Indeed I shall not!" cried Avoye contemptuously. - -"No, perhaps you are wiser. . . . When are you going to marry him?--Ah -forgive my indiscretion! Yet, on the whole, I think I should get his -confession out of him first if I were you." - -"Confession! Aymar!" - -"Yes, even Aymar! . . . Have I not said that he has proved himself -human, after all? Listen; the Bonapartists had in their hands at the -end of April a woman whom they were, apparently, going to shoot as a -spy, because they suspected her of carrying information . . . as she -_had_ done, before the Restoration. To save her, Aymar made a bargain, -took the fearful risk he did . . . and lost." - -"Eulalie, you are dreaming!" - -"It is you who are asleep, ma chère. I am trying to wake you, since you -will have to come out of the trance some day. . . . Of course you think -I am libelling L'Oiseleur. Well, you have only to ask him--though to be -sure he may have become so much further human as to lie. . . . I -suppose we shall see him before I go?" She looked at the clock. "I have -not yet made him my adieux." - -"It _is_ . . . a libel!" said Avoye, her breath coming short. "For no -woman----" - -Mme de Morsan leant forward. "For one woman, perhaps, Avoye . . . for -one! Ought you not to be proud? Such a hecatomb . . . and his good -name! You see it, do you not, for surely you remember in whose hands -you were on the night of April the twenty-seventh?" - -"But I . . ." faltered Avoye, staring at her. "I was in no danger . . . -there was no talk of shooting . . ." - -"Is that so? I can well believe it. But M. de Vaubernier, who brought -the news to Aymar here, and acted as his intermediary, was crazed with -fear for you." - -Avoye had sprung to her feet. "Oh, it's impossible! It's . . . you are -lying wickedly! . . . I _know_ that you are lying, for Aymar himself -has told me all about the letter, and why he sent it--it was a plan he -had already made. And it was not sent to where I was at all! He would -have known that I would rather a thousand times . . . but no, it is too -absurd to pretend that I was in danger of being shot when I was treated -with such courtesy . . . and more than absurd, wicked," she added, as a -fresh aspect dawned upon her, "to make out that I--_I_--was the cause -of Pont-aux-Rochers!" - -Eulalie shrugged her shoulders in the salmon-coloured mantle. "Well, I -think I hear Aymar's step, so you can easily have me proved a liar -. . . or rather, perhaps, learn that the Marquis de Vaubernier, from -whom I had the story, is a romancer of the first order." - -It _was_ Aymar's step. In a moment more he came in through the long -window. - -"Your carriage is at the door, Madame," he said coldly to Eulalie. "May -I have the honour of conducting you to it?" - -But Mme de Morsan was looking down, smiling and silent, contemplating -her toe on the edge of the hearth. Avoye's eyes were fixed on her -cousin; then she suddenly sat down as if her limbs would no longer -sustain her. But it was she who broke the silence. - -"Eulalie has been telling me something about you . . . which I do not -believe." - -"Something," completed Mme de Morsan in measured tones, "which I -elicited from M. de Vaubernier--no, not at Aix. As I told you, I did -not see him there. It was at Chambéry. You must not blame the old -gentleman; in his horror at what had happened to you, Aymar, which he -knew, and told me, he let out _why_ it had happened. And now I have -incautiously mentioned it to Avoye, since she is so deeply concerned in -it, and find that you had decided--wisely, I dare say--to keep her in -the dark. Need I say how much I regret----" - -"No!" broke in Aymar, standing before her very tall and straight. "No, -you need not add a lie to what you have done! Your carriage, as I said, -is at the door," and he made a gesture towards the hall. His eyes were -blazing. - -Eulalie de Morsan looked up at him easily, admiringly. "What I have -done, my dear Aymar--how well you look in a rage!--is merely to tell -the truth . . . of which you have been sparing!" - -"But it is not the truth!" repeated Avoye, in the voice of one who, -having been mortally stabbed, denies the wound. - -Mme de Morsan rose in an unconcerned manner, and gathered together her -possessions. "Well, as Aymar does not seem anxious to have a witness of -his answer to that statement, I will leave you together. Au revoir, ma -chère." - -Avoye took no notice. Aymar was already at the door, holding it open. -Eulalie went slowly past him, and, looking him in the face as she did -so, said, very low, "You would have done better to strike the bargain. -And now you will see the quality of _her_ love!" Yet suddenly her own -face was convulsed, and she turned it aside. - -He did not vouchsafe a word or a look, but, standing on the threshold, -said to Célestin who, with her maid, was waiting in the hall, "Hand Mme -de Morsan to her carriage," and went into the salon again, shutting the -door behind him. - - -(8) - -Avoye was standing before the great hearth, her back to him, her face -buried in her hands. He stood a moment at the door, looking at her, -then he crossed the room towards her. At his step she dropped her -hands, and, clasping them hard in front of her, without turning towards -him, without even glancing at him, said in an almost inaudible voice: - -"Aymar, say that it is not true!" - -No, to pile more lies on those the orchard had drawn from him--he could -not do it. He had come to that hour which he had sacrificed so much to -avert, when he must tell her of her innocent share in his ruin. He set -his teeth for a moment as he took out the knife. If only it were -destined for his breast and not hers! - -"Will you tell me exactly what she said to you?" - -Still not looking at him, very briefly, as one half stunned, she told -him. The brutal manner in which she had herself been enlightened was -clear enough. But Aymar had hardly a thought to spare for Eulalie, her -perfidy, her bitter revenge. What mattered was this stricken, pitifully -bewildered little Avoye, so pale in her grey gown, who would not look -at him while she waited for the denial which he could not give, but -only repeated again and again, in a voice that made his heart ache, -"Aymar, say it is not true, say it is not true!" and then, "How can it -be true? How could you have done it to save me? you did not know that I -had been stopped--you said so!" - -"I wanted to spare you all I could," he answered very sadly. - -"To spare me? Why, what had I done?" - -"Nothing--nothing! That was why." - -"But I was in no danger--you did not even know that I was detained. And -she says that Godfather was mixed up in it--yet you never said a word -of it!" And now she was looking at him indeed. "Is it possible that -down there in the orchard, when my heart was breaking about you, you -took me in your arms and comforted me . . . with _lies!_" - -The hated word stung him a little in the midst of everything else. - -"How could I tell you the truth, my darling, when, as you say, your -heart was breaking like that? And, although I sent the letter to save -you, it _was_ part of a ruse--a plan I had made beforehand. Can't you -believe me, Avoye?" - -"But it is all so crazy!" she exclaimed. "I in danger of being shot--I -to whom they apologized! . . . And Godfather, what was he doing in it? -He never came there! And you really thought, _you_----" - -Poor child, poor lamb, so bewildered under the touch of the knife. Oh, -to get through this barbarity quickly! "Dearest, I will tell you -exactly what happened. But sit down, for pity's sake." He seized and -swung forward a little gilt chair. "If only I had never given that -woman the chance of springing it on you like this--if only I had -guessed that she knew!" - -But she recoiled from him. She would none of the chair. She went back as -far as the carved stone of the hearth and put a hand to that. And then -she faced him. "Be quick, Aymar, be quick! I'm . . . frightened!" - -So, standing in front of her, and in front of the proud, indifferent -swans of their blazon, he told her shortly the other, the true, -complete story. But it had a strange sound in his own ears now. - -There was fear indeed in her eyes when he had finished. And when he -said, "Do you see, my dear, a little, why I wanted you never to know?" -and tried to take her hand, she drew it away and shook her head. - -"How _can_ they both be true--that you did it for a military reason, -which you told me first, and that you did it to save me because you -imagined--_imagined_--that I was in danger?" - -Aymar looked down at her, full of a great pity. "Do you not see," he -said again, "the plan was there, ready, and I used it, that was all." - -Trembling visibly, and twisting her hands a little, she said, "No; I -cannot. I cannot help feeling, which story am I to believe . . . or -perhaps you have another?" - -"_Avoye!_" he exclaimed, flushing scarlet. - -"I wish you had! I wish you had! How am I to believe, first, that you -sent the letter to the Imperialist commander at Arzon as a ruse, and -then, that you sent it to Colonel Richard at Saint-Goazec, to save me, -who was not in danger! You have told me both of those things. . . . -Aymar, Aymar, you seem somebody I have never known! You--you--to do a -disgraceful thing . . . to do it for me . . . and then, not daring to -tell me, to lie about it!" - -For a moment he knew dizziness. They were both drowning in a sea too -strong for either of them. Yet surely there must be some raft to which -one might cling. The love of years could not fail like this. . . . -"Avoye, I swear to you that the two stories are not incompatible! The -plan _was_ a ruse--it remained a ruse, even though I used it as I did." - -"But how am I to know that you did not make up the whole of what you -told me in the orchard? So much of it was untrue--you admit that. What -portions of it can I really feel safe in believing?" She suppressed a -sob. "Did you ever meet M. de Saint-Etienne and make that plan at all?" - -He gave her a look, but in words he did not answer--he could not. Who -had the knife now? - -"I cannot help hurting you!" cried Avoye desperately. "Do you think that -it does not hurt me, too? For you never sent that letter to Arzon--that -was a lie--and you _did_ know that I was detained!" - -Aymar had found his voice again. "Yes . . . unfortunately!" He turned -away for a moment. The waves had grown mountains high; yet there was -but one thing he would appeal to. "If you would only try to -understand!" he said, facing her again; and he said it very quietly. - -She was trembling and very pale; her eyes were full of tears as she -answered, "I do understand--I do begin to. I understand now why you -have taken no steps to clear yourself. The story that was good enough -to dupe me with, in the orchard, is not good enough for the world! Yes, -I do understand! You are not, as I had always dreamed, the living -embodiment of our motto, the very soul of honour!" - -He made a faint gesture. "Then nothing that I can say is of any use." - -But she went on in her blind anguish, "If a saint--yes, if our Blessed -Lady herself had come to tell me that you could do this . . . and then -lie about it to me . . . I would not have believed it, Aymar! I _could_ -not. . . . And yet, you have done it!" - -"Yes, I have done it!" He looked at her steadily. "And you are not going -to try to understand or to pardon?" - -"It is not a thing one could ever pardon!" she flashed out. "You have -sold your honour!" - -With that the blade was full in his own heart, so keen that its stab was -partly physical, and involuntarily he put his hand to his side. But he -took it instantly away, and gripped the back of the little gilt chair -near him. He was the colour of ashes. Yet his head was high. - -"No, that I have not done! And there is only one part of it which needs -pardon," he said firmly, "and that is, that to save you needless pain, -I told you some things which were not true. For what I _did_ I do not -ask your pardon." - -"You can say that after Pont-aux-Rochers!" - -"I can say that after Pont-aux-Rochers. What I deliberately slew, in the -hope of saving you, was not my men, but my own . . . instincts. It is -not in your power or any one's to pardon me for _that_ sacrifice." - -The very look he gave her, at once proud, tender, unyielding and hurt to -death, the very yearning of her heart for him, only met that other tide -of horrified dismay in fiercer tumult and foam. Avoye de Villecresne -burst into tears, and crying incoherently, "I cannot understand you -. . . I never shall. . . . This will kill me, I think . . . but I -cannot bear to see you . . . as you are now!" turned and went quickly -out of the open window, leaving him alone. - -And Aymar stood quite still, looking, not after her disappearing figure, -but at the old Spanish leather screen, with its embossed border of -pomegranates and its faded gold, which had for some minutes been to him -the background to her slim body in its narrow gown, her aureole of -burnished hair even, in a sense, to her passionate and bewildered -voice--looking at it almost as if he did not realize that she was gone. -Then he, too, went from the room. - - -(9) - -"Oh, my dear fellow," cried Laurent, bursting rather unceremoniously -into his friend's bedroom, "what a divine creature your mare is! -To-day's was the best gallop I have ever had. It is a thousand shames -that you yourself----What on earth are you doing, Aymar?" - -For in the middle of the room, with his back to him, Aymar was on his -knees before a little portmanteau. He did not look up, and for a moment -did not answer, but folded and refolded a coat which had previously -been lying in a huddle in the valise. - -"I am going away," he said at length. - -"Going away!" repeated Laurent, stupefied. "Now? Not to-day, surely! And -where? . . . Aymar!" - -He came towards him with the intention of putting a hand on his -shoulder, but before he reached him Aymar had risen and was at the -window. Standing there, still with his back to him, he said very low, -"Everything has gone now, Laurent--everything." - -The breeze fluttered the curtain, and except for that there was silence. -But the hopeless pain in his voice seemed to go on vibrating after he -had spoken. - -"Who has told her?" asked Laurent after a long pause. - -"Eulalie. She had got it out of Vaubernier after all." - -"And she--Mme de Villecresne?" But there seemed no way in which the -question could be put. Its answer indeed was the little valise gaping -on the floor. - -Aymar turned round. "Mme de Morsan did it deliberately, from malice, in -the worst way she could. And the shock . . . I tried to explain but, -having had to lie the other day . . . it was too difficult for her -. . . my cousin . . ." He broke off and indicated the valise. "I must -finish that. I suppose they will have taken the saddle off Hirondelle -by now?" - -Very gently Laurent laid his hand on his shoulder. "Mon ami, you cannot -go like this. And you cannot ride Hirondelle, or any other horse, just -yet." - -Aymar shook his head. "It is of no use, Laurent. I must go. You have -galloped Hirondelle. Besides, she does not pull. Perhaps you will -fasten this for me? I think I have all I want." - -Laurent looked at him, deeply troubled. What was he to do? "You will let -me come, too, then, Aymar, will you not? Any horse will serve for me." - -"No, I am afraid I cannot let you come." - -Impossible to be hurt or offended. The situation was beyond that. "But -where are you going?" - -Once more Aymar shook his head, and, as Laurent had not moved, knelt -down again by the valise. But Laurent lifted it to a chair and strapped -it up in silence. As he finished there came the earthquake quiver of -the door which testified that Sarrasin had let himself down against it -outside. - -When he looked round Aymar was standing motionless, gazing at something -in his hand. - -"It was on the floor. It must have been in the pocket of that coat, -which I was wearing the night it broke. . . . And I come on it again -_now!_" - -Laurent came to look. It was the lost _jartier_, symbol now of so much -that was lost. Aymar gave a little laugh, and crushing it together -threw it across the room towards the fireplace. Laurent had an impulse, -soon gone, to protest; but what did it matter now? - -"You will at least write to me, to Paris?" he said pleadingly. "Aymar, -do consider----" - -"Yes, I will write." He had pulled down a cloak. "It is only that I must -get away to . . . to think things over. I have written a note to my -grandmother. I dare not see her--she would guess." - -An idea struck Laurent. He went up to him and put a hand on his shoulder -once more. "Aymar, unless you will give me your word of honour that you -are not going away to do . . . what you spoke of in the cave . . . I -_shall_ accompany you!" - -The faintest trace of a smile came. "Dear Laurent! . . . I give you my -word." - -"May I at least come down the avenue with you?" - -"Please. And . . . forgive my leaving you--your last night. I am ashamed -. . . but I cannot stay till to-morrow." - -Laurent made a gesture. "As if you ever needed to apologize to me!" - -When they got to the door of the room he said suddenly, "Has Mme de -Morsan left the house?" - -"Yes, about an hour ago." - -"Thank Heaven! Because--I suppose men have shot women before now!" - -Again there was an almost imperceptible flicker of amusement. - -"Who do you propose should do it, Laurent--you or I?" - -"I, by God! Don't tell me which way she has gone!" - -"Long ago," said Aymar de la Rocheterie reflectively, his hand on the -door knob, his eyes, wide and dark with pain, fixed on him, "long ago I -found, Laurent, that there never was a partisan like you. Nor a friend. -Nor one who understood so well. . . . You do understand why I must go -alone now?" - -"Yes," said Laurent. And he added, with a miserable little laugh, "There -is another partisan on the other side of the door who will not, -however. You had better take him with you." - -"No," answered Aymar, opening the door. Sarrasin was up in a second, his -eyes on the cloak over his arm. "Go in and lie down, Sarrasin," said -his master. "You cannot come with me." - -The great dog gave him a long, melancholy look, licked his hand, and -went in like a puzzled but obedient child. - -There happened to be nobody in the stable-yard when they got there. -Hirondelle was still bridled. Laurent slipped her saddle on again and -helped Aymar into it. - -He walked down the avenue by him in a dream. Nothing seemed to be true. -He had never seen his friend on a horse before, and thought he should -never henceforward see him, in memory, anywhere else. Save for his -face, he looked so supremely himself there. But how long would he be -able to stay in the saddle? - -At the gates Aymar spoke at last. "I think, perhaps, that I will go to -Eveno for a little. That is instead of taking Sarrasin with me. . . ." -He had reined up. "I will not sleep in a ditch, Laurent. I will not -throw away all the care--the unspeakable care--you have lavished on -this very useless body; and I will write to you--soon. And for this -going . . . forgive me again!" - -He bent from the saddle and kissed him on either cheek; then Hirondelle -carried him between the stone-balled gateposts. The sunlight struck -across him; after that he was engulfed in the green gloom of the -chestnuts. He did not turn round. Laurent watched him for a little; -then he suddenly leant against the post with his arm over his eyes. -When he removed it the road was empty. - -(10) - -"Perhaps we had better not wait any longer for my cousin," said Mme de -Villecresne at last to the guest. "He must be out, I think." - -The two of them were alone in the salon. Supper had been announced five -minutes ago, since which event Laurent had been grimly waiting to cast -his bombshell--as, obviously, it had not already been cast. - -"He _is_ out," he replied briefly. "I would have told you before, -Madame, had I realized that it was for him that you were waiting." (For -until that moment he had forgotten that Mme de la Rocheterie was not -going to make her appearance at the meal.) - -The news discomposed his companion, he could see. Did she then expect -Aymar to come and sup with them as if nothing had happened? - -"How strange!" she murmured. "Did he say, Monsieur de Courtomer, at what -time he intended to return?" - -"No, Madame. He has gone away, I fear--if not for good, at least for -some time. So, if you will allow me----" - -He held out his arm. But Avoye de Villecresne stood perfectly still; she -had gone white, then red, and was now white again. Oh, how was it -possible that with such eyes as hers she could have done it! - -"Gone away!" she whispered. But at that moment the door suddenly opened, -and admitted Mme de la Rocheterie, on the arm of her elderly maid, -colour in her delicate cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She might be -indisposed, but she was clearly very angry. In her hand was a letter. - -"That will do, Rose." And when the door had closed she stood in the -middle of the room, extremely erect, and said to Laurent, "As my -grandson has so little idea of the courtesy due to a guest, to a -departing guest, and one to whom he is under such an obligation, I am -constrained to take his place. If you will accept my apologies for his -extraordinary behaviour, Monsieur de Courtomer, be good enough to give -me your arm to the dining-room." - -Laurent, petrified, offered it. - -The discomfort of the meal was intense. For one thing only was Laurent -grateful--that Mme de la Rocheterie was so wroth that, after announcing -that the culprit had said he had gone off on business connected with -the late Eperviers, she left the subject of Aymar's defection alone, -and kept the conversation going on other subjects. Mme de Villecresne, -on the contrary, seemed almost dazed. - -After supper, half to Laurent's relief, the Vicomtesse withdrew again, -leaving her granddaughter to give him coffee in the salon. - -Laurent was in reality quite unwilling to accept even this conventional -office from the hands of Mme de Villecresne. That he had come to think -her charming only made this evening's revulsion fiercer. _She_ a worthy -mate for Aymar, whom she had forsaken in his bitterest need, stabbed -when--nay, because--he had endured so much for her! But, though he was -brimming with anger against her, he would probably have held his hand -if she, too, had not murmured, as she gave him his cup, something not -very coherent about an apology. How was he to guess that she was so -torn with misery and dismay that she hardly knew what she was saying, -and caught at any banality lest she should weep before him? - -He drank off the coffee and cleared his decks for action. - -"There is no need for apology, Madame," he observed. "The situation is -not unfamiliar to me. It reminds me of the evening I spent when M. de -la Rocheterie was turned out of Arbelles." - -Mme de Villecresne looked faintly startled. - -"You mean the evening after he was released?" - -"No, Madame. He never was 'released' in the sense commonly attached to -that term. He was turned out into the road, weak and ill, at a quarter -of an hour's notice--turned out before the eyes of the whole garrison." - -The blood began to ebb from Avoye's face. "But why----" - -"Why? To humiliate him, and because, weeks earlier, he would not betray -M. du Tremblay's plans. The attempt to wring information out of him -then, when he was barely able to speak, nearly killed him as it was." - -"Tried to wring information out of him--out of _Aymar!_" repeated Avoye -in a horrified voice. "And turned out of Arbelles! But, Monsieur de -Courtomer, why have I not been told these things before--why have they -been kept from me, and I allowed to think . . ." - -Laurent, who had been standing, sat down heavily. "Yes, it might have -been better not. But he would do it--anything to spare you a moment's -pain." - -She stiffened. "I do not like being spared, Monsieur de Courtomer." - -"No, Madame. And I know that you are brave; your cousin knows it, too. -But it is difficult for a man--for some men, that is" (he did not at -the moment feel himself to be of their number) "to hurt a woman when by -keeping the hurt to themselves they can spare her." - -"I know they think that. They do not realize what a woman--what some -women--feel about it. And need sparing a woman involve lying to her?" -There was a passion of abhorrence in her tone--then, with extreme -suddenness, she caught herself up. "I do not mean, of course, that my -cousin lied to me!" And there was almost defiance in the gaze with -which she met Laurent's. But as that young man was speechless, trying -to digest this remarkable statement, she was able to hurry on to say, -"Then I was misled when I thought he was well treated at Arbelles?" - -"I verily believe that she is trying to prove _me_ the liar, Aymar -having suddenly become so immaculate!" thought Laurent. He replied -soberly, "You must pardon me, Madame, but that was not a thing on which -anybody consciously misled you. You assumed it, because he had -excellent medical attention and was 'released.' But in other respects -he was treated abominably--at least when the Colonel was there." And he -proceeded to give her a résumé of what Aymar had undergone at their -hands, told her how he had found him exhausted under a haystack--in -short, what had nearly been the consequence of his "release." - -Avoye turned her face away. After a silence she said in a voice whose -tremulousness was pierced with terror, "I knew that there was something -more amiss with him than wounds! Monsieur de Courtomer, you swore to me -. . ." - -She became inaudible; all he could catch was the word "decline." - -"No, no, Madame," he said quickly, anxious to reassure her (for it was -plain that in spite of what she had done she did care). "No, his -condition is merely the result of the blood he has lost. The doctor -said so clearly, and that it would perhaps be as much as a year before -he was strong again." - -"How did he come to--to lose so much blood?" she asked faintly. "Was it -then so long before the enemy found him after . . . after what happened -in the Bois des Fauvettes?" - -"Not so very long--not more than an hour perhaps; but you see he -struggled hard to get free, and being fastened like that, upright----" - -He broke off before the uncomprehending horror of the face she had -raised. Was it possible that she did not know that essence of "what had -happened in the Bois des Fauvettes"? - -"Don't you know?" he jerked out almost mechanically. - -"Know what? Struggled to get free . . . _fastened_ . . . Monsieur de -Courtomer, what awful thing are you talking about?" - -And Laurent cursed himself. Aymar had not told her the worst. Equally, -of course, he did not wish her to know it. - -"Oh, nothing, Madame," he stammered. "I would not for worlds have -mentioned it had I not thought that you knew already." - -"O God!" cried the girl rather hysterically, "more things kept from me! -For pity's sake, Monsieur, try to forget that I am a woman!" - -Laurent, recovering himself, bowed. "If you wish it." And on that, -sparing her very little, he did tell her the true and full story of the -Bois des Fauvettes. But he had the grace not to look at her meanwhile. - -"Aymar made out that it was . . . all over very quickly . . . done in -the surprise . . . almost a mistake," she said faintly at the end. - -"On the contrary," replied Laurent remorselessly, "it was as protracted -and deliberate as I have told you. You can imagine that the -Imperialists, finding him in the situation they did, were not likely to -show him more consideration than . . . than some of his friends have -done since. He was taken to Arbelles, senseless, in a farm cart. How he -was looked on there I have told you. One would have thought he had paid -enough. . . ." - -He was very brutal; he knew it. He was going very far--he did not care. -He was so worked up that a very little more would have brought out the -story of the ramrod. But there was also a limit to what his hearer -could endure. He saw her now get up, and ask him to excuse her "for a -few minutes." As he shut the door which he had held open for her he was -almost sure that he heard a stifled sob on the other side. - -Then he paced up and down the room thinking, "I have done it now! What -would Aymar say if he knew! I don't care, I don't care! It was time she -heard these things. Look what keeping this from her has resulted in!" -And this was his most secret thought: "She has hurt Aymar bitterly, -unbearably: _but I have hurt her!_" - -He did not believe that she would reappear that evening; and she did -not. By that he knew that his blows had gone home. After waiting a -little he wandered round the salon again, coming finally to an anchor -in front of the picture of the two children. _That_ to end in this! -"How could you?" he said to the laughing little girl, and soon -afterwards went unhappily, guiltily, yet unrepentantly to bed. - - -(11) - -When Laurent came downstairs next morning, after taking his farewell of -the Vicomtesse, he was greatly surprised to find Mme de Villecresne, a -little ghost in white organdie, in the hall--waiting for him as was -evident by her request that he would speak to her, if he had the time. -And as he went out with her into the garden, which she seemed to -indicate as the scene of their interview, his conscience rather smote -him for last evening's free speech. But the mantle of the avenger had -not yet fallen from his shoulders. Mme de Villecresne's first words, -however, gave the panoply a perceptible twitch. - -"I am very grateful to you for speaking to me as you did last night, -Monsieur de Courtomer," she said. "I am sure you cannot have liked -doing it." (Laurent surveyed the grass at his feet.) "I want, while I -still have the chance, to ask you something more." - -They were now in the middle of the rose-garden, by the sundial, and here -she paused; paused, too, in her speech and looked away. Whatever she -was going to ask him was not easy to bring out. He supposed he must -give her time, even if he had to hurry for the diligence. So he looked -down in silence at the sundial, which assured him in its antiquated -French "_Icy ne verras que les heures sans nuages_," though a later -hand had scrawled on the copper of the dial the cynical proviso, "_Si -de telles heures existent!_" - -Suddenly it came out, in a voice that shook. "Is it really true that it -was all done for me?" - -"Yes, Madame," said Laurent. - -"Then it is the other story that is not true?" said the voice still more -tremblingly. - -At that the young man looked at her. "Do you mean the sending of the -letter as part of a plan already made?--They are both true." - -Mme de Villecresne did not exclaim that that could not be, nor did she -ask him how it was possible. She went very slowly to the nearest -rose-hedge and picked a rose or two. Then she came back. "That was what -Aymar said," she murmured as if to herself. "If I could only see how -the two stories are compatible--if I could only see it!" And the roses -were clutched in her two hands as if they wore no thorns. - -"Shall I try to explain it to you?" suggested Laurent gently. She seemed -so young suddenly, only a girl--only his own age. She was amazingly -free from rancour, too, considering what his "explanations" of last -night had been like for she said, with a really touching gratitude, -"Oh, if only you would, Monsieur de Courtomer!" - -Over the sundial then, Laurent explained to the very best of his -ability, and found himself, like Aymar before him, tracing out the -figures there meanwhile. - -"But I cannot understand how Aymar could be so deluded!" broke out Mme -de Villecresne at the end. "M. de Vaubernier, perhaps . . . but Aymar!" - -The advocate reminded her that she _had_ once obtained military -information for her cousin, as he well knew; reminded her also of the -known fate of Marie Lasserre. Before the cruel story of the practical -joke he hesitated a moment in his new-found consideration, but for -Aymar's sake she must hear it. Only, since she was so pale already, he -suggested a move to the stone bench in the corner, and she complied. -Then, in the very place where the lying information had, all -innocently, been passed on to Aymar, he showed her how convincing it -had been. - -"And, Madame," he concluded, "put yourself in your cousin's place; -suppose yourself waiting for his arrival here in this very garden, and -suppose yourself receiving instead news of his desperate peril. And -suppose further that you had in your pocket a plan for the destruction -of the enemy which you had been on the point already of putting into -practice, which indeed only needed the pretext of a bargain to make it -plausible. Do you mean to say that you would have gone peaceably to bed -and said 'Nothing can be done'?" - -"No," she said with a strangled sob. "No, indeed, I would not. And so he -was tricked . . . tricked. . . . All this misery . . ." As she twisted -her now empty hands in an effort to keep her composure Laurent saw how -her roses had wounded them. "Yet Aymar told me," she went on, -recovering herself, and facing him as pale and piteous as a child, -"Aymar told me . . . some things that were not true . . . that were not -true at all! I could not have believed that he would tell the merest -fraction of a lie--even to spare me." - -Laurent could not bear those little scratched hands, and in an almost -fatherly way he took out his pocket-handkerchief. "If you will permit -me, Madame . . ." and he dabbed at the beads of blood, the girl -apparently quite oblivious of what he was doing. "I could not have -believed that he would lie," she repeated. - -Yes, that was the main stumbling-block of the situation. And Aymar had -known it, too. - -"No, I can quite understand your feeling that about him," said Aymar's -friend, loosing the passive hands. "I should think that a more -naturally truthful person does not exist. And yet, Madame, there are -instincts . . . For instance, I dare say it has not struck you that -last night, to shield him, you told a lie yourself?" - -"I?" she exclaimed, and a flush stained her pallor. - -"It was so instinctive that you have forgotten it already. I expect you -were hardly aware of it at the time. Yet, to protect him from what I -might think of him you told me, in so many words, that your cousin had -not lied to you. Can you deny that?" - -He smiled at her. He did feel himself rather like a wise uncle now--an -odd sensation. - -The flush ran over Avoye's face again. She dropped her eyes to a tiny -red spot on her muslin gown. "That is quite true," she murmured. - -"Do you think he would ever lie to save himself," went on Laurent, -pursuing his advantage, "any more than you would?" - -She shook her head mutely. "But, Monsieur de Courtomer, if he had not -kept me so much in the dark--let me think that I knew it all--left me -to be enlightened by Mme de Morsan . . . it is that which hurts so." - -"Yes, I dare say that was a mistake," assented Laurent, feeling about -sixty by this time. "It was a risk, but only his consideration for you -prompted him to take it. Yet, as far as that goes, were not you and he -leagued together to keep your grandmother a great deal more in the -dark? Did that trouble you--the thought of what was being kept from -her?" - -Avoye raised her eyes and looked at him. "No," she said. "It seemed the -only, the right thing to do." - -"One does those things instinctively, you see, with those one cares -for," the sagacious young man pointed out to her. - -She pondered this, her eyes downcast. Never could the mentor beside her -have imagined himself admitted into so much intimacy. Heaven send he -had made good use of it! He sat quite motionless, for it was a thousand -times better to miss the diligence altogether than to cut short this -wonderful chance she had given him. Aymar _could_ not have explained -fully to her yesterday, or else she had been in no state to comprehend -the explanation. - -As he revolved this conclusion Avoye herself said suddenly, "But I am -forgetting; you will miss the coach if I keep you longer." She rose, -growing less the child. "I can never thank you properly, Monsieur de -Courtomer, for what you have done. At least now I understand." Her lip -suddenly trembled. "I have really heard everything now, have I not?" - -"Everything that matters," replied Laurent after a second's hesitation. -The ramrod story had so thin a connection with her, and it would -horrify her so--and his last night's desire to do this was now as dead -as last night's dreams. "No," he exclaimed abruptly, "there _is_ one -fact more I should like you to know. Your cousin has done many brave -things in his career, but you have never heard the bravest. And it was -done for you." - -Therewith he sat down again and told her the story of the interview with -Colonel Richard. - - -(12) - -There did not seem to be any place remote enough to shelter her grief -and her remorse. Not the house, where Grand'mère might at any time find -or summon her; not the rose-garden, where she, the faithless lover, had -just said farewell to the faithful friend; not the orchard, where she -had once been comforted . . . with lies, as she had said to Aymar -yesterday. They _were_ lies . . . but he was not a liar. Yet she had -told him that he was--told him that he had sold his honour, flung his -justification back in his face. At the one moment in their lives when -her trust in him should have stood firm it had snapped like rotten -thread. After all that he had suffered for her sake it had remained for -her, who loved him, to give him the last, the intolerable, enduring -wound--the lover who, as she had just learnt, had not spared to crucify -for her his pride and his most intimate feelings, and make an appeal to -his victorious enemy for silence. And this Colonel Richard, a stranger, -a foe, who knew everything, had taken his hand--whereas she . . . - -The Aven, by which at last she sat dry-eyed, with a pain in her breast -as though it were her own heart, and not Aymar's, which she had -stabbed, rippled contentedly through the pastures . . . on its way to -Pont-aux-Rochers. Yes, and despite the strain, the unfulfilment, it -seemed to her now that these past years at Sessignes had been like this -placid and contented stream, compared with the torment into which one -hour had hurried her life. Oh, if only she had been able to keep the -pale sunshine of those days, even though it should never have been -transmuted into a brighter radiance! They would never come -again--never, never. - -The Aven smiled assent; a wagtail walked alertly at the brink, and the -martins swooped above it. But it was going to Pont-aux-Rochers . . . - -That afternoon Anselme, Aymar's man, came to her and apologetically -asked her if she had enough influence to get Sarrasin out of M. le -Vicomte's room, as he refused to stir or to let any of the servants -enter. She went in to try. She might have hesitated had she realized -how full the empty room would be of Aymar's presence, and how -poignantly the traces of his hasty departure would smite at her--the -disorder which no one had repaired because Sarrasin would not admit -even Anselme into the sanctuary which he was guarding. She could not -bear to look at them, and turned her attention instead on the guardian -himself who, having risen at her entrance with a soberly wagging tail, -was now thrusting his nose into her hand. But even as she looked at him -he stalked back to his post by the bed, and lay down in his former -attitude, his nose on his paws. - -Avoye walked to the door calling him, telling him he must come out of -the room. But he only looked at her; he did not stir. The childish -thought then came to her that, wise as he was, he knew that his master -was soon coming back, and that his refusing to move was a sign of this. -But she must put his knowledge to a genuine test, for if he consented -to come away, it would show that Aymar was not returning. So she took a -coat lying on a chair and showed it to him, and while he sniffed at it -she told him that he must take care of it downstairs. Then, going to -the door, she held it out to him and called him. He lifted his head and -gazed at her earnestly with his wonderful, inscrutable eyes, and she -looked back at him and said in her heart, "Oh, _don't come_, Sarrasin!" -Then with a sigh he got up and came to the door. - -So she knew that Aymar was not coming back. She stood with the coat -pressed closely to her and eyes that were beginning to swim; then she -opened the door, called to a passing servant, told her to take the coat -and the dog downstairs, and going back turned the key in the lock. - -"I cannot bear to see you . . ." Well, she had her wish; she could not -see him; she would never see him at Sessignes again. There was no -danger of his finding her here in his room, any more than there was a -chance of unsaying what she had said, of begging him to listen, to -believe that she had spoken in the confusion of shock and fear. He was -gone. - -He was gone, and on the hearthstone, broken and thrown aside, lay the -useless _jartier_. Had it been thrown there because he felt that all it -represented was over for him now? Oh no, no, no! He might not be her -lover any more, but he should not, he could not cease to be L'Oiseleur; -and he should not throw away the talisman. She had not now the right to -keep it for him herself, and she looked round the deserted room for a -safe place in which to bestow it. Out of a half-open drawer there -trailed the sleeve of a uniform. The _jartier_ seemed to have more -affinity with that than with anything else. She put it for a moment to -her lips, and, taking out the coat, slipped the amulet into the breast -pocket. Then she gave a miserable little laugh. "I always said I should -end by being superstitious about that thing!" - -She was on the point of leaving the room, when, passing by the bed, she -perceived something she had not noticed before. By the impress on the -coverlet it was clear that at some point yesterday Aymar must have -thrown himself there, worn out, he who had never before in his life -known other than reasonable fatigue. Probably he had dragged himself -from this refuge to come down to _that_ interview with her. Avoye bent -over the pillow as though his head were really resting there, and broke -suddenly into bitter sobbing. - -How she got through the next three empty heartsick days she could hardly -tell. On the third she became desperate. For if Aymar really were not -returning the precious hours were slipping away, and she was doing -nothing to make a last effort to retrieve her shattered happiness, or -even to tell him how deeply she sorrowed for what she had done to him. -He must be thinking--if he thought of her at all--that she was still of -the same mind. But what could she do? She had no idea where he was, and -unfortunately she had never asked M. de Courtomer if he knew. - -But Eveno might know, because Aymar had spoken in his note to Mme de la -Rocheterie of having gone on business connected with the Eperviers. -Then it suddenly occurred to her that Aymar might actually be found in -person at Eveno's cottage, conferring with him. What if she, too, went -there in person? And, though the thought of that meeting was not easy -to face, she set out that afternoon on horseback, a groom following -her, for the cottage in the wood to which she had once declared that -she would make pilgrimage. - -But she had not ridden half the distance when she saw, between the -chestnut boles, another horse and rider coming slowly towards her. The -horse she knew in a moment. The rider . . . her heart stood still . . . -No, certainly not Aymar. She moved forward again, and soon saw, with an -indescribable sinking, that it was Eveno himself, riding the mare very -softly, the reins in his right hand. - -He had to shift them to his teeth before he could uncover, and remove -the reins again before he could speak. But Avoye guessed. - -"M. le Vicomte? Yes, Madame, he has been with us these three days. But -he left this morning early, and I do not know where he has gone--a long -distance, I think, for he went to catch the diligence. I am bringing -Hirondelle back to Sessignes as he ordered me. Perhaps Madame would -wish to ride her now, if I changed the saddles?" - -"No," said Avoye with a catch in her breath, as she turned her horse's -head homewards. "No, stay where you are, Eveno. I think M. le Vicomte -would prefer it!" - - -(13) - -And meanwhile the Vicomtesse de la Rocheterie had come to the end of her -patience. - -The relations of Avoye and Aymar for the last five or six years, as with -a shrug of the shoulders she would admit, had been frankly beyond her -comprehension. Mid-eighteenth century in her outlook as she was to the -marrow, she had often told herself that in her young days such a -situation as continued year after year at Sessignes would have been -impossible; no Frenchman who prided himself upon being a _galant homme_ -would have endured it for more than a month or two. The cold Northern -strain in his blood, inherited from his and Avoye's paternal -great-grandmother, presumably accounted for, though it hardly excused, -Aymar's patience. A man might have a mistress, and he might have a -wife, but for a young man to live for years under the same roof with -the woman he loved, who was neither, really struck Mme de la Rocheterie -at times as improper. - -But now the arrangement, which one would have thought just about to -issue in a more satisfactory relation, had received a shrewd blow of -some kind. Of the hand that had dealt it there could be no doubt; it -only remained to discover the weapon which had been used. To this end -she had just summoned her granddaughter to her boudoir, and as she sat -there, beautifully attired as usual, there was that in her air which -told the girl at once what the subject of the interview was likely to -be. - -There was indeed not time for doubt. Mme de la Rocheterie, motioning her -to a chair, said coldly: - -"I should like to know, Avoye, for what reason you have driven Aymar out -of his own house?" - -The fact that the phrase embodied her own self-reproach did not prevent -Avoye from resenting it. Her colour rose. She could not possibly give -the reason. . . . At that moment, with an almost sickening leap of the -heart, she saw on the little table at her grandmother's elbow an opened -letter in Aymar's handwriting. - -"It is true that Aymar and I have had a . . . a disagreement," she -admitted, her eyes fixed on the letter. "But I assure you, Grand'mère -that I had not the slightest idea that he was going to leave the house -like this, and I . . . I hope he is coming back." - -Her grandmother's very rings seemed to flash hostility at her as she -stretched out her hand and deliberately dropped the letter into the -little fire which, despite the summer weather, burnt on the hearth -beside her. "No, he is not," she replied curtly, "and therefore I think -I have a right to know why you are, as I say, keeping him out of his -own house just when he most needs a home and the care he can get -there." - -The thrust told. Avoye dropped her head. "I never meant to drive him -away," she repeated. - -"Nonsense," said Mme de la Rocheterie. "Do not pretend that you are -ignorant of what you are doing where Aymar is concerned. You know only -too well! Ever since your marriage you have been his evil genius--ever -since you left your husband I have had to stand by and watch you slowly -ruining his life. All I could do to enable me to bear the sight was to -tell myself that a day would possibly come when you could repair the -suffering you had caused him. That day has come . . . and how do you -act? You choose the moment when he is ill, in straits of some kind--do -you think I am so blind as not to know that?--to turn on him and----" - -"Please stop!" said Avoye, trembling a little. "There is no need for you -to say that again. I will leave Sessignes myself--at once--and then -Aymar can come back." - -Mme de la Rocheterie gave a short laugh. "As if that would put matters -right! You know that he is besotted over you! If he comes back and -finds you gone, I shall only have another scene . . . and I am getting -too old for scenes. . . . But, for all that, ma fille, you are mistaken -in thinking that you can play fast and loose with him like this!" - -"Please tell me where he is?" asked Avoye humbly. - -"There was no address. He is moving about, he says . . . on affairs. He -is well fitted in health for that just now, is he not?--I ask once -more, Avoye, on what grounds you drove him away?" - -"I told you, Grand'mère, that we had a disagreement, which I regret very -much." - -"Is that an answer to my question?" - -"I cannot answer it more explicitly." - -"Perhaps then you will be kind enough to enlighten me as to why this -mysterious quarrel coincided with his return from captivity." - -"But, Grand'mère, it did not! It . . . it came about suddenly, only the -day he left, and it was . . . my fault." - -"Indeed!" remarked the Vicomtesse. "And you are now penitent! -Nevertheless, I do not believe you. I had observed you for days before -that--not at all the happy lovers I expected to see. Tell me, has Aymar -taken any steps yet about the dispensation for your marriage?--Answer -me, has he?" - -"No." - -"Why not, pray?" - -But Avoye could not, without betraying Aymar, reveal that the abstention -was entirely on his side. She did not answer. - -"You did not find him so attractive when he was unsuccessful, I -suppose?" suggested Mme de la Rocheterie. - -"You have no right to say that, Grand'mère!" retorted the girl, firing -up. "It is false!" - -"How, then, did you prevent so constant a lover from taking that -necessary step?" - -"I did not prevent him." The words escaped her against her will. - -"You expect me to believe that Aymar himself was willing to relegate his -marriage to I know not what epoch? He knows how long those matters -take." She looked keenly at her granddaughter and again receiving no -answer, said: "Then you must have shown him pretty plainly what your -feelings were about it." - -"I did," said Avoye, goaded, "but they were not what you think." - -"You mean to tell me that you did not deter him?" - -"I said I would marry him to-morrow if he had the dispensation." - -"Oho!" said her grandmother. "So much warmth--after so much -scrupulosity! And in the face of that, Aymar--_Aymar_--still hung -back!" - -"He had his reasons," said Avoye, very low. "I did not endorse them." - -"So you say. If I am to believe that I must know what they were." - -But Avoye shook her head obstinately. - -"Perhaps he had discovered that he was not your only admirer? Aymar is -somewhat exclusive." - -"You can think that if you like," replied her granddaughter scornfully. - -"Or that _you_ were jealous--of Eulalie, for example?" - -Avoye gave a little laugh. Yet she was unable to avoid reddening at the -name, a fact which by no means escaped Mme de la Rocheterie, who said, -watching her closely: "It certainly was curious that he should ride off -in that extraordinary fashion the very day she left." - -"Do you really think, Grand'mère, that he rode after _her?_" - -"No, I am not such a fool," admitted the Vicomtesse. "Unless, indeed, he -wished to question her more closely." - -"Question her? Why should he?" For she was obliged to say something. - -"Because I have been thinking over Eulalie's remarks that evening," -answered her grandmother coolly, "and I am convinced that she was not -making them innocently. And since his return, Aymar's demeanour has -been such----Yes, there is something behind this talk of treachery and -mistaken judgment. You will kindly tell me, Avoye, what it is!" - -"Why did you not ask Eulalie?" said the girl, her eyes on the ground. - -The Vicomtesse waved the question aside. "What story is going about -connecting Aymar unfavourably with his defeat?" - -No answer. - -"Is it some calumny based on his actual absence from the fight?" - -"No." - -"Or that he is--as I have suspected--shielding the person responsible -for the ambush, the person who, I suppose, sent the necessary -information to the Bonapartists?" - -Avoye shook her head. - -"What is it, then? Have I not a right to know?" - -Yes, she had, she had! Was she a woman who needed to be "spared" any -more than she, Avoye, herself? Mme de Villecresne lifted her head. - -"People are saying that it was Aymar himself who sent the information." - -Mme de la Rocheterie drew a long breath. Her hands clenched themselves -on the arms of her chair, her eyes sparkled. Instead of being withered -by the blow, she actually looked younger, rising to meet it. She -laughed. - -"As 'people' were about it, they might have invented a more likely -slander. This one is somewhat ludicrously wanting in plausibility. -Aymar betray his cherished Eperviers! But I thank you for telling me, -since the imbecility of human nature has always delighted me." - -She stooped to replace a piece of wood fallen from the fire, and, -raising herself rather suddenly, caught sight of Avoye's expression. -Her own changed with startling rapidity. - -"Avoye! Is it _possible!_ . . . Am I to take you for one of the -imbeciles?" - -"Of course, he sent it as a ruse," murmured Avoye out of her stiffened -lips. - -Mme de la Rocheterie took no notice. - -"You believed it--you believe it!--My God, no wonder Aymar would not -stay under the same roof with you! And this is your disagreement, your -lovers' tiff, after which you dare to hope he will return to you as if -nothing had happened. A La Rocheterie come cringing back to the feet of -a woman who could believe him capable of such an infamy! I am glad that -he left the house instantly!" - -Avoye tried dizzily to think. The fierce, proud old woman, it was clear, -would once more pay no heed if she were to repeat the explanation about -a ruse. She did not need that explanation for a moment, she who had met -the accusation merely with ridicule. Pray God, then, that that was all -the impression it would ever make on her! Some atonement, therefore, -she herself could offer for the wrong she had done Aymar, by consenting -to be sacrificed to that end . . . by holding her tongue and not -justifying herself . . . by not saying that it was true, for he had -told her so with his own lips . . . - -She bowed her head. She made herself, as far as she could, deaf to what -her grandmother was saying; she took the lashes in silence, for Aymar's -sake--though he could never know . . . - -This she heard, after other words: - -"I had sent for you to tell you that, unless Aymar could be induced to -marry someone else, you would have to marry him, after having kept him -dangling all these years, the last of his name. But to demand such a -sacrifice of him after this would be infamous! He is free of you at -last--I thank God for it!" - -It must surely be almost over now. But Avoye raised her head to see her -grandmother looking at her with that emotion so terrible to witness in -a person of one's own blood--hatred. Drawn and aged enough now, the -Vicomtesse said, with astonishing venom, "If only the Fates had not -made you that selfish and disastrous creature commonly known as a -virtuous woman! Or was it calculated wisdom that has made you refrain -from the attempt to sweep Aymar off his feet? You could have done it, I -believe, if you had wished, for he has hotter blood than you think--and -even in this new century men are still men. . . . But you knew that it -was better to keep yourself the unattainable, because a lover may get -tired of the attainable.--Yes, if you had been more . . . accommodating -. . . he might have been tired of you by now, and have made a marriage -worthy of him. And his wife, I fancy, would----" - -"Stop, Grand'mère stop!" cried Avoye, trembling from head to foot, and -putting out her hands as though to ward off less the insults than the -atrocious regret which beat through the old woman's words. "Stop, you -cannot know what you are saying!" - -It was probable that this was true, though, save for the glitter in her -eyes and a slight half-palsied movement of her hands, Mme de la -Rocheterie's manner did not suggest loss of self-control. She went on -exactly where she had been interrupted: - -"His wife, I say, would have displayed more faith in him than you--you, -so immaculate and so base-minded! And all these years you have -pretended to love him! Why, body and soul, the cheapest girl of the -Palais-Royal has a better notion of love than you! Yet you are my -granddaughter . . . at least I suppose so! But I shall hope, during the -rest of my life, to forget it." - -"Oh, I think you have already succeeded!" cried Avoye, almost beside -herself. "You who bore my father, to say such things to me! If Aymar -were here----" She stopped, suddenly choking. - -Her grandmother leant back in her chair with an air of complete victory, -and a smile that matched it. "Yes?" she enquired, "if Aymar were -here--_now_--what, then?" - -Avoye stared at the pitiless old face and saw completely, nakedly, what -her own lack of pity towards her lover had done for herself. The shield -between her and that hostility was gone for ever; and till this hour -she had not realized how efficaciously it had been her shield. Indeed, -there was nothing for her now but the roof of another. - -"I shall start for Paris at once," she said, clutching to her the last -poor remnants of her composure. "You need not fear, this time, that I -shall ever return." - -"No, I imagine that I am scarcely in danger of being forced a second -time to receive you back," agreed her grandmother, and the smile grew -sharper. "--Will you kindly ring the bell for Rose as you go out?" - - - - -CHAPTER IX - THE TOLEDO BLADE - - "But in my terms of honour - I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement, - Till by some elder masters of known honour - I have a voice and precedent of peace, - To keep my name ungored." - _Hamlet_, Act. v. Sc. 2. - - - "'Sir,' said he, 'it is very fortunate for you that your face - is so strong a letter of recommendation. Here am I, a tough old - practitioner, mixing myself up with your very distressing - business . . . and here is this lad . . . all, I take it, on - the strength of your appearance. I wish I could imagine how - it would impress a jury,' said he." - Stevenson, _St. Ives._ - - - "But, Sir, for the care and love I have for you, whilst I can bear a - sword in my hand I will venture for you." - Thomas Burton to Thomas Coke, June 5, 1703. - - -(1) - -The owls were hooting round the little manoir at dusk almost loudly -enough to disturb M. Nicolas de Fresne, as he sat at his monthly -accounts, once more the country gentleman. Only a sword that was not -his own, wrapped away in a press, and a certain very haunting memory, -which some times followed him even into sleep, remained to mark his -lieutenancy of the now extinct Eperviers. But Mademoiselle Berthe, the -old lame sister who kept house for him, thought that he had aged during -the last two months of inactivity. - -She came halting in now with a lamp, and set it down by him on the -table. - -"You will ruin your eyes, mon frère." - -"It is dark early this evening--early for the middle of July, that is," -he said, looking up. - -"It is raining," answered Mlle de Fresne. "--Dear me, was that a knock -at the front door? Jeanne has gone to bed." - -She went out, but was back in a moment. "It is a gentleman to see you on -affairs, Nicolas. He did not give his name." - -"Ask him to come in, then," said her brother, and, shuffling his papers -together, went to put them in his desk. He had his back turned, the -door was already ajar, and the lid of his desk, escaping at that moment -from his hold with a bang, prevented his hearing it close. - -"De Fresne!" said a well-known voice. - -He jumped round as if he had been struck. "Great God!" - -A gaunt young man in a cloak was standing just inside the door, the -lamplight and the dark panelling behind him conspiring to accentuate -his pallor and the ruddy gleam of his hair--a young man whom de Fresne -had last seen (and felt he should always see) motionless against a grey -tree trunk, ropes across him and a canopy of bright leaves above his -bowed head. He was bereft of speech; a hand even sought the support of -the desk behind him. - -"I am afraid I have startled you," said Aymar gravely. "I am very -sorry." - -"I . . . I heard that you were dying . . . and therefore released," -faltered the elder man. "But once I heard . . . I did not know what to -believe . . ." - -A brief, unmirthful smile flickered for an instant over the visitor's -face. "I _was_ released, but not because I was dying. I should like to -speak to you, if I may." - -De Fresne had pulled himself together. "Of course. Let me take off your -cloak. Have you supped?" - -"Yes, thank you. I have a room at the inn." He who had been L'Oiseleur -was unfastening the cloak. "I must apologize for coming so late, but I -was anxious to find you at home." - -De Fresne took the cloak from him. "It is not late. It is only this -cloak that is wet, I trust? You do not look . . ." He touched his arm. -"Are you really flesh and blood, La Rocheterie?" he asked almost -timidly. - -"Well . . .flesh," responded Aymar, with the same little smile. "The -other ingredient is somewhat to seek yet, I believe." - -"I'll get you some wine," murmured his lieutenant. "Meanwhile, pray sit -down--here." - -"No wine, thank you," said Aymar, obeying him. "I shall not detain you -long." - -"But you must let me give you a bed to-night! I'll tell my sister at -once." - -"Thank you, but I am staying at the inn," replied his visitor for the -second time, in a tone which did not admit of the renewal of the -invitation. - -De Fresne came slowly and sat down opposite him on the other side of the -fireless hearth and felt uncomfortable. Although La Rocheterie's -extremely quiet manner was free from any trace of hostility, it -conveyed somehow a feeling of immense distance, as though he really -were the ghost he looked like. And why would he not drink with him? - -"I am sure," he burst out, "that you blame me--that cursed letter! And -God knows I have blamed myself . . . bitterly, bitterly!" - -"But why?" asked his guest calmly. "Surely I said to you in the wood -that I did not blame you in the least, that you could have done no -otherwise but bring back the letter and confront me with it. And as we -neither of us had reason to suppose that I was not speaking _in -articulo mortis_, that declaration should have had weight with you." - -The faint flavour of irony, or imagined irony, and his own memories made -his hearer turn his head away. "If you knew how it has haunted me," he -groaned. "Surely I might somehow have prevented . . . what happened. At -any rate, I swear to you, La Rocheterie, that I have not known a day's -peace of mind since!" - -"Then I am very sorry to hear it," replied Aymar. "Your unnecessary -remorse only adds another item to the account against me. Yes," he -added, with more warmth in his voice, "it _is_ unnecessary, de Fresne. -I give you my word of honour--if you will take it--that I have -absolutely no condemnatory thoughts towards you. But, not having passed -through purgatory yet, I am less charitably disposed towards--others. -Tell me, what became of Magloire and Company?" - -But de Fresne had dropped his head on to his hands. "It is no good," he -said hoarsely. "You cannot really absolve me . . . for I cannot absolve -myself. You saved me, and I let that happen to you." - -Aymar sat up in his chair. His face softened. "My dear de Fresne! Will -you accept my hand on it? Come--and think no more of it!" - -He held it out; no handshake had passed between them as yet. De Fresne -looked up and saw it, outstretched so far that a dull red weal was -visible above the wrist. He took the hand. - -"Now please let there be no more talk of haunting," said L'Oiseleur with -a smile. "And tell me what you did with the remnants." - -"I disbanded them. There was nothing else to be done. After . . . after -the Bois des Fauvettes they turned against Magloire and Hervé, but they -would not follow me. . . . I debated a long time, La Rocheterie, about -having those two brought to justice, but at the moment the report was -that you had died in the hands of the Imperialists. I may have been -wrong, but it seemed to me that to rake up a scandal when you were not -alive to defend yourself, and when, with the best will in the world, I -could not properly defend you because I did not know the nature of your -bargain with Colonel Richard, was not the happiest thing for your -memory." - -"I dare say you were right not to press for justice," said Aymar. -"Indeed, as it happens, I am glad that you did not. For I have come to -ask you a favour." - -De Fresne got up. "I think I can guess what it is, and I shall do it -with all my heart, and at once." He went to the black oak press, deeply -carved with figures of saints, that stood against the wall, and -returned with a long object wrapped in a strip of brocade. - -"You want this back again. I have kept it carefully, you see. It is -yours, L'Oiseleur." And across his guest's knees he laid his -surrendered sword. - -But Aymar shook his head and held it out to him again. "Not in that way, -my friend! And what has happened that you should now restore it to me? -The day I gave it up you said you could not serve under me if I -retained it." - -De Fresne flushed. "But since that interview----" - -"Since that interview--what?" Aymar took him up. "I am further from -being cleared than ever. You told me then, most truly, that I stood in -a terrible situation. Do I stand in one less terrible now, with the -scars of my own men's bullets on me?" And, seeing that de Fresne had -nothing to answer he got up, laid the sword on the table, and went on: -"Only one hand can give that back to me, and it must first be delivered -to that hand. Yes, I am going to press for an enquiry, as you advised -me. In a sense, therefore, you were right in thinking that I had come -for my sword. I am here to ask you if you will assist me in the -endeavour to regain it--but if I ask too much----" - -"Too much! I am entirely at your service!" - -"You mean that? Thank you. I want you then, if the General will give me -a court of enquiry, to accuse me before it." - -"What!" cried his lieutenant. "That! Never, never!" - -"But it is what you would have had to do last May!" - -De Fresne sat down again and ran his hands through his hair. "I would do -anything to help you, La Rocheterie. But I cannot do that. You offered -your life for mine--yes, I know that the circumstances demanded it, and -I should, I hope, have done it as unhesitatingly myself in your place. -But you did offer it. . . . No, nothing would bring me to it." - -Aymar considered him. "Then I shall have to accuse myself," he said -reflectively. "Or perhaps the General will appoint an accuser. Perhaps -he will make a regular court-martial of it, and arrest me; or I can -give myself up. But I have not thought out any details; I came to you -first. And I should have liked the letter to produce. But I suppose -Magloire----" - -"The letter!" exclaimed de Fresne. "No, Magloire has not got it. _You -wish you could produce it!_ Are you mad?" - -"I don't think so," said Aymar rather painfully. "But I wish to keep -nothing back. Did you get possession of it again then?" - -"I did," replied his lieutenant. "But I am thankful to say that you -cannot possibly do anything so crazy as to produce it against yourself. -I destroyed it that very night. I only wish I had done so a few hours -earlier." - -The faint colour crept over Aymar's lips again. "You destroyed it--for -my sake! My dear de Fresne, that was very good of you! But, had it -still been procurable, I should have felt in honour bound to lay it -before the Court." - -"Well, I am thankful to say that you cannot!" retorted de Fresne. "The -only written evidence against you exists no longer. And if you will -take my advice, La Rocheterie, you will leave the whole matter alone -now. It's too risky. Think of the time that has elapsed--not, God -knows, through any fault of yours!--Tell me, how long were you against -that damned tree before the Bonapartists found you? When I came back -you were gone; but that was some three hours afterwards." - -"You came back!" - -"Did you suppose I was going to leave you there, alive or dead? Were you -. . . but perhaps you would rather not talk about it. . . . At any -rate, let us settle this question first. I do implore you to give up -the whole idea." - -Aymar looked at the wrist of the hand which lay on his knee. "Do you -know what people all over the district--all over Brittany, perhaps--are -saying about me? Just what you prophesied, of course. Could I be worse -off if the Court did not clear me?" - -"Yes, indeed you could," said de Fresne earnestly. "The story would be -even wider spread; you would be branded for ever. Whereas now it is -always possible for it to be said that you disdain to take any notice -of it. And there are always men who never will believe you capable of -such a thing. I know there are; I have met them. I met a man the other -day who knew you slightly, and he laughed at the idea; said that those -who believed the charge did so from personal jealousy. If you go before -a court and are not completely cleared, to all intents and purposes you -will have done--what you did--with the worst of intentions. You will be -utterly ruined." - -Aymar shook his head and caressed de Fresne's sleepy spaniel. "Not more -ruined than I am now." - -De Fresne got up and took a turn distractedly about the room. "I don't -think you look at all the possibilities of what might happen if you -were not acquitted. You wear uniform; you hold the King's commission, -if only for form's sake. They might degrade you; take away your cross. -For the love of God, L'Oiseleur, don't run that risk!" - -But Aymar was unmoved. He sat very still, as he had sat all the time; -now he was plaiting the spaniel's silky ear. - -"Our positions are indeed strangely reversed, my dear de Fresne, since -that day! You were horrified then at my inclination to let things take -their course." He stopped playing with the dog, least back in his -chair, and looked straight up at him. "I can see why you are now -opposed to my taking action; it is because you think my position so -much more hopeless." - -And once again de Fresne did not answer. - -"I have been trying for some weeks," went on Aymar quietly, "merely to -live down the charge. I had a good reason. That reason exists no longer -. . . and the charge is not being lived down. I am going to take the -other course now . . . even if it kills me." - -"I should say it very probably would, then," commented the elder man, -looking down at him. "I think it's crazy . . . but you always would -take risks. . . . I will do what I can, however, so long as you do not -require me to accuse you." - -"You are not so Roman as I thought you were," murmured Aymar with a -smile. - -"I am not going to accuse you," repeated de Fresne doggedly. "For the -rest, it is of no use appealing to you?" - -"It is of no use." - -"Then I will give evidence for you--anything you wish but bring an -accusation." - -"I do not know that you will be able entirely to avoid it," said Aymar -with a faint suspicion of amusement. "But you shall not be a formal -accuser; I promise you that.--Now I will tell you the true nature of my -bargain with Colonel Richard." - - -(2) - -"Undoubtedly," said Tante Clotilde dogmatically, "Laurent is in love; -and I only pray, Virginia, that the object of his passion may be found -to be suitable, for I have observed in our great-nephew a regrettable -fund of obstinacy. But the head of the house of Courtomer cannot follow -his own choice in marriage, irrespective of other considerations, as is -so lightly done in the country where he has had the misfortune to be -brought up." - -"And as his father did," said Mme de Courtomer rather maliciously. - -"Nonsense!" retorted the old lady. "As a Seymour, you were a perfectly -suitable match for Henri." - -"You are too good, ma tante," replied Virginia de Courtomer. "But Henri -did follow his own choice, all the same. And why you should fear that -Laurent's should fall on a soubrette or something of the kind I do not -know. Moreover, I very much doubt if he _is_ in love." - -Mlle de Courtomer heaved in her armchair. "You will allow me, with a -vastly longer experience of life than yours, Virginia, to differ from -you! A young man who has fought and endured captivity for his King -comes back to find that King replaced on the throne by a glorious -victory, Paris in festive humour, himself not uncongratulated for -having drawn the sword . . . and what is he like? Restless, moody, -almost uninterested in the consummation towards which he has the honour -of having contributed, wanting in the petits soins towards my sisters -and myself in which, I will say, he has never yet failed, and--always -anxious for the visit of the postman! There is only one inference to be -drawn. He is in love, or entangled, with some woman he has met in the -west. Odile thinks, and I agree with her, that it is probably this Mme -de Villecresne at Sessignes, because he will not speak much of her and -because he stayed on there unnecessarily long after his escape. And I -only hope that his infatuation may not, in consequence, have led to a -difference of opinion with her cousin, the Vicomte de la Rocheterie; -for in spite of the admiration which Laurent has--which we must all -have--for the hero of Penescouët, I have observed that he suffers, at -times, from a considerable gêne in speaking of him." - -To this summary of her son's condition, no count of which she could -deny, Mme de Courtomer made no answer. She had observed all these -symptoms herself. Certainly Laurent was not happy. Moreover, she knew -something which, luckily, the old ladies did not--namely, that since -his return he had withdrawn a large sum of money from his bankers . . . -for an excellent object, he had assured her. She did not doubt his -assurance, and sometimes she thought he was going to tell her what was -troubling him, but, just because of the great confidence between them, -she would not ask. Yes, the change in him was marked; she could hardly -wonder, even if she resented it, that his great-aunts should talk him -over in this fashion. He had become so pensive, and certainly did -display an extraordinary interest in the postman. - - - -That afternoon an old friend of her husband's, a general of distinction, -called upon her. Laurent came in at the end of his visit. - -"Ah, here is our captive hero!" observed the visitor as he shook hands. -"You do not look any the worse for your imprisonment, so I hope that it -was not rigorous. More boring, probably--eh, young man?" - -"I do not fancy that Laurent found it exactly boring, General," said his -mother, smiling. "He had a wounded companion whom he helped to nurse; -that gave him employment. He has the happiness of having contributed to -the Vicomte de la Rocheterie's restoration to health--L'Oiseleur, you -know." - -The old soldier stiffened curiously. "Ah--really!" he remarked, and -looked hard at Laurent for a moment. Then he changed the subject. - -But as he was taking his leave he held Mme de Courtomer's hand and said -gravely, "My dear lady, if a very old friend may venture on a word of -advice, I think it would be as well if you kept silence as to your -son's charity in imprisonment." - -"Mon Dieu, why?" exclaimed the Comtesse in astonishment. - -"Because," said the General still more gravely, "I grieve to say that it -was mistaken charity." - -"--Monsieur----" began Laurent hotly, but the guest went on, unheeding. - -"--Since it was bestowed on an unworthy object. And, in point of fact, -it was no charity at all. It would have been a thousand times better to -have allowed that--that incredibly treacherous young man to die. But -your son, no doubt, did not know what he was doing." - -"I did know!" said Laurent, white, his head flung back. "I knew all the -time of the abominable slander on a man as honourable as you or I! -. . . My God! my God! and now it is going about Paris!" - -The distinguished soldier looked at him and was perhaps a little moved -by his distress. But he spoke no less sternly, "Can you wonder, -Monsieur de Courtomer? What steps have been taken to check it? An -innocent man must have cleared himself by now of a charge so -infamous.--La Rocheterie betrayed . . . sold . . . his own men to the -enemy," he explained to his hostess. "You did not know, of course. I am -sorry to have shocked you, but you see why I counsel you, Madame, in -your son's best interests, to be discreet." He looked once more towards -that son, who had turned his back and laid his head against the -mantelshelf--and he forbore to utter a farewell which would obviously -have gone unreciprocated. - -And when Mme de Courtomer came back across the great salon Laurent had -flung himself down in an armchair and buried his head at the side. -Herself rather pale, she put her arms about him. "My dearest boy, this -is what has been troubling you, then! Tell me, my darling, if you can!" - -But all that Laurent could get out for a long time was: "It's not -true--it's not true!" And later the cry changed to, "If only he could -do something--if only I knew where he was now--his last letter said so -little . . . and there were such difficulties." - -It was therefore quite in accordance with probability that there was -borne in to Laurent next morning, with his coffee and roll, a letter -sealed with a swan. He tore it open, and read, in the handwriting which -he hardly yet knew, these words: - -_"MY DEAR LAURENT,--Since I last wrote the difficulties which Sol de -Grisolles saw in the way of granting my request for a court of enquiry -have disappeared, and the Court will sit to investigate my case at -Aurannes on August 12th. I shall have de Fresne, Colonel Richard, and -Saint-Etienne to give evidence on my behalf, and through the latter I -have hopes of getting that M. du Parc who was present, as you may -remember, at my meeting with him at Keraven._ - -_"I do not think that you can bring evidence on any point which is -likely to arise, or I should not hesitate to call you as a witness, -though I am summoning as few as possible, not wishing to involve them -in an unpleasant business. As things stand, therefore, it is quite -unnecessary for you to take the tiresome journey to Aurannes. But I -know that I can count on your good wishes. I shall need them._ - -_"I will let you know the finding of the Court, though you will probably -learn it from other sources. Should it be unfavourable I see nothing -before me but to leave France. I might go to the United States -perhaps."_ - -"Thank God!" said Laurent aloud, laying down the letter on the bed. And -indeed his first feeling was one of unmitigated relief. This was the -only door. But that thankfulness was succeeded by a deep -disappointment. Why had Aymar in the past said those things about his -friendship if he could thus easily dispense with it in this most -critical hour? He read the letter, so brief and restrained, again. No, -he did not seem to want him to come--he who would almost give his own -good name to clear his friend's. Or was the desire for his presence -there, kept with difficulty in leash, in the words which looked so -colourless? Aymar had given him date and place . . . though with only -just time enough to get there. - -The letter, which occupied only one page (for Aymar wrote a very small -hand) had fallen open as it lay, and . . . yes, there _was_ something -added on the inner page! Laurent snatched it up, and read these words, -in marked contrast, even in the handwriting, to the composure of the -rest: - -_"I doubt if I can face it, when the time comes, without you, Laurent!"_ - -Two minutes later, gulping his coffee, he was thus addressing his -hastily summoned valet: "I want my valise packed immediately--put my -uniform in--and find out the Brittany diligences . . . and get hold of -Mme la Comtesse's maid, and ask her how soon my mother can receive me. -I am going away at once." - - -(3) - -It was quite dusk when Laurent rode into Aurannes, but the little Breton -town was stirred by the presence of troops into an animation which it -could never have known in ordinary times at that hour. He put up his -hired horse at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson, was told there where to find the -little house where M. de la Rocheterie was believed to be lodging, -enquired of the old woman who owned it in what room he should find her -guest, and went up unannounced. Only, outside the door, he paused a -moment as once at La Baussaine; then he opened it and went in. - -Aymar was sitting at the table facing him, under the lamp, the dear and -well-known head bent over some papers. He did not instantly look up, -and Laurent had time to take in the rather comfortless little room, the -remains of a meal of cheerless aspect at one end of the table, and the -fact that there were at least three grey hairs in the bright, lamplit -bronze. Then L'Oiseleur abstractedly raised his head. - -And all that Laurent had ever done or suffered for him was trebly repaid -in that one moment of time when he saw the sudden incredulous joy on -his face. The papers went to the floor. - -"You, Laurent, you!" - -"Who else?" asked Laurent. "Didn't you mean me to see that postscript?" - -"I was only afraid that you wouldn't," said Aymar, half laughing, half -choking, as they embraced. "Have you really forgiven me, then, for -leaving you in that abominable fashion at Sessignes?" - -"I forgive you nothing," responded Laurent ambiguously, and, holding him -at arm's length, surveyed him with critical eyes. Aymar was very thin, -but there was a trace of colour in his lips if nowhere else. He was in -uniform, the very uniform in which Laurent had so admired him in Paris, -and once more he was wearing the Cross of St. Louis on his breast. But -he had no sword. - -"I do not think much of your choice of lodging," observed the newcomer -after a little, looking round the room. "Could you not have found -something more comfortable?" - -"Very likely," responded Aymar, unperturbed. "But the first -consideration was to find someone who would take me in without demur. -And I knew that Mme Leblanc would do that." - -Laurent opened his lips to say something, and thought better of it. But -it seemed horrible that L'Oiseleur should make this statement without a -shadow of his old bitterness, as if it were the most natural thing in -the world for his presence to be objected to. - -"I did not, however, propose to condemn you to Mme Leblanc's cooking if -you did come," went on his friend. "De Fresne tells me that there is -still a room or two at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson." - -Laurent shrugged his shoulders. "I shall stay here--if there is a corner -anywhere. You won't say, 'If you do, I shall not sleep under this -roof,' will you?" - -Aymar gave him a strange, sweet little smile, and put his hand for a -moment over his. "I know better now than to argue with you, mon ami; -but I would like to make one appeal to you, on the score of your own -reputation. It will not do you any good, and it might do you untold -harm, to be seen with me, to lodge with me. You know----" - -"Is that why M. de Fresne has so carefully installed himself at the -Hôtel de l'Ecusson?" broke in Laurent hotly. "And your friend -Saint-Etienne, where is he? Has he been equally prudent?" - -Aymar looked at him rather oddly. "Saint-Etienne is . . . much further -away," he said, with what seemed an effort. "And I implore you, -Laurent, not to harbour a grudge against the excellent de Fresne. He -does so hate this whole affair; it is against his better judgment, he -puts himself in rather an unpleasant position, and yet he is giving -evidence at my request." - -"It is the least he can do," retorted the implacable Laurent. "But what -about Saint-Etienne, your most important witness, it seems to -me--unless you have secured that M. du Parc. Why do you say he is far -away? I hope you have both of them?" - -Aymar looked down at the floor. "Laurent, I ought not to have allowed -you to come here--I ought not, indeed! I did try in my letter not to -let you see how much I wanted you, but it was too strong for me. Yet at -least I did not know the worst when I wrote. . . . I have neither of -those two as witnesses; Saint-Etienne I can never have." - -"Good God! why not? Aymar, your whole case----" - -"Saint-Etienne is dead," answered Aymar gravely. And he told his stunned -hearer how, when he made up his mind to court enquiry, he had written -to Saint-Etienne to ask him if he would give evidence on his behalf, -and where M. du Parc could be found. No answer came. Meanwhile, Sol de -Grisolles made arrangements and fixed the date. Then came a letter from -Saint-Etienne's relatives telling Aymar of his death from wounds -received in a skirmish in July. Of M. du Parc they knew nothing -whatever; and the name was so little uncommon that to trace him--Aymar -had already tried--was hopeless. - -"But, Laurent," he concluded, "I could not draw back now. Think of -inviting an enquiry and then, on the eve, withdrawing from it! Sol de -Grisolles could not give me any longer because he is disbanding. And in -any case I think the result was doubtful. Only, for the sake of the -name I bear, I felt that I must face it. I came to that resolve at -Eveno's, but it was a struggle; it took three days to bring me to it." -He smiled. "And now it seems hopeless. But I shall make a fight for it, -though, as far as direct testimony goes, I am now empty-handed My only -chance is that what testimony I can bring will produce a favourable -general impression. Several people here have personally assured me that -they would believe me on my bare word. Perhaps the Court also may have -an inclination to believe me because of my former reputation. I had one -once." - -Again he spoke without bitterness; but Laurent shivered. The new Aymar -discomposed, a little frightened him. He asked of whom the Court -consisted. - -Aymar told him. And when he came to one name, Laurent gave a joyful -exclamation. - -"Du Tremblay! Du Tremblay himself! Oh, luck at last! I overheard him -speak so warmly of you in Paris, and when he learns what he owes -you----" - -"Owes me? Oh, you mean that cipher business. But he will not hear -anything about that, my dear Laurent. The only evidence which I might -call on you to give would be why I was unable to court enquiry earlier, -if the point were brought up against me. My story, as I shall give it, -will end with the last bullet. I am afraid that they are sure to want -to hear something about that affair, and I should prefer to tell them -details rather than to have them dragged out. But you need not fear -that I shall dilate upon it." - -How, feeling about it as he did, he could face the prospect of having -that horrible business in the wood gone into at all, Laurent could not -conceive. If he were of less sensitive fibre . . . but then, perhaps, -he would not have also "the ice-brook's temper." - -But he had already become aware of a singular and subtle change in -Aymar, the advent of a strange kind of calm, as if a man should come -out of very deep waters with something of himself washed away, yet with -something added. His composure seemed perfectly natural and effortless, -but, considering what he had to face to-morrow, and what hung on the -results of that ordeal, Laurent could not believe that it had been -achieved, was being maintained now, without heavy cost. And had it to -do with that last, that cruellest hurt of all? He thought so. But -perhaps the hand which gave the wound had already tried to heal it? - -"Does Mme de . . . de la Rocheterie know of the enquiry?" he asked -suddenly. - -"Yes. But she does not realize how serious it is for me, because when I -wrote a few days ago I merely told her that I had asked for an -investigation into the rumours of treachery at Pont-aux-Rochers. I have -had a line in return, approving of my action." He smiled, a little -ironically. "And I hope that, whatever the verdict, she may never learn -the details of the evidence." - -Laurent knew what he meant by that phrase. After a moment Aymar added, -"I wrote to my cousin also, saying that I hoped at least to keep her -name out. That _is_ my hope." - -But had he heard from her? Presumably not, since he immediately changed -the conversation, and began to talk about the way in which he was -laying out the first instalment of Laurent's money on the disabled and -widows. After which he got up and took something off the mantelpiece. - -"Such an extraordinary coincidence, Laurent! I threw this away, as you -know. When I put on my uniform, for which I had sent to Sessignes, -there was the _jartier_ in a pocket! - -"Well, don't throw it away again!" said Laurent. "It must mean that the -luck has turned.--Aymar, wear it to-morrow! To please me, let me see if -I cannot somehow fasten it on to your arm again! It's nonsense, I know -. . . but just to please me!" - -And, to please him, his friend consented. Moreover, so thin was his arm -now that, with the aid of needle and thread from Mme Leblanc, Laurent -did succeed in fastening the rush bracelet in its place once more. - -"I have only recently learnt from Eveno," said Aymar as Laurent put in -the last stitch, "of another legend which seems much truer than the -story about running water. If you are fortunate in . . . if you have -obtained or are about to obtain your heart's desire, the _jartier_ will -leave you." He pulled down his sleeve. "And apparently," he added, -trying to smile, "when that is lost for ever the _jartier_ comes back. -It has already found me--remember when?" - -An immense pity for him invaded Laurent. He was rather staggered, too. - -"But this return must mean that you have your luck again--that you are -going to come through to-morrow." - -"Perhaps. I admit that I need something to counteract----Come in! . . . -Ah, de Fresne, let me make known to you my friend Monsieur de -Courtomer, of whom I have told you." - -The two men bowed, a little stiffly. "Well, Monsieur de Courtomer," said -the newcomer starkly, "if you have heard the last piece of news, I -think you will admit that we are here on a fool's errand." - -Laurent fired up. "As M. de la Rocheterie is now irrevocably committed -to this enterprise, Monsieur," he retorted, "that is hardly an -encouraging view of the situation to put before him!" - -"M. de la Rocheterie does not need that view to be put before him," -interposed Aymar. "It is already his own.--Sit down, de Fresne." - -Laurent moved away. That was the man who with his own eyes had seen the -outrage wrought on Aymar, who in addition to his own indirect share in -bringing it about had not even got himself scratched in trying to -prevent it! And yet he surprised on this man's face, as he spoke in low -tones with L'Oiseleur, an anxiety much more selfless and acute than his -rough and untactful words had suggested. - -It was late when de Fresne left. Laurent's sleep was heavy but broken, -and he spent a large portion of it in giving evidence of the most -ridiculous and disconnected order. - -He was glad, therefore, when morning came, for he had yet to realize how -its hours were going to drag--since the enquiry did not begin till two -o'clock in the afternoon. The only event of importance was the arrival -of Colonel Richard for consultation with Aymar. His dismay when he -heard of the disastrous gap in the evidence was obvious, though not so -nakedly displayed as de Fresne's, but he dismissed the idea of turning -back, which, indeed, Aymar had never seriously contemplated. "When a -man has courage of your type," were his parting words, "circumstances -themselves crumble before him. In any case, you have taken the right -course." - -"And without you I could not have taken it," responded Aymar warmly. "I -only hope that you will have no cause to regret your great generosity -in coming here on my account." - - - -With a meal, at which Laurent ate even less than Aymar, the interminable -morning did come at last to an end, but when half-past one sounded from -a clock outside, and Aymar put his notes in his pocket and rose, -Laurent heartily wished it were nine o'clock again. The enquiry was to -be held in the Hôtel de Ville, and Aymar had refused to drive the short -distance thither. Moreover, since he equally refused to have his actual -witnesses go with him, if Laurent had not joined him he would -apparently have set forth entirely alone for the place of ordeal--and -that through what might possibly be itself an ordeal. Neither of them -knew how the feeling went in Aurannes. - -At the last moment Laurent, unobserved, divested himself of his recently -assumed sword. Aymar de la Rocheterie should not be the only man to -walk through the streets that afternoon in uniform but disarmed. They -set forth side by side. - -It was a hot day, and the streets in their afternoon shadelessness were -not very full. For that reason the figure of L'Oiseleur was all the -more conspicuous, and Laurent felt it. Only a faint hope sustained him -that a spectator might wonder which of the two swordless officers was -he whose once brilliant name was so tarnished. But though everyone -within sight stared or turned to look, there was no demonstration; a -few passing officers even saluted him, though a couple very obviously -crossed the street to avoid him. Only, in traversing the market-place, -they came full on a Chouan of Gamber's legion, and he, as they passed, -looked full at the two young men, and then deliberately spat on the -ground at Aymar's feet. - -"--Don't, Laurent!" said Aymar in a low voice, clutching his arm and -pulling him on, turning on him meanwhile a face for the moment like a -dead man's. "Remember, for God's sake, that I have my own temper to -keep!" - -Only a few scarcely interested spectators lounged round the semicircular -steps of the Hôtel de Ville. At the top Aymar suddenly caught his -friend's arm again. - -"What have you done with your sword?" - -Laurent, whose teeth were still clenched, glanced down at his side. Why -was Aymar so observant! "Ass that I am, I must have forgotten it! But -it is of no consequence; I am not here on duty." - -"Forgotten it--when you had it on five minutes before we started!" The -grasp tightened. "Laurent, who but you would have thought of such a -thing!" He gave him a long look, removed his hand with a rather shaken -little laugh, and they went in. - - -(4) - -The hall of the Hôtel de Ville at Aurannes was a good deal too large for -the purpose to which it was now being put, for the proceedings were not -really public, only the military being admitted. Yet at first there -seemed to Laurent to be a crowd of faces; afterwards they resolved -themselves into those of about thirty or forty officers, ranged fanwise -on either side of the dais on which, at a long table, sat the Court -itself. - -But, after the first slight shock of dismay on finding that the audience -was not directly behind Aymar but facing him, the young man had eyes -for the Court only. There were nine of them, all of superior rank. In -the middle sat Sol de Grisolles, the General-in-Chief of Brittany, the -man who had been Cadoudal's lieutenant sixteen years before, and who, -being implicated in his subsequent conspiracy, had suffered an -imprisonment of ten years in surroundings so horrible that his health -and vigour were gone, his eyesight almost ruined, and that he was an -old man at fifty-four. There was his major-general, the Marquis de la -Boëssière, on whom the King had actually bestowed full powers of -leadership for the province, but who, on finding Sol de Grisolles -already in command, had voluntarily subordinated himself to him, the -abler to the less able; and there were the Chevaliers de Sécillon and -de Margadel. The others Laurent could not identify . . . save one, -indeed, the man who owed so much to his disgraced comrade, and who -probably did not know it--M. du Tremblay, seen previously in such -different surroundings. - -An orderly showed them their places. In front of the dais, but at some -distance from it, a table and a chair had been set for Aymar. Behind -him, seats were to accommodate his witnesses, but they were apparently -to give their evidence from another table, placed in a line with his. -Laurent wondered if he would ever succeed in standing at it. But no one -challenged his right to sit with de Fresne and Colonel Richard and an -unknown man whom he guessed to be the landlord of the _Abeille d'Or_. - -Then, after a pause which seemed interminable, after some consultation -among the nine officers enthroned there, whispered comments from the -onlookers and a steady fire of glances directed at the pale, uniformed, -swordless young man seated alone at the little table, the General rose -in his place. - -"I wish to remind you, gentlemen," he said, as emphatically as his -broken voice would permit, "that this is not a court-martial. Though -the Vicomte de la Rocheterie's sword lies before us on the table -(having originally been surrendered in circumstances about which we -shall shortly hear) he is in no sense under arrest. He is here of his -own free will, having asked for an investigation into his recent -conduct, about which, as you are doubtless aware, very damaging rumours -are in circulation, although no formal charge has been preferred -against him. You, his fellow officers, are accordingly met here to give -him an opportunity of clearing himself from the very grave imputation -under which he rests of having betrayed his own men to the enemy on the -night of the 27th of April last." He paused a moment and cleared his -throat. "The procedure which we shall follow is that M. de la -Rocheterie will first give us in outline his account of what occurred, -and will then go over it in detail, producing his witnesses and -answering any question which the Court may put to him. And, since there -is no accuser, we are ready for him to begin at once." - -So the lists were fairly set for what Aymar had said last night was a -hopeless fight. He got to his feet, and, after a few words of thanks to -the General-in-Chief and the Court for consenting to hear him, -electrified everybody--and Laurent not least--by saying, firmly and -quietly: - -"I wish to begin by stating that I do not deny having sent certain -information to the enemy on the night of 27th April, nor that my action -was the cause of the disaster at Pont-aux-Rochers, nor that my men, -believing me to have purposely betrayed them, shot me for it." - -So strong a sensation here went round Court and audience alike that -Aymar was obliged to pause. "Good Lord!" thought Laurent to himself, -"what a way to open . . . and how like him!" - -"But," went on Aymar, standing like a statue, "I emphatically deny the -motive assigned to my action. I shall hope to prove to the Court that -the disaster was the result, in reality, of a scheme which went wrong, -that no treachery was intended for a moment, and that my men acted as -they did under a misapprehension." - -He began without more ado to read his summary, a short, lucid statement, -making no appeal for mercy but laying a certain stress, as it -proceeded, on the points which were undoubtedly in his favour. Such -were, the important conversation with Saint-Etienne and M. du Parc at -Keraven, showing that the whole scheme had been worked out beforehand, -and that he could reasonably rely on Saint-Etienne's collaboration; his -immediate return to his own men and the frantic haste he made to warn -them; and his agreeing to give up his sword and court an -enquiry--which, however, the precipitate action of his followers put -for the time out of the question. - -He then started to take his points in more detail. With regard to the -conversation at the _Abeille d'Or_, the General or the Marquis de la -Boëssière could bear out his statement that Colonel de Saint-Etienne -and his regiment were at Keraven on April 27th. Of what passed at his -interview with him, however, he had to acknowledge that he could not -produce evidence, since M. de Saint-Etienne was dead, and he had failed -to trace M. du Parc. He was perfectly aware how unfortunate this was -for his case. - -The Court concurred, and found voice in a member who remarked somewhat -gratuitously that M. de la Rocheterie had then nothing to prove that -the story of his "plan" was not concocted afterwards. - -"That," responded Aymar a trifle drily, "is exactly the inference which -may be drawn. But I can at least prove that I _had_ an interview with -those two gentlemen at the _Abeille d'Or_ on that date. I will call the -innkeeper himself for that purpose." - -The questioning of that worthy over, Aymar proceeded with his narrative, -and soon came (with what inward shrinking Laurent guessed) to the -arrival at Sessignes of the Marquis--he did not name him--with news of -grave peril to "a lady" who had rendered a service to the cause in -1813, and might therefore well stand in danger from the Imperialists -now; and how, rejecting his impulse to give himself up in her stead, he -decided to offer the Bonapartists his lieutenant's letter in exchange -for her--with the fixed intention, however, of carrying out the rest of -the plan exactly as sketched. - -And then, as Laurent anticipated, the questions began. - -"Who was the lady, Monsieur?" - -"Is it not immaterial what her name was?" asked Aymar. - -"No," replied the officer who had put the question, "not if we are to -believe that she was in danger because of past services." - -"You cannot take my word for those services?" - -They shook their heads. Then someone said, "We quite appreciate that you -want to keep her name out of this business, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, -but we must know what those services were--and we must have some proof -that the detained lady was really she who rendered them." - -Aymar thereupon detailed Mme de Villecresne's exploit at Chalais, the -results of which were highly beneficial to "a certain leader." And the -Chevalier de Sécillon, suddenly declaring that he knew the story, and -the name of its heroine, it was finally agreed that if a responsible -witness wrote down the name of the lady detained by the Bonapartists -and sent it up to the Court, and it proved to be the same, he would -have established his point. But what witness could do this? - -L'Oiseleur turned and exchanged a look with Colonel Richard, who nodded. -So he announced that the witness whom he was about to call in any case -would do this for him, since it was he who had had the lady in his -hands. And, not a little to the general surprise, Colonel Richard, -lately in command of the Imperialist troops at Saint-Goazec, was cited -to give evidence for his defeated opponent. - -He got up very impassively, writing down the name as he did so. It was -passed up, and found satisfactory. - -"I will now ask you, Colonel Richard," said Aymar, addressing him, "to -tell the story of your receipt of M. de Fresne's letter, in order to -show that no more was asked of you than this lady's safety--and that in -actual fact even that bargain could not be carried out, because the -lady was never really in danger." - -At which revelation even members of the Court were observed to hold -their heads. - - -(5) - -Laurent began by listening with avidity to the story of the coming of M. -de Vaubernier that night to the presbytère of Saint-Goazec with the -letter, and his interview with Colonel Richard; but as the latter's -evidence went on, he listened with inward maledictions also. How was it -possible for any one to be such a fool as that old gentleman--not only, -in a sense, to have originated the whole situation in his turnip of a -brain, but also to have played, in such a preposterous manner, right -into the hands of this intelligent colonel of engineers by revealing -that the enemy proposed a bargain with him before finding out whether a -bargain were called for at all! How could he not have seen from Colonel -Richard's manner that night that there was no question of shooting -anybody--even though the Imperialist had, as now appeared, been too -astute to display his entire ignorance of the lady's presence at the -inn! Laurent's disgust got the better of his interest. - -He heard, however, at one point, questions eliciting exactly what was in -the letter, and also a sharp query as to why it had not been laid -before the Court, to which Aymar briefly replied that it had -subsequently been destroyed by a third person. He heard, too, the -Imperialist being asked what his thoughts were at the moment of the -letter's reception, and his frank response, that as it appeared to be -genuine he was driven to one of two suppositions: either that -L'Oiseleur was a traitor, and was deliberately selling his men for the -safety of a woman whom he believed to be in mortal peril, or that the -whole thing was a trap. He therefore went over to the _Cheval Blanc_ to -find out what possible grounds L'Oiseleur could have for believing the -lady to be in such a situation, and got on the track of the truth, -though he did not run the culprit to ground till after the fight. - -"And what was the truth, Colonel?" asked a voice as he paused. - -Laurent put his hands over his ears. But he heard--or seemed to -hear--all the same. . . . He certainly heard the sonorous voice of the -Chevalier de Margadel exclaiming, with astonishment, "Then do you mean -to tell us that the whole question of the lady's danger, and all that -hung on it, rested on no more solid basis than a practical joke?" - -"I am ashamed to say that it is so," replied Colonel Richard. - -Aymar, sitting at his table, had his head on his hand. Laurent knew how -bitter this must taste--how the shadow of ridicule, hardest of all to -face, must seem to be hovering near him, though really it was engulfed -in the shadow of tragedy. None of the Court, at least, appeared to find -this revelation amusing, and Laurent was grateful to them. He was not -so sure about one or two of the younger officers in the audience. As he -scanned in particular one whose demeanour did not please him, he heard -Colonel Richard resuming his evidence, and saying how he considered the -letter worth acting on--with precautions, as he thought that a leader -with the experience and antecedents of M. de la Rocheterie had probably -taken steps to nullify the information he had sent; nor, as between one -soldier and another, did he consider that unfair . . . merely a move in -the game. "So I took every precaution that I could think of," he -concluded, "and the result you know; but I desire, gentlemen, to make -it very plain that if Colonel de Saint-Etienne's regiment had not been -ordered away from Keraven when it was, I, not knowing at the moment of -his presence in the neighbourhood, might well have been the victim of -disaster instead of M. de la Rocheterie." - -Laurent could see that this testimony had made rather a strong -impression. The Court conferred together. Then the Marquis de la -Boëssière observed, "In fact, you are convinced that M. de la -Rocheterie is speaking the truth?" - -"I am, absolutely. I should hardly have agreed to come and give evidence -at the request of a former adversary if I thought him a traitor. -Perhaps," said Colonel Richard, drawing himself up a little, "I may be -allowed to say that I think too much of my own reputation for that." - -He returned to his place, and Aymar stood up again. - -"It seems pretty well proved, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," said M. de la -Boëssière, looking at his notes, "that you had sufficient grounds for -thinking the lady to be in danger, but do you consider that you were -justified in taking such a risk for the sake of any individual, of -whatever sex or services?" - -"But I have already stated, mon Général," replied Aymar steadily, "for -what reasons I considered that there was practically no risk." And he -rehearsed them once more. - -"You had then no scruples about sending the letter?" - -"I had scruples because I disliked the whole idea--but not on the score -of risk." - -"Your perceptions must have been singularly clouded at the time, -Monsieur de la Rocheterie," observed a dry voice. "The risk appears, to -me at any rate, to have been more than obvious!" - -The shaft drew blood; Laurent saw it. Whose perceptions would not have -been clouded at that dizzy moment in the orchard, the meeting-place of -rapture and despair? But after a second Aymar recovered himself and -said gravely, "I am not speaking of how it appears to me now, Monsieur, -but giving evidence as to how it appeared to me then." - -"I think we should remember," said the General-in-Chief, suddenly -interposing, "that M. de la Rocheterie's whole military career has been -one of taking risks, and very successful ones, and that familiarity is -apt to breed contempt." - -Someone here observed that it would certainly be very hard, too, for a -gentleman to leave a lady in such a situation, particularly when he had -the means of saving her to his hand. - -"Or a man either, if it comes to that," murmured a voice. - -And on this M. de Sécillon, who knew the identity of the lady, remarked, -presumably with the idea of giving Aymar some support, "Moreover, as it -was for M. de la Rocheterie himself that the lady had obtained that -military information, it is easy to understand that he felt under a -special obligation to her." - -("Oh, you fool!" said Laurent to himself.) - -The Marquis de la Boëssière looked at the speaker. "Oh, M. de la -Rocheterie himself was the leader in question, was he? Then she was -personally known to him? Is that so, Monsieur de la Rocheterie? I do -not think we had gathered that." - -Laurent would not even look at his friend's back here; he looked -(against his will) at the deeply interested audience. - -"Yes," said Aymar briefly. - -"How well? You must pardon the question." - -A tiny pause. "She was my cousin." - -"Ah, I see," said M. de la Boëssière. He might not have meant his tone -to sound significant; it could hardly avoid doing so. Among the -audience there was an undoubted and rather pleasurable stir, and on the -face which Laurent had already singled out for dislike a grin which -made the young man clench his hands. - -However, the Court intimated that Aymar should proceed with his -narrative. He did so. He recalled the innkeeper to prove that he -arrived at three in the morning at Keraven, was greatly distressed at -finding the troops gone, and set off at once on a fresh horse. And he -had carried his recital as far as the Bois des Fauvettes when an -objection occurred from the dark, thin-faced officer who had made the -observation about "clouded perceptions." This individual suggested that -L'Oiseleur should produce some witness to prove that he really did his -best after he left Keraven to arrive in time to prevent a disaster. -"Otherwise," he observed, "you might have planned to arrive too late." - -"Oh, bosh!" cried Laurent internally, now fixing this objector with a -hostile eye. - -Aymar replied that he could hardly prove that; the only witness to his -haste (failing the dead body of the horse which he had killed by it, -and the quarryman whom he had intimidated into selling him another) -would again be the innkeeper to whom he had paid the value of the -first. "But," he added, "if I had really intended to be too late, -should I have rejoined my men at all the same morning?" - -"That ought to settle him," thought Laurent. But instead he found that -this keen-witted person was landing his friend in a new and unforeseen -difficulty, for, having elicited that de Fresne, the next witness, had -not appeared in the Bois des Fauvettes till the afternoon of Monday, -May 1st, he pointed out that there was no evidence to show that he -_did_ rejoin his force the same morning. - -For a moment Aymar seemed taken aback. Then he rallied. "I can produce -it indirectly, Monsieur," he returned. "If M. du Tremblay will be so -obliging, he can tell you that I despatched one of my officers to him -early on the morning of April 29th to warn him that I could not now -coöperate with him. This officer, M. de Soulanges, no doubt gave him an -account of my return; even if he did not, his mission itself was a -proof of it." He looked towards his one-time ally. - -Now M. du Tremblay was sitting at the extreme left-hand of the table, -and round the corner of it. He was not, therefore, directly facing -Aymar, like the majority of the Court; and all along, it seemed to -Laurent, he had taken advantage of his position not to look at him. All -through the business about the "lady," of whose identity and -antecedents he certainly knew as much as M. de Sécillon, he had never -given a sign. And when he addressed the President now his tone was -curt. - -"I can perfectly well corroborate that," he said. And indeed he went on -to relate how M. de Soulanges had given him a circumstantial account of -L'Oiseleur's return, in haste and fatigue, just after the disaster. - -Laurent was puzzled by his manner, but it dawned upon him that he was -probably deeply distressed at seeing L'Oiseleur at the bar before him. -At least, this seemed likely from his next words. "May I take this -opportunity of pointing out to the Court," he went on, "though it is -not exactly the question at issue now, that a traitor would never have -sent that message? He would, on the contrary, have seized the -opportunity of letting me blunder into disaster, too, by keeping -silence. Through M. de la Rocheterie's timely warning I was able to -alter my plans a little, and, as you know, I was fortunate enough to -bring off one of the successes of the campaign. Further, if M. de la -Rocheterie had had treacherous intentions he would undoubtedly have -made use of the intimate knowledge of our joint plans which he -possessed--and this, it is clear, he did not do." (_No, he most -certainly did not_, observed Laurent, sotto voce.) - -A murmur, almost of applause, went round. Aymar thanked the speaker and -resumed his narrative, carrying it up to the unexpected arrival of de -Fresne in the wood, at which point he called M. de Fresne himself. - -"Please tell the Court, Monsieur de Fresne," he said, turning to him, -"how you knew of the step I had taken and how you represented to me the -only way out." - -So Nicolas de Fresne, standing at the witness-table with an expression -of concentrated distaste about his whole person, cleared his throat and -began abruptly: - -"I was taken prisoner at the bridge--knocked on the head. When I was -sufficiently recovered Colonel Richard sent for me--it was at -Saint-Goazec--showed me my own letter to M. de la Rocheterie, and told -how it had come into his hands. Being rather . . . startled I asked him -to let me have it back, and I had it on me when I escaped during the -night of April 30th. When I reached the----" - -M. de la Boëssière leant forward. "One moment, please. We must go back a -little. Colonel Richard presumably told you that M. de la Rocheterie -had himself sent your letter to him. Did you immediately believe that?" - -"No, certainly not," responded de Fresne. - -"But he succeeded in convincing you?" - -"No, I was not convinced." - -"But you were shaken?" - -"Yes," muttered the witness. - -"Why?" - -De Fresne did not answer for a moment. Then he said slowly, "Because M. -de la Rocheterie had written something on the letter, and I knew his -hand." - -"What was it?" - -Since his lieutenant seemed to find a difficulty in replying, Aymar -hereupon got up himself and said rather drily, "M. de Fresne had -written part of his letter in cipher, so I deciphered that portion -before sending it. It was of no use trying to drive a bargain with the -letter at all unless the information it contained was quite clear." As -he sat down again Laurent reflected, "Of course that is perfectly -logical, but it does not sound well, and de Fresne has not done any -good by being unable to get it out; it merely puts the dot on the i." -Indeed the raising of eyebrows and compressing of lips in the Court -showed that he was right. - -De Fresne, however, was allowed to resume, and related how, returning, -he asked his leader for an explanation, and how the latter told him -that he had sent the letter as a ruse, but that the scheme had -miscarried, and how. - -"And what did you think of this explanation?" asked M. de la Boëssière. - -"I must admit that I found it inadequate." - -"And yet M. de la Rocheterie has been at such pains to prove that the -plan was so complete and void of risk that he very nearly carried it -out with no other motive than a desire to trap the Bonapartists!" - -De Fresne shifted uneasily. - -"Why did you not accept this explanation?" - -"It was after the disaster had occurred, and the risk then, naturally, -seemed indefensible." - -The unknown dark officer whom Laurent had already christened -"Fouquier-Tinville" leant forward. - -"Your two replies do not tally, Monsieur de Fresne. If you found the -explanation inadequate, as you admit, it must be that you had some -other reason than that you considered the risk indefensible. The latter -would be merely a case of condemning your leader's judgment. Which -reply are we to accept?" - -"I suppose," replied de Fresne reluctantly, "I must say that I -considered the explanation inadequate." - -"And why?" - -A slight pause. "Because I knew from what Colonel Richard had said that -there was a bargain of some sort." - -"And had not M. de la Rocheterie told you that?" - -"No." - -"Did you ask him anything about it, as you knew of its existence?" - -"Yes. And he admitted it. But he would not tell me what it was." - -"The inference being," remarked "Fouquier-Tinville," "that he was -ashamed of it." - -"I . . . I did not know what to think," admitted de Fresne unhappily. - -M. de Margadel here said in his great voice, "Why on earth should he not -have told you what the bargain was, if there was nothing to be ashamed -of?" - -"Because," said Aymar, suddenly rising to his feet, "seeing what had -happened, I was ashamed of it." - -There was a sensation. A large, stout, heavy-faced officer at the end of -the table said, in an annoyed voice, "I should like to know at this -point what M. de la Rocheterie is driving at? His witnesses seem to do -nothing but bring out damaging admissions, and then he makes them -himself, gratuitously." And his mumble to himself of "There's something -behind all this!" was distinctly audible. - -Aymar was rather stung; Laurent could see it from the poise of his head. -"My object, Monsieur," he retorted, "is merely to tell the exact truth, -in the hope of clearing myself; I have no other aim." - -Once more de Fresne was requested to proceed. This time he got almost -without interruption to the crisis, which he managed to represent as a -few of the men leaving the wood in panic, shooting at and wounding -their leader, on whom they had previously laid hands. But at that point -he was not unnaturally questioned. - -"You could not stop all this insubordination?" - -"I did my best, but since M. de la Rocheterie himself could not control -the men----" - -"What was M. de la Rocheterie doing all this time, then?" - -"I told you," answered de Fresne hurriedly. "They had disarmed him, and -were holding him. He could do nothing." - -"Then when the alarm came they let him go?" - -"N . . . no." - -"But they could hardly have shot him while some of their accomplices -were holding him." - -De Fresne looked at the floor. "By that time they had tied him to a -tree." - -It was out at last, pronounced in words . . . and caused a silence--but -hardly a merciful one. And the eyes, the eyes on Aymar! If Laurent -could only have shielded him from them. . . . The questioner's voice -took up again: - -"And he was found like that by the Imperialists?" - -"Yes," answered de Fresne sullenly. "It could not be helped." - -Aymar, horribly pale, got up, as if he feared his subordinate was going -to be blamed, and corroborated this, adding that M. de Fresne did his -best to free him. He sat down again in the same tingling silence. - -It was the stout officer who broke it. "Did M. de la Rocheterie," he -asked, addressing the witness, "let his men proceed to such an -extremity without any attempt to defend himself? It looks as if his -followers were so convinced of something against him that no -explanations of his were of any avail. Surely the Chouan, of whom we -all have experience, will accept anything so long as his faith in a -leader is unshaken?" - -But to this de Fresne replied that their faith was badly shaken, both by -the disaster and the loss of the _jartier_; and that in addition Le -Bihan, the ringleader, was nursing a grudge. - -Now came endless questions about the _jartier_; how, when, and why lost, -and then about Magloire, through all which Laurent's heart was slowly -descending to the region of the floor, reaching it completely when the -theory was finally evolved between "Fouquier-Tinville," the stout -officer, and one other, that something pointing to deliberate treachery -must have come out in the unaccounted-for three days, between Aymar's -return and de Fresne's escape. And why had M. de la Rocheterie brought -no evidence to cover those three days? Was he refraining from producing -the only people who could tell why they did shoot him? Aymar, whose -voice, to Laurent's ear, was beginning to show the first signs of the -strain on him, admitted that he had not thought of it, considering that -the testimony of M. de Fresne, who had been present throughout the -episode, was sufficient to show on what grounds his men had turned -against him. - -And then the stout officer said, "We must hear something more about this -shooting itself, and how deliberate it was. That is very important. Was -it as hurried and casual as you seem to imply, Monsieur de Fresne? It -can hardly have been if M. de la Rocheterie was _tied to a tree!_ . . . -Did they proceed to do that only just before they shot him?" - -"No, not exactly," admitted de Fresne unwillingly. - -"How long before, then?" - -"It must have been . . . between half an hour and three quarters." - -"And in all that time nobody protested?" - -"Yes, a good many, but they were not so strong as the other party." - -"And did not M. de la Rocheterie himself protest?" - -"Once; but when Le Bihan gave him the opportunity of justifying himself -he refused to say a word--as I should have done in his place." - -"Then they never got the explanation, such as it was?" - -"Yes; I gave it them myself in the hope of saving him." - -"Without the 'bargain'?" - -"Naturally, since I did not know what it was." - -"And the 'explanation' was still, presumably, unconvincing to you when -you gave it?" - -"I was beginning to waver." - -"So you were able to tell them that it had convinced you?" - -"I could not quite say that." - -"How many men precisely took part in shooting M. de la Rocheterie--how -many shots were fired?" - -De Fresne looked harassed. Once more Aymar came to his assistance. - -"As M. de Fresne was trying at considerable risk to cut me free, and had -also to rally the men against the Bonapartists, he can hardly have been -engaged in computation. I can satisfy the Court, up to a point. I was -fired at twice by Le Bihan; his first shot struck me, the second -missed; and by another man, who also hit me . . . and by at least one -more, as I afterwards discovered. That makes a minimum of three men and -four shots; there may have been more. I do not know, because I lost -consciousness after the second. But I imagine that they had not much -more leisure." He sat down again; it was beyond Laurent how he could -have steeled himself to get up. - -Sol de Grisolles, intervening here, observed, "Well, I think we can now -leave this part of the subject. It is obvious that hasty shots by three -or four men cannot be said to constitute an execution." - -But the stout officer said stubbornly, "Yes, General, but if he was -fastened to a tree the intention at least of an execution seems -obvious; and since it was nothing short of murder of a commanding -officer, I cannot believe that even irregular troops would be guilty of -such an unprecedented act without more reason than the showing of this -letter.--And, by the way, who destroyed that letter, and why?" - -"I destroyed it," replied de Fresne briefly. "And I did so because I -believed M. de la Rocheterie to have died in the hands of the enemy, -and I saw no purpose to be served by keeping a piece of evidence which -he was not alive to refute." - -"In fact," put in "Fouquier-Tinville," "you tried to hush up the whole -matter! Was it for the same reason that you never attempted to have any -of these men brought to justice? Did you continue to command them, by -the way? What happened to them?" - -De Fresne told him. - -"Then you took no steps to have even Le Bihan brought to trial--you -preferred the matter to go by default, even when these rumours began to -get about, rather than give the men a chance of stating their case. In -fact, you acted then just as M. de la Rocheterie is acting now--either -from design or carelessness keeping out the men's evidence." - -"I protest against that inference," said de Fresne angrily, "both for -myself and M. de la Rocheterie. Monsieur le Président----" - -"Yes, I think it is quite unfounded." Sol de Grisolles looked at -Fouquier-Tinville." - -"Then I withdraw it," said the latter. "But I do submit that, either in -those three days in the wood, or in the destroyed letter, there was -some more damning proof of treachery than appears." - -Aymar was on his feet in an instant. "Will you stand down, Monsieur de -Fresne? I call Colonel Richard as a witness that there was nothing -extraneous in the letter but my deciphering of a portion of it and his -subsequent endorsement." - -"There was nothing more--not a syllable," said the Imperialist. - -"Then it was the unaccounted-for three days," pronounced the stout -officer. - -Aymar drew himself up. His temper was roused, but no one save Laurent -would have known it. "I can only assure the Court once more," he said, -"that nothing was further from my thoughts than to keep back any -evidence. But the Court must admit that I could hardly have induced any -of the men who shot me to come willingly before this tribunal and -confess to what has already been qualified as murder . . . whether -justifiable or no." - -The President nodded, as if in appreciation of this point, and the -Marquis de la Boëssière, addressing him, remarked: "It scarcely seems -to me, Monsieur le Président, that we need distress ourselves over the -supposition that adverse evidence is being suppressed. What is far more -serious, in my view, is of quite an opposite nature--M. de la -Rocheterie's entire failure to bring conclusive testimony to support -his main contention. We may believe that he is speaking the truth when -he says that he acted in good faith--but not because he has _proved_ -that he did. If I may put it rather harshly, there has not this -afternoon been one shred of real evidence to prove that he did not -deliberately sacrifice his troops to save his cousin." - -If Aymar did not flush, Laurent did; he almost ground his teeth. - -"I think, Monsieur de la Boëssière," said the President, "that that -undoubtedly _is_ to put it rather harshly. We must hope that M. de la -Rocheterie can bring some more convincing testimony on that point -to-morrow, since I think we must now adjourn for to-day." - - -(6) - -All the way back to Aymar's lodging those words were vibrating through -Laurent's whole being: "not a shred of real evidence to show that he -did not deliberately sacrifice his men to save his cousin." Yet when -they got into the little room, and de Fresne, who had accompanied them, -revealed the depth of his gloom and of his irritation, Laurent, from -pure antagonism, began to cheer up. - -"I told you so!" lamented the poor gentleman. "I told you from the -beginning, La Rocheterie, that it was a mistake to court enquiry now -. . . and after failing to produce your two chief witnesses still more -so! And what is going to happen to-morrow? We have no more evidence; -the thing will become a farce!" - -"I will tell you what will happen to-morrow, Monsieur," remarked Laurent -rather maliciously. "You will go on giving your testimony, perhaps for -hours, with that fat old fellow asking question after question about -those three days in the Bois des Fauvettes which intrigue him so--the -Three Days of Creation." - -Aymar, who looked like a ghost, smiled in spite of himself. "That event -occupied six, you will remember, Laurent." And the unfortunate de -Fresne said tartly that, with such a prospect in front of him, he would -betake himself to his inn and go to bed early. - -As he closed the door behind his lieutenant Aymar shook his head at the -tormentor. - -"You are really rather unkind, Laurent!" And, as Laurent made a grimace -intended to show at once a sense of self-justification and a measure of -penitence, he went on gravely, "And you know, mon ami, de Fresne is -quite justified in his view. I have not really any chance now . . . of -being cleared, that is. Indeed, I was very strongly tempted to tell the -General at the close of to-day's proceedings that it was hardly worth -while wasting the time of the Court any more. But then it came to me -that perhaps it was cowardly, and perhaps it was rash . . . and I have -had enough of being both." - -"The first you have never been!" retorted Laurent. "Moreover, I feel -that the luck will turn yet. Remember that you have the _jartier_ back! -Now, you are tired to death; lie down on this horrible sofa and try to -rest a little. No, you do not need to go through those notes any more." - -"That is true," agreed Aymar as he obeyed him. "There is nothing more to -say now." And as Laurent spread a covering over him he added, with a -smile, "But I did not mean you to come here to begin Arbelles over -again!" - -"What did you mean me to come for, then, since you will not let me give -evidence now that I am here?" - -Aymar made no reply in words; he merely pressed his hand. And a few -minutes later, sheer fatigue overriding the nervous tension, he was -sleeping like a child. But, in spite of his own brave words, Laurent's -heart ached as he sat beside him and thought of the morrow. . . . And -to-day? In some ways Aymar had got through better than he probably -looked for--in the matter of keeping out Mme de Villecresne's name, for -instance. On the other hand, they neither of them anticipated that the -Court would want to burrow so deeply into that intensely painful -episode of the shooting. Oh, what would be the outcome of the whole -business--what, indeed, would an impartial observer have said was the -real outcome of to-day's proceedings? - -But in Mme Leblanc's little sitting-room no such person existed; there -was only one very anxious young man watching another. - -More than half an hour had passed thus when there came a knock at the -door, and Laurent, tiptoeing over, was presented by Mme Leblanc with a -large visiting card, and the information that there was "a gentleman -downstairs asking to see M. de la Rocheterie." - -Laurent gave an exclamation. "What is it?" asked Aymar, rousing. - -"You would never guess!" cried Laurent in high glee. "Our dear Père -Perrelet, come, I am sure, to make amends, though dropped from Heaven -knows where, and on your track Heaven knows how! You'll see him, Aymar, -of course?" - -And, pelting down the narrow stairs, he almost fell into the arms of M. -le docteur J.-M.-P. Perrelet, in all his Sunday clothes, at the bottom. -Indeed M. le docteur soundly embraced him. - -"Oh, my dear boy, how is he after this morning? I was there--you didn't -see me? I managed to get in--I--as a military doctor! I heard of this -by chance at Arbelles two days ago . . . so I knew that I should find -him here. And now I've listened to it all . . . mon Dieu, what a story! -What a brute and fool I was! Will he see me? I want to ask his pardon. -Do you think he will give it me? Or perhaps he never realized that----" - -"Oh, did he not!" returned Laurent. "But he owes you far too much to -refuse it . . . and in any case . . . Go up; there's the door." - -And he watched the little doctor mount the stairs, already taking out -his pocket-handkerchief, heard him open the door, and say in husky -tones, "My dearest boy, can you ever----" Then the door shut. - -"Well," thought the young man, leaning against the foot of the stairs -and feeling a kind of pleasant moisture about his own eyelids, "at -least _I_ have never claimed not to be a sentimentalist. How long shall -I give them?" - - - -M. Perrelet stayed to supper, which his presence somehow enlivened into -quite a cheerful meal. He was very hopeful, on what grounds could -hardly be discovered. I wonder, thought Laurent once more, that he -doesn't say, "I'm no optimist," and shortly afterwards, to his delight, -the old surgeon did remark, "Of course I'm not one to take an unduly -rosy view of things!" And Laurent himself again besought Aymar to call -him as a witness, and when Aymar enquired "as a witness to what?" -asseverated anew that he should not be contented till du Tremblay knew -what he owed him over the cipher business--till they all knew it. - -"My dear Laurent," observed L'Oiseleur a little drily, "you surely do -not expect me to bring it forward as a merit that I did not betray a -comrade's plans when it was suggested to me to do so!" - -"Of course you would never have done it voluntarily! But I wonder how -many people, in your condition, could to the very last have kept their -heads sufficiently not to show so much as assent or dissent when that -blackguard narrowed the issue down to a single question--that vital -question of the crossing of the river?" - -"Nobody who had not a will of steel," pronounced M. Perrelet. - -"There you are!" cried Laurent. "There is evidence--indirect, if you -like--as to intention and character. Oh, I could make it very plain to -those gentlemen if I had the chance!" - -Aymar shrugged his shoulders. "I am afraid your desire will not be -gratified, mon cher; and I am afraid that I don't want it gratified so -publicly." - -"It's a great waste," sighed the champion stubbornly. "And it is of no -good to depreciate testimony of that kind, because you see that it is -'without a shred of real evidence,' as M. de la Boëssière would say, -that you have converted"--he grinned--"a hard-headed, unemotional, -scientific man like M. Perrelet from his temporary unbelief!" - - -(7) - -The scientific man in question becoming very high-handed after supper, -and ordering his ex-patient to bed, Laurent went forth to hunt up a -couple of acquaintances whom he had seen as they came back from the -Hôtel de Ville. He found them, as he expected, at the Hôtel de -l'Ecusson and, knowing Aymar to be in excellent hands, went in with -them and called for wine. - -In the room he entered, which was full of officers, the enquiry seemed -to be the sole topic of conversation, and the only point on which there -appeared to be general agreement was that those who had not attended it -that afternoon would be there next morning. Some stared at Laurent, -recognizing him, and he felt that it was not a bad move to have put in -an appearance, just to show that one had a clear conscience. His own -friends were fortunately _bien pensants_, one of them enthusiastically -so, and the other said that he thought La Rocheterie must be innocent, -or he would never have had the courage to bring all this upon himself. -With them, too, surmises were not wanting as to the "cousin" and her -relations with L'Oiseleur, but Laurent purposely avoided throwing any -light upon the subject. - -Presently, lo, through the clouds of tobacco-smoke a face appeared for a -moment and vanished again. Laurent made one of his swift sallies. - -"Monsieur Perrelet, come in, come in! Are you looking for me--how -charming of you! Come and have a glass of wine with me! I have some -friends here; you can tell us the latest news from Arbelles." - -M. Perrelet, chuckling, protesting and pleased, suffered the young man -to drag him in and make presentations. - -"Well, yes, perhaps one glass of cognac," he said. "I left him in bed," -he announced behind his hand to Laurent, "in fact, I gave him a -sleeping-draught (though he was not aware of it). . . . There is -something I want to ask you presently. . . . Oh, thank you, Monsieur, -you are too kind!" - -So there the good doctor sat, smoking a cheroot, and very happy in the -consciousness that he was "seeing life"--in the Royalist camp this -time; at least that was how Laurent read his amused and contented and -observant expression, and he was probably not far wrong. But half of -Laurent himself, though he continued to chat, was gauging with a rather -too acute sensitiveness the current of feeling in the room about the -one thing which mattered to him. After the tension of the afternoon the -wine he had taken, though without affecting his head in the ordinary -sense, made him conscious of a desire to get up and say something, -publicly, on Aymar's behalf. But his better sense warned him against -it. However, he ended by engaging in something a great deal more -sensational than oratory. - -For at a table close by had now been sitting for a little while, with a -friend, the very officer whose behaviour had displeased him in the -audience at the Hôtel de Ville. Laurent could not help hearing their -conversation. The two amused themselves for some time by half-whispered -witticisms about "la belle cousine," and though Laurent's brow grew -darker and darker his good sense again warned him not to bring this -topic into more prominence by taking notice of it. - -But suddenly he heard, so clearly spoken that others must have heard it, -too: - -"Pretty brazen, to base your main defence on an invented conversation -with two men of whom one is dead and the other cannot be found!" - -The other man assented, and Laurent, angry as he was, realized what a -specious appearance of truth there was in this criticism. - -"Yet," went on the voice of his bête noire, "in spite of the fact that -he has not, as La Boëssière said, a shred of real evidence to bring -forward, I am afraid that he will never get what he deserves now." - -"No," responded the other. "It is curious, the impression he seems to -have made on some of the Court." - -"Cannot you see that it is this pose of complete honesty and telling the -whole truth that is doing it! It was an idea little short of genius. Of -course one must be a good actor to carry it out . . . but that is just -what the man is!" - -"--Whatever is the matter, my dear boy?" exclaimed M. Perrelet. The dear -boy did move sometimes with such disconcerting suddenness. - -As for the individual who had so appraised L'Oiseleur's histrionic -abilities, he had now in front of him to his exceeding surprise, a fair -young man in the Vendean uniform, who was saying, with a very deadly -intensity, "You will kindly take back every word of what you have just -said, Monsieur, and apologize for having said it!" - -"What! I'll be damned if I will!" cried the critic, jumping to his feet. -So Laurent, exclaiming, "Espèce de Guitton!" knocked him down. - -"Aha, la boxe Anglaise!" said M. Perrelet, craning forward, like -everyone else. But the combat was not destined to proceed on pugilistic -lines. Amid terrific clamour the victim rose to his feet, tugging at -his sword, while some threw themselves on him, and Laurent's two -friends tried to drag him away. M. de Courtomer himself appeared quite -calm, though he was really tingling with the liveliest wrath. - -"Satisfaction? Certainly!" M. Perrelet heard him say, amid the babel. -"Also, instantly. Montbrillais, you'll see fair play for me, won't -you?" - -"But you can't fight here!" several voices assured him, and his friends, -too, spoke of next morning. - -"I regret that I am engaged to-morrow morning," quoth Laurent, and -proceeded to remove his sword-belt. "Lucky I had my sword on this -time!" he told himself. - -"Engaged? Ah, yes, with the play-actor!" sneered his opponent, whose lip -was already swelling. - -"No," retorted Laurent, throwing back his head and speaking very clearly -and deliberately, "with my friend, M. le Vicomte de la Rocheterie, -Chevalier de St. Louis--he who held the Moulin Brûlé, L'Oiseleur!" - -"Bravo!" cried several voices to this. - -"And I will either give you satisfaction here and now or not at all," -resumed Laurent. "You need have no fear on the score of the medical -attendance; I have an excellent surgeon with me"--he slightly indicated -M. Perrelet--"and though he, too, happens to be a friend of M. de la -Rocheterie's, I am sure he will do his best for you." - -There were not only cheers, but laughter now. The general opinion also -was with Laurent on the desirability of settling the affair on the -spot, and his foe was too angry to wish to postpone shedding his blood. -So the company pushed back the tables with alacrity, and Laurent -stripped off his coat and gave it to one of his friends. At that point -M. Perrelet came and caught him by the arm. - -"Laurent," he said in a low voice, agitated and yet pleasurably -agitated, and unaware that he had used his Christian name, "Laurent, my -dear boy, are you au fait at this sort of thing?" - -"Do you mean," enquired Laurent coolly, as he rolled up his shirt -sleeve, "have I ever fought before? No, I have not. But between foils -and singlestick, I know quite enough to settle M. Guitton cadet." - -M. Perrelet could not restrain a chuckle of appreciation. But he -whispered, "Do, pray, be careful!" - -"Of him? Oh, yes . . . up to a point." - -How all too short are moments of ecstasy! This one only lasted, from -the--"On guard!" and the loosing of the crossed blades, fifty-six -seconds exactly--seconds in which the younger gentleman at the end of -one of those blades was blissfully, unimaginably happy. He knew that he -was no brilliant swordsman, but he knew, too, that he had a steady -hand, a quick eye, and a very good balance . . . and he was fighting -for Aymar. Yes, it was a pity that this man, ten years his senior and -with more experience, no doubt, behind him, was so angry, because -otherwise he might have prolonged the bout instead of exposing himself -in that crazy fashion. - -A queer sensation, that, of the point going in! Queer evidently for -Guitton cadet also. There was surprise on his face as well as pain and -fury as he recoiled, run very creditably through the top of the right -shoulder. - - -(8) - -About a quarter of an hour afterwards Laurent found himself arm-in-arm -under the stars with M. Perrelet, his purpose being to escort that -excellent gentleman back to his inn. Prudence had dictated to all in -the coffee-room of the Hôtel de l'Ecusson who were amenable to military -discipline a quiet and speedy dispersal, and Laurent himself had only -waited till M. Perrelet had finished with his victim. The wound was not -dangerous, but it was painful; on hearing which its author had -expressed the most unchivalrous gratification. - -The couple were now in unfeelingly good spirits as they picked their way -in the darkness over gutters. - -"I wish I could scold you as you deserve to be scolded, mauvais sujet!" -said M. Perrelet, pressing the arm under his. "But I am incapable of -it. And it was so neat--so clever, even, considering that you can know -nothing of anatomy! . . . And your success, your championship of La -Rocheterie, had an extraordinary effect--I felt it." - -"Do you really think so?" asked Laurent, soaring into a still higher -heaven. - -"I am sure of it. It was almost a pity that none of the----" - -"That none of the Nine Muses were there," finished the young man, -laughing. "Yes, that is my pretty name for the gentlemen of the Court -of Enquiry. But on the whole, it's a good thing they were not.--By the -way, Monsieur Perrelet, did you ever get that letter I wrote you?" - -M. Perrelet stopped on the brink of a dark streamlet. "I did, my child, -and thankful I was to get it, though it made me more than ever -distressed and ashamed about that incident at La Baussaine. But what he -said that night was really most damning. (No, I shall not tell you what -it was.) Still, I shall never forgive myself for acting as I did. . . . -And how much more trying that shooting business, too, must have been -for the poor boy than I realized." - -"Yes," said Laurent rather sadly, "and the worst of it is, that to have -gone through all that suffering and shame only leaves him in a more -critical position than he was before. You heard this afternoon how it -was cast up against him, and to what cruel allegations it led. As for -to-morrow----" - -"Oh, to-morrow will be all right, you will see," announced M. Perrelet, -resuming his advance. "--If he can hold out till the end, that is. He -is not really in the least fit for this affair, of course.--Ah, this -was what I wanted to ask you--round this corner is my way--what in the -name of fortune made those marks on his arm which he tried, too late, -to conceal from me when I was examining him after you left? They are -burns, and he says he did them himself, by accident--and expects me, a -doctor, to believe him!" - -This time it was Laurent who stopped, and under a convenient street -lamp. "Ah, he said that, did he? Of course he would! Accident, indeed!" -He made one of his hot, boyish gestures. "It was the most deliberate, -cold-blooded----" - -He never reached his noun. A gesture was made behind him; a hand fell on -his shoulder. "I regret to have to demand your sword, Monsieur," said -an abrupt military voice. "You are placed under arrest. Kindly follow -me at once!" - -It is hard to know which of the couple was the more thunderstruck. Words -were completely smitten from both of them. On the very threshold of his -thrilling revelation Laurent was plucked away, vanishing like a dream -from the eyes of M. Perrelet, who, a moment later was left, a stout and -bewildered little civilian, in the light of the convenient street lamp, -while the footsteps of the patrol and the captured duellist died away -round the corner. Elijah and Elisha had not a more dramatic parting. - -The threads of events lay thereafter in M. Perrelet's hands. After a -short period of dismayed reflection he hurried back to Aymar's lodging. -But that young man lay relaxed in the profound and beneficent slumber -of his physician's own procuring, and it would have been a crime to -wake him. So, except that the hazard of sleep afforded M. Perrelet an -uninterrupted view of the branded arm, he gained little by his visit, -and hastened off to M. de Fresne, conceiving that there was nothing -criminal in waking him with the news. - -M. de Fresne was hardly of that opinion. By the time his nocturnal -caller had introduced himself and explained his errand he was, and -perhaps justifiably, in a thoroughly bad temper. "Poor boy, indeed! -Feather-brained young scamp! Let him cool his heels--it won't hurt him. -And I can do nothing; the only possible course is for La Rocheterie, if -he can, to get permission in the morning for him to attend the Court -under open arrest, as a witness. A nice witness for a case where -already the testimony is so short of the mark!" - -M. Perrelet shook his head at the irate gentleman sitting up in his bed. -"I consider that he acted very properly, Monsieur. And as for being -feather-brained, let me tell you, in all seriousness, that but for him -there would be no La Rocheterie here to-day at all!" - -"Humph!" said M. de Fresne, and laying down, turned over on his other -side. "Well, I will come and see La Rocheterie about it at half-past -six. Good-night." - -A little before that hour, therefore, M. Perrelet was on foot once more, -and having obtained admission, peeped in on his patient. - -The russet head moved at once on the pillow. "You are up early, Monsieur -Perrelet!" - -"Have you slept, my dear boy?" enquired the doctor, coming in. - -"I have not had a night like this," replied Aymar, "for weeks! It is -fortunate . . . but mysterious! . . . Why, is that de Fresne up early, -too?" - -M. Perrelet glanced behind him. "M. de Fresne wants you to write a -letter for him to take to the General," he observed casually. "Just a -line to request formally that one of your witnesses may be released -from arrest in order to attend the Court this morning." - -"One of my witnesses arrested!" exclaimed Aymar, raising himself on an -elbow. "You don't mean to say that they have arrested Colonel -Richard!--his coming here was all arranged with the General-in-Chief." - -"No, not Richard, I am glad to say," replied his lieutenant. "But your -friend, M. de Courtomer, made the devil of a disturbance in my hotel -last night, and he is now in custody." - -"Laurent--Laurent made a disturbance!" - -"I should rather say--and _I_ was present," put in M. Perrelet, "that he -made an impression, and a very gallant one. But as he also made an -incision in a member of the party----" - -"You mean he fought someone!" exclaimed Aymar, starting up in bed. "And -in my quarrel--I can guess it! My God, he's not hurt--don't tell me he -is hurt!" he cried, clutching hold of M. Perrelet. - -"No, my dear boy, he is not--he had not a scratch. It is the other who -is hors de combat, and he is not seriously damaged, either. But Laurent -is laid by the heels--I do not even know where, it happened so suddenly -. . . in the street as we were coming home." - -De Fresne, meanwhile, had got paper and ink and brought them to the -bedside. "Why did you not wake me last night?" cried Aymar, seizing -them. "He has been a whole night, then, under arrest--in discomfort and -anxiety." - - -(9) - -Laurent indeed had been in both, to a high degree, in the cell of the -disused convent to which he had been conducted. The discomfort, the -fact of arrest itself, could have been light payment for his "moment -exquis" . . . in other circumstances. But in these his loss of liberty -was calamitous. His evidence (that precious evidence, to the hope of -giving which he still clung), his presence itself in the Court next -morning at the verdict, all hung by a hair. He tried to bribe the -sentries, he cast wildly about for means of escape . . . till it came -to him crushingly that even if he did escape he could not present -himself in Court without being instantly rearrested--and damaging -Aymar. It was, therefore, to a very subdued and uneffervescent young -man that it was announced, about eight in the morning, that he could -regard himself as under open arrest for the day in order to attend the -Court of Enquiry. - -He walked out, dazed but thankful, to find M. de Fresne waiting for him -in the street. - -"I owe this to you, then, Monsieur!" he exclaimed gratefully. "How good -of you! You cannot realize what it means to me!" - -"You owe it to M. de la Rocheterie," responded de Fresne with no grace -of manner. "He had to be roused from sleep early this morning to -request your release. I could not have done anything." (Nor, his tone -added, should I have done anything if I could.) - -Laurent hung his head. - -"Well," continued de Fresne, surveying him, "if you are going into Court -you had better come back with me to my hotel and make yourself a little -more presentable." - -"I can go to my room at Mme Leblanc's," said Laurent meekly. "I suppose -I do look rather disreputable," he added, trying to laugh, as they -turned together along the street. - -But as they walked de Fresne was sufficiently human and unwise to try to -improve the occasion a little further. "I cannot help wondering, -Monsieur de Courtomer," he remarked, "what benefit you imagined you -were doing La Rocheterie by running the risk of being brought back last -night to his lodging on a shutter, as you might so easily have been." - -Laurent was silent. - -"Nor," pursued the elder man, "what support you fancied you were giving -to his cause by brawling. Obviously it can have done it nothing but -harm." - -"There you are wrong," replied Laurent rather shortly. "Ask M. -Perrelet." - -"I am astonished that M. Perrelet did not use his influence to prevent -the disturbance." - -"He didn't want to," replied the duellist. "He enjoyed it--nearly as -much as I did." He sighed reminiscently, almost tenderly. - -"And now," continued his mentor, disregarding this, "if you do give -evidence on any point, everybody in Court will see that you are without -your sword." - -"But so I was yesterday. You did not notice that? No, you were rather -occupied yourself." - -De Fresne glanced sharply at him. They were nearly at the hotel by now. -"I am older than you, Monsieur de Courtomer, and therefore I permit -myself to regret that you did not think more carefully of the -consequences of your behaviour to other people--to one person, in -particular." - -There was now a wicked light in Laurent's eyes. "I am so sorry," he -exclaimed, with what sounded the most genuine regret in his voice. "You -mean that you were waked up over this scandalous escapade of mine! I -had not realized that! Do, Monsieur, receive my most profound -apologies!" - -"Pshaw!" said de Fresne angrily. They had stopped at the entry of the -hotel, scene of last night's drama. "You know I mean La Rocheterie, -whom you might have spared an added anxiety!" - -"But it is so hard," said the young man gently, his eyes on the -cobblestones, "so hard to know beforehand the consequences of an action -even of an entirely justifiable action like mine! For instance, even -you yourself, Monsieur de Fresne, must have felt sometimes that if you -had not brought back that letter of yours to the Bois des -Fauvettes----" He stopped, raised his eyes, and saw from de Fresne's -face that he had planted his counterthrust almost too well. The elder -man turned his back and disappeared without a word into the hotel. - -"Well, he should not have lectured me!" thought Laurent rather -uncomfortably as he sped to Mme Leblanc's. And he burst in upon Aymar, -who was finishing his breakfast, crying, "Return of the prodigal, who -badly needs a wash! Oh, mon cher, I am at least a penitent prodigal--I -am, indeed!" - -"But are you really an unhurt one?" asked Aymar, springing up and -seizing him. "M. Perrelet swears it, but----" - -"But you think that I, too, might have been hiding an injury from him -and telling him a cock-and-bull story about it?--No, Aymar," he added -more seriously, "I have not received--I could wish I had--the poorest -equivalent of what you carry for me. . . . On the contrary, I hear that -you had to be waked up this morning on my account, wretch that I am!" - -"Who told you that, Laurent? I was already awake, after a night in a -thousand." - -But a little later, when, having washed and shaved, the prodigal was -eating, Aymar said in a low voice, "You understand me when I say I hope -it _was_ for me that you fought, Laurent? Not that I wish a hundred -times you had not exposed yourself in a quarrel that was not worth it! -But it was my quarrel, was it not? I dared not ask M. Perrelet." - -"Entirely and absolutely your quarrel," replied Laurent, looking him in -the face, and thanking his stars that he had not taken any notice of -the remarks about Mme de Villecresne. "--And mine," he added, finishing -his coffee. - -Aymar had laid his watch on the table. He pointed to it now and got up. -"Time to start. It is odd to think, isn't it, that when the hour hand -gets round to this spot again it will all be over?" - -Laurent fixed his eyes on the watch, suddenly miserable and afraid. -"They can't proclaim you guilty, Aymar!" - -"They won't proclaim me innocent. It will just be not proven. I do not -know whether they will deprive me of my commission, but I shall resign -it, of course." - -"But there is your reputation--there is the Moulin Brûlé and all the -rest." - -"Nobody is concerned with my reputation of last year, Laurent." - -"That's just it!" cried Laurent angrily. "Oh, if only I were defending -you!--Why is no one defending you, so that he could bring it forward, -since you are so damnably proud that you will not do it yourself? All -the time yesterday one could watch points that ought to have been made -in your favour going unheeded, just because to emphasize them involved -a little blowing of your own trumpet. And I suppose it will be the same -to-day! Others may think it modesty--perhaps you think so yourself--but -I tell you it is pride, rank, ineradicable pride! You are as proud as -Lucifer!" - -After which outburst, almost in tears, he put his head down on his arms -on the breakfast-table. Aymar stood and looked at him. - -"I did not know you had such powers of denunciation, Laurent." - -"It is of no use denouncing you," said the muffled voice. "You will not -do any differently." He lifted his head. "The only thing that would be -of the slightest benefit to-day would be for _me_ to change--to become, -if only I could, Saint-Etienne for an hour." - -"Do you think I want you changed, even for poor Saint-Etienne?" asked -Aymar gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I don't want you to be -anybody but yourself, Laurent.--Come we must start. You have no need to -pretend to forget your sword to-day, my poor knight-errant!" - - -(10) - -Just outside the Hôtel de Ville Laurent saw de Fresne. He went straight -up to him. - -"I want to beg your pardon, Monsieur de Fresne, for what I said to you a -little while ago about that letter. It was cruel and unjust." - -De Fresne looked at him with those hard blue eyes of his. "It was -certainly cruel. Do you think I have never said that same thing to -myself these three months?" He began to pale under his tan. "I have -said it a hundred times. But, as you pointed out----" - -"Oh, I am sorry!" broke in Laurent impulsively. "And in honour you could -have done nothing else. Do forget it! I was annoyed when I spoke." - -"I think you had cause," said the elder man suddenly. "I had no right to -read you a homily." He held out his hand. Then Laurent was back in the -place which would shortly see the scales dip to one side or the other -with his dearest friend's honour in the balance--the place which he -hated and which, at the same time, he was only too thankful to set eyes -on again. For he had had a horrible fright. But a precious grain of -consolation was that among the more than doubled number of faces in the -audience this morning one was missing. It would grin here no more and -was almost certainly not grinning where it was now. The President began -by saying that he had an announcement to make. Since M. le Général -d'Andigné, now military governor of Maine-et-Loire was staying a couple -of nights in the neighbourhood, he himself had so far presumed on their -very old acquaintance as to ask him, with the approval of the Court, to -give them the benefit of his ripe experience in this difficult and -delicate case . . . that was, subject to M. de la Rocheterie's having -no objection. M. de la Rocheterie here signifying that he had none--on -the contrary--Sol de Grisolles intimated that he had sent M. d'Andigné -a short summary of the case as far as it had gone yesterday, so that if -he came, he would be au courant. Meanwhile, they had better proceed -from the point at which they left off yesterday. - -So the hapless de Fresne took his stand once more at the witness-table. -Laurent tried not to listen. "Fouquier-Tinville" and the stout officer -between them seemed determined to probe into every minute of the -interval before de Fresne's return to the wood; hence Aymar also was on -his feet most of the time. Laurent began to foresee that every detail -of the shooting, too, would have to be gone over again, perhaps more -fully. And all to what purpose? There was nothing to discover. - -Oh, what would happen if they could not see their way to clearing Aymar? -It began to be torture to him to look at the figure in front of him, -especially when the bronze head turned a little, and he caught the -outline of the sunken cheek. - -"I can't stand much more of this!" he whispered at last to M. Perrelet. - -"They will not go on at it forever," the optimist whispered back, and he -laid his hand over the young man's and gave it a squeeze. - -"But there's nothing else to go on to!" replied Laurent miserably. - -Why could they not believe Aymar's word when he said that he had all but -arranged the plan with Saint-Etienne? How was it possible to look at -him and think him capable of infamy? Were they all blind? And why did -M. d'Andigné delay? Perhaps he was not coming, after all? He was a -great man, just about to be made a peer of France, and very busy at the -moment settling the King's peace in Brittany But, if he did come, -surely he, the Vendean general of so much experience, he, the -phenomenally cool-headed and resourceful, the hero of the incredible -escapes from the Fort de Joux and the citadel of Besançon, the man of -untarnished integrity and honour, _he_ would recognize that Aymar was -telling the truth! - -Or, suppose that he did not! - -The accursed stout officer seemed now to be criticizing Aymar's -intentions and dispositions during those three days in the wood, and as -it went on Laurent wondered at Aymar's patience under it. The -inquisitor had just ascertained that the nearest Bonapartist troops -were no more than eight miles away, at Arbelles. - -"Only eight miles!" he exclaimed. "I am surprised, Monsieur de la -Rocheterie, that you did not try to withdraw to a safer position! -Surely you must have known that you were very dangerously placed, and -that you could not hope to do anything there with ninety men!" - -And Aymar said nothing. - -Suddenly M. du Tremblay leant forward and addressed the speaker. - -"Not do anything with ninety men, Monsieur de Noirlieu? Why not? Have -you forgotten that M. de la Rocheterie held the famous Moulin Brûlé for -four and a half hours against five hundred regulars with--how many men -precisely had you with you at Penescouët, Monsieur de la Rocheterie?" - -"Eighteen," replied Aymar. - -Something hardly distinguishable from applause ran round the audience. -And du Tremblay went on quickly, addressing the President, "I trust, -mon Général, that I am in order in laying stress on the necessity of -remembering and allowing weight to those brilliant services in the past -of which M. de la Rocheterie himself is careful not to remind us. As -regards the handling of irregular levies, has not L'Oiseleur, young as -he is, had more experience and successful experience than any one here -except yourself?" - -Sol de Grisolles nodded, and the Marquis de la Boëssière remarked, -"Certainly more than I have had. I am glad that you have said what you -have said, Monsieur du Tremblay." - -So was Laurent. He would have bestowed a decoration on M. du Tremblay. - -"Yes," said M. de Noirlieu obstinately, "and that past experience is -just why M. de la Rocheterie's remaining so near the enemy at Arbelles -is so inexplicable." - -There was nothing to be done with that man but drown him! Surely Aymar -was going to give the very good reason he had for staying in the Bois -des Fauvettes as long as he could! But in any case he had not the -chance, for "Fouquier-Tinville" observed quickly, - -"It is explicable enough on a certain hypothesis--which I do not wish to -press. But I should be greatly obliged if M. de la Rocheterie would -give us the reason for another delay of his which also needs -explanation. I only trust they are not susceptible of the same." - -Aymar's head went up. "To what delay are you referring, Monsieur?" - -"To the very considerable one which you have shown in courting this -enquiry. You were released on the 16th of June. Even if your health was -not then sufficiently re-established for you to go to the -General-in-Chief in person, why did you not at least communicate with -him if, as you assure us, you were so anxious to clear yourself? You -made no move whatever for a month, until the middle of July. Is that -not true?" - -"Yes, it is quite true," said Aymar steadily. He drew a long breath, and -Laurent saw his fingers tighten on the paper he was holding. - -"I suggest that the month's inaction, then, needs some justification," -observed "Fouquier-Tinville" suavely. - -In the silence that followed Laurent said to himself, "He was ill, unfit -for it, you bully!" But would Aymar say that, since it was not the real -reason? No, of course he would not! He replied at last, very coldly and -quietly, looking down a little, "The reason for the delay was a purely -private one." - -"A reason that you would prefer not to give the Court?" suggested -"Fouquier-Tinville" with a twist of the lips. - -"A reason," retorted Aymar, not without a measure of defiance, "that I -am not called upon to give the Court!" - -At last something had been found which L'Oiseleur would not answer. - -"It had nothing in common, then," demanded the inquisitor meaningly, -"with your reason for remaining so long near the enemy in the Bois des -Fauvettes?" - -Aymar started. "Certainly not. The one was purely military; the other, -as I have said, was personal." - -"And you refuse to----" But a stir arose at the end of the hall, and he -broke off. Laurent turned his head, and saw a glitter of staff -uniforms. General d'Andigné had come! - -He walked alertly to the dais, while the whole audience rose to their -feet, he saluted the Court, who had also risen, was on the platform -shaking hands, and, in a very short time indeed, having swept a keen -glance round, was reading the notes of the morning's proceedings. - -And Laurent, studying him, saw a blue-eyed man in the fifties, of no -great height, with a fine, almost leonine head from whose brow the -silvering fair hair was receding, and a slightly prominent underlip--a -man who gave the impression of exceptional humour and vitality allied -to a rare imperturbability. . . . But Laurent's deep interest in him -was abruptly diverted. What had happened to Aymar? He was leaning with -both hands on the little table before him almost as if he were -physically overcome. Then he suddenly sat down, and, supporting his -head on his hand, pulled his notes towards him. Laurent could see how -deadly pale he was, and that the hand with which he was turning over -the papers was shaking. "It's the strain," he thought desperately. -"It's telling at last; he won't get through!" - -D'Andigné suddenly raised his fine head. "Monsieur le Président, I -should like to make a remark. With regard to the suppositions raised by -this shooting, surely the very fact that the men immediately suspected -M. de Fresne on his return entirely disposes of the theory that in the -three preceding days they had discovered some proof of M. de la -Rocheterie's guilt?--I might go further, and point out that it was -solely to save M. de Fresne from those unjust suspicions that M. de la -Rocheterie showed his men the letter . . . with the consequences to -himself of which we know. Is that not so?" - -"That is most certainly so, mon Général," responded de Fresne warmly. -"M. de la Rocheterie undoubtedly sacrificed himself to save me." - -"But, in the circumstances, could any honourable man have done less?" -enquired M. de Margadel. - -"No, he certainly could not," responded d'Andigné like a flash. "But -then you are trying to show that he is not an honourable man. . . . And -may I not also point out that, so far from his suppressing witnesses -(which I see that some of you gentlemen are inclined to suspect) he -here lost an unrivalled opportunity of allowing the most formidable -witness against him to be suppressed by other hands. Had he let things -take their course, and allowed M. de Fresne to be shot instead of -him--which seems quite a likely thing to have happened--he would have -got rid of the odium of the charge as well as of an adverse witness, -for the man who had paid the penalty would have carried the guilt also -with him to his grave. His execution would probably have cleared M. de -la Rocheterie in popular opinion. Surely these considerations must have -occurred to you?" - -"I knew he would see things in a proper light!" said Laurent, whose -spirits had gone up like a balloon, to M. Perrelet, while the Court -conferred over this, and M. d'Andigné, his chin propped on his fist, -darted glance after glance at L'Oiseleur's bent head. - -"I think," announced the President at length, "that the Court does not -wish to ask M. de Fresne any further questions. Have you any more -witnesses to call, Monsieur de la Rocheterie?" - -"Yes, two!" ejaculated Laurent under his breath. - -And Aymar stood up--but it was not to call him. He threw back his head. -"I call Monsieur le Général d'Andigné," he said in a clear voice. "That -is, if he has not forgotten," he finished a little breathlessly. -Laurent fell back in his chair. - -Amid the universal sensation M. d'Andigné got briskly to his feet. "I -was hoping that I should not have to be so pushing as to call myself," -he remarked pleasantly. "Will you question me, Monsieur de la -Rocheterie--I am entirely at your service--or shall I have the honour -of myself giving the Court an account of our last--our first--meeting -at the _Abeille d'Or_ at Keraven on the afternoon of April the 27th?" - -"The latter, if you please, General," answered Aymar. - - -(11) - -When Laurent was in an argumentative mood he would assert that it was -very wrong of M. d'Andigné, even if he were organizing with great -secrecy, not so much to have gone about under an assumed name (since -under his own he would have been far too dangerous to be left at large) -but to have kept up his incognito in front of L'Oiseleur that day at -Keraven when Saint-Etienne, being from his own province of Anjou, knew -all the time who "M. du Parc" really was. However, he would acknowledge -that on this occasion M. d'Andigné made what amends he could by the -declaration with which he ended his short and convincing narrative. For -he said, with emphasis, that it was he who ought to be exculpating -himself. "I ought to have known better what attractions a risk holds -for a young and ardent fighter, when I presented M. de la Rocheterie -with the idea of the mouse and the two cats, and even illustrated it -from a little piece of good fortune of my own in the old days. Had I -not been all these weeks, as you know, engaged in military operations -elsewhere, I should have heard of Pont-aux-Rochers before, and I could -have taken some steps to mitigate the terrible consequences which an -ill-timed suggestion of mine has brought on a gallant and honourable -man. I am at least thankful that Fate has given me this belated -opportunity for testimony." - -He sat down again. Aymar, his hands clenched, tried to thank him, but -his words were scarcely audible. As for Laurent, he was so radiant that -it was all he could do to prevent himself darting forward to his -friend, and, though he knew it not, M. d'Andigné, whom little escaped, -was smiling at his very patent exultation. - -"Well, gentlemen," said Sol de Grisolles, looking round with a satisfied -air, "this puts a very different complexion on affairs. I little -thought I was summoning the missing witness when I invited M. d'Andigné -to attend as an assessor. As the Court has felt all along, the great -weakness of M. de la Rocheterie's case has been the lack of conclusive -evidence that his plan was already all but settled upon. But now we -have impeccable testimony to that fact." He looked round the table once -more. "I suggest, therefore . . . Yes, Monsieur de Noirlieu?" - -"In spite of what M. le Général d'Andigné has pointed out to us," said -that persistent investigator, "there is still one more point which I -emphatically feel should be cleared up. What happened after M. de la -Rocheterie was found shot, in the--how many weeks was it?--that he was -at the château d'Arbelles? Might it not be said that it was because he -had rendered a great service to the Imperialists that they rescued him, -nursed him, and released him of their own free will . . . that he was, -in short, less their prisoner than . . . their guest?" - -Laurent, bristling, gave a kind of snort, and Aymar raised his head -sharply. D'Andigné's face was a study in expression. The Court -themselves seemed a little taken aback, then someone remarked, "Yes, if -any evidence is available, it might be as well to know what were M. de -la Rocheterie's relations with the Imperialists during his captivity, -and the reason for his release." - -"Perhaps M. de la Rocheterie will enlighten us," said Sol de Grisolles. - -"I can do better, mon Général," responded Aymar rather grimly. "As it -happens I can produce two witnesses as to the terms on which I was with -the occupants of Arbelles. I will call first M. le Comte de Courtomer, -late aide-de-camp to M. d'Autichamp, who was imprisoned in the same -room with me for the whole time, excepting the first night. Monsieur de -Courtomer!" - -At last! Had Laurent not been so furious with M. de Noirlieu at that -moment he might have been grateful to him for procuring him this -chance. But--Aymar a guest at Arbelles! He could hear for once in his -friend's voice his deep and justifiable indignation. But it was M. de -Noirlieu who was going to be annoyed before he, Laurent, had finished, -for he would look the fool he was. - -He was excited but fairly self-possessed as he stood at the little -table, and began with reasonable lucidity to tell the story of those -weeks at Arbelles. The early days came back to him so clearly as he -spoke that, when he got to the happenings of "Friday," the memory of -that scene, bubbling up fresh like lava, led him into an account of it -more vivid than Aymar appeared to appreciate, as he sat there with his -head between his fists, enduring it as best he might. - -At any rate, Laurent made abundantly clear the point he had so desired -at supper last night to emphasize--that Aymar, fighting with his last -conscious breath that nothing should escape his lips, had nearly given -his life for his comrade's victory. . . . Du Tremblay had his hand over -his eyes as Laurent went on to testify that for the remaining weeks -there were no relations whatever between the Bonapartists and their -prisoner, and to detail what occurred on Colonel Guitton's return. "And -that is how and for what reason," he concluded, "M. de la Rocheterie -was released--or, as some might say, turned out--from Arbelles." - -"Thank you, Monsieur de Courtomer," said the President out of the -ensuing silence, and Laurent turned and went to his place. He had not -been asked a single question; and, as nobody seemed disposed to put -one, Aymar observed that, since this evidence did not cover the first -hours of his sojourn at Arbelles, and it might be supposed that he had -had friendly relations with the Bonapartists on the day of his arrival, -if on no other, he would call the doctor who attended him to prove that -that was impossible. - -M. Perrelet, looking very rotund as he stood forth, was extremely -business-like and medical. He described in technical language M. de la -Rocheterie's very critical condition when he was summoned to him, and -during the whole of that first night; while Laurent behind whispered -delightedly to de Fresne, "That will knock that idiot into a cocked -hat! Listen to the long words and the Latin rolling out!" - -"My patient," pronounced the little doctor, "was profoundly unconscious -from the moment of his arrival. In any case a man so near death as he -from haemorrhage is not capable of having relations with any one, -friend or foe. . . . And since I am here," he went on unasked, but -unchecked, "you will like to know, gentlemen, that I can more than -corroborate what M. de Courtomer has said of the disastrous effects of -Colonel Guitton's inquisition a few days later. As to the turning out, -which was done in my absence, I was thunderstruck when I heard of it, -and not in the least surprised that in consequence I had to attend M. -de la Rocheterie for a threatened attack of pneumonia. He had a very -narrow escape of it. Hardly the treatment, altogether, that one accords -to a 'guest'!" - -M. de Noirlieu, to Laurent's joy, was looking sour enough now. He -fidgeted with some papers for an instant and then said: "Yes, that's -very convincing--medically. One cannot argue with a doctor. . . . You -were not present, I understand, at the interview with the Colonel over -those cipher notes?" - -"No, but I came in the moment afterwards, to find M. de la Rocheterie -almost _in extremis_," replied M. Perrelet rather snappily. - -"I should like M. de Courtomer recalled," said M. de Noirlieu. - -Laurent came back, full of fight, but wondering what the stout imbecile -wanted now. - -"M. de la Rocheterie was, I presume, aware of your presence in the room, -Monsieur de Courtomer, throughout this . . . unpleasant scene with the -Colonel?" - -"I should imagine he had something else to think about!" retorted -Laurent with hostility. In a flash he saw what he was after--the man -was a second Guitton! - -"He must have known that you were present. Did you, Monsieur de la -Rocheterie?" - -"I did," said Aymar curtly. - -"And you were aware that he was a Royalist officer--one of your own -side?" - -"I was aware of it." - -M. de Noirlieu lifted his shoulders. "I think, gentlemen, that -significant fact considerably detracts from the value of M. de la -Rocheterie's refusal to give information--viewed as evidence to -character, that is. Is it likely that he would have given it in front -of a fellow-officer?" - -"May I speak, Monsieur le Président?" burst out the witness. - -Sol de Grisolles nodded. - -"That--that . . ." (he managed to swallow the qualification) "point of -view was precisely Colonel Guitton's when he had failed. I should have -thought that this Court . . ." (again he struggled with himself and -abandoned the sentence). "Gentlemen, as this last interpretation has -been launched, you ought in justice to know that when, later on, -Colonel Guitton--for it was by his connivance--resorted to other means -to make M. de la Rocheterie betray a comrade, and there was nobody -there but the----" - -Aymar made a little gesture, and said in a low, quick voice, "For -Heaven's sake, stop, Laurent! That is not relevant!" - -But Laurent took no notice, and went on as fast as he could, "--He -opposed precisely the same refusal to that different method. You see, -mon Général, I was safely hidden, but when the search-party found M. de -la Rocheterie ill at the farm----" - -He was interrupted again. "One moment, please," said the Marquis de la -Boëssière. "This is a little too elliptical for us to follow. Are we to -understand that you were released at the same time as M. de la -Rocheterie, or what?" - -And Aymar seized the opportunity to rise and say with authority, "That -will do, thank you, Monsieur de Courtomer. We need not trouble the -Court with totally irrelevant matter. You can stand down." - -But a distinct murmur of "No, no!" went round. Laurent glanced at Aymar; -he meant what he said, no doubt of it. Then he hesitated and looked at -the tribunal. - -"--But we should like to hear it, irrelevant or no," said the President. - -Aymar was obliged to give in. He sat down. Laurent did not look at him. -He answered the previous question. "No, I was not released, sir. I -escaped the same evening and joined M. de la Rocheterie. We went to a -farm, and, as you have heard, he was ill from the exposure, and it was -then that a party from the château came to search for me; and when they -could not find me, but had M. de la Rocheterie at their mercy, _alone_, -they tried just as vainly to make him betray me by----" - -But here Laurent came to an abrupt stop. - -"Well, Monsieur de Courtomer?" asked the President after a moment. - -Awful and surprising finish! Laurent had so ached to tell this story of -heroism and endurance, and now he could not. His own sensations of the -time came back too vividly, and closed up his throat, precluding -speech. Besides, his tongue did not seem able to find a way of uttering -the thing. He stood there, mute and agonized, with everyone--save -Aymar--gazing at him. - -"Do you mean that they threatened him?" suggested the Marquis de la -Boëssière. - -And as the hitherto voluble witness shook his head he said almost -impatiently, - -"What were the means they used, then?" - -At that Laurent managed--but only just--to bring it out. - -"They used . . . a red-hot ramrod!" he gasped; and fled the table. - - -(12) - -There was an instant's electric silence. "_What!_" exclaimed several -incredulous and horrified voices from the dais, M. d'Andigné's among -them. "Good--God!" said the Marquis de la Boëssière slowly. - -But Laurent, without waiting for permission, was already back in his -place, his elbows on his knees, his head between his fists, heedless of -what, under cover of the general sensation, M. Perrelet on the one side -was disjointedly asking him, and of de Fresne swearing below his breath -on the other. "Ought I to have done it? ought I to have done it?" he -was saying to himself. "And will he forgive me?" - -And all through the low-voiced conference among the Court which -followed, and the subdued hum of the audience, he was more and more -conscious (though he dared only glance at it) of the back of that -figure in front of him. At first Aymar had covered his face. Suppose he -did not forgive him! - -Ah, here was Sol de Grisolles getting to his feet at last. - -"I think, gentlemen, that we do not need any more testimony as to M. de -la Rocheterie's conduct after the disaster, and as we now have M. -d'Andigné's evidence as to the _bona fides_ of the scheme he used, the -case is practically at an end. None of the Court has any further -questions to ask, since we do not propose to enquire into this last -shocking episode. Have you yourself, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, -anything more that you wish to say?" - -Aymar lifted his head from his hands and stood up. "Nothing, thank you, -mon Général." - -"Then I declare the case closed, and I will ask all present to withdraw -while the Court deliberates." - - - -They followed the orderly to a little room opening off the hall. -Directly the door was closed Colonel Richard went up to Aymar. - -"I am more horrified than I can say at hearing of your treatment at -Arbelles," he said, in a voice which indeed showed his strong emotion. -"And as for this last outrage--torture--I have no words for it!" - -Aymar flushed. "Oh, that was nothing. And I had no intention whatever of -having it brought out in Court--I never dreamt of such a thing." - -Laurent could not bear the sensation of estrangement (and at this -juncture, too) a moment longer. He turned round. "Aymar!" he began -imploringly . . . but the Imperialist had not finished. - -"I have been deeply shocked also to hear in detail what my own action -led to. Had I not surrendered that letter----" - -"And if I, still more, had not taken it back to the wood!" put in de -Fresne. - -"Gentlemen," said M. Perrelet, also intervening, and plucking the last -two speakers by the arm, "I think that if M. de la Rocheterie--you will -remember that he has been very ill--were to sit down quietly -now. . . ." - -"Of course," said Colonel Richard instantly, and he and de Fresne -withdrew themselves, while M. Perrelet shepherded his ex-patient to a -bench in the corner, and sat down in silence beside him, with a hand on -his wrist. - -Near Laurent, Colonel Richard and de Fresne were now commenting -optimistically on d'Andigné's extraordinarily opportune appearance. But -Laurent had no eyes for any one save Aymar, sitting there silent with -closed eyes, his head against the wall. His face was like a cameo, as -drained of colour and as passionless, too; he gave the impression of -having passed beyond suspense, but of being nearly slain with fatigue. - -But as the offender miserably studied him the closed eyes opened. Aymar -looked across at him and smiled. Then he made a little motion with his -other hand. Laurent went, hesitatingly, and sat down by him (the -guardian on the other side not attempting to say him nay), and though -Aymar did not stir and had shut his eyes again, the hand which had -beckoned Laurent there closed on his. He was forgiven--without a word. - -And in the odd silence which now fell on all of them he, holding that -hand, had to force himself to realize that this was the crisis, the -dividing line, that Aymar's whole future hung on what those men in -there (how could he so flippantly have called them the Nine Muses?) -were deciding. They could not now find him guilty, after M. d'Andigné's -evidence. But suppose they were not sufficiently agreed to acquit him? -There was "Fouquier-Tinville" and that stubborn de Noirlieu. Oh, that -was inconceivable! A fit of bitter revolt seized him. Why had Aymar -submitted himself into their hands? As if their opinion mattered! - -But it did matter, now! Involuntarily, he clutched the cold hand -tighter. De Fresne had begun to walk nervously up and down, but Colonel -Richard was still leaning against the wall with his arms folded; the -doctor was watching Aymar attentively. . . . - -Steps outside--the orderly at last. There was nothing to be learnt from -his face. "If you will come back now, gentlemen?" - -Their hands fell apart. Aymar got up instantly. Without a look, even at -Laurent, he walked to the door, and the others followed him in silence. -It came to Laurent, as they went through, that by the position of the -sword on the table they would know his fate. So, not very sensibly, he -shut his eyes for a second. . . . Then the blood rushed to his head. -The hilt of Aymar's sword was towards him. . . . Somehow he was back in -his place, standing as they all were, his attention divided between the -President risen to address the acquitted, and Aymar's motionless figure -in front of him. Why had the old Chouan put on spectacles to deliver -judgment, since he was looking over, not through them? His voice came, -relieved and kindly: - -"I have great pleasure in announcing to you, Monsieur de la Rocheterie, -that the Court unanimously finds you innocent of the slightest -intention of treachery when you sent your subordinate's letter to the -Imperialists, and holds that you had sufficient grounds for considering -your preconceived plan feasible. It does not, therefore, blame you, in -the exceptional circumstances, for attempting to carry it out. For your -efforts to prevent the disaster and your whole conduct afterwards we -have nothing but praise, and not least for your courage in voluntarily -submitting to a very painful ordeal. And if you will come forward, -Monsieur, I shall most gladly restore to you your sword . . . -untarnished." - -There was an uncontrollable burst of applause from the audience, through -which Laurent heard M. Perrelet beside him sniffing audibly. Aymar -moved; took two steps forward, and then put his hand to his head and -hesitated. Laurent was conscious of a violent nudge from M. Perrelet, -and his voice saying in a loud whisper, "Go with him; he's pretty well -finished!" So he took L'Oiseleur by the arm from behind and steered him -forward to the dais, and was thankful to see that the President, -realizing the state of affairs, was not waiting for him to mount the -steps to the table, but was coming round to the top of them with the -sword. And here, with a word or two of congratulation, he laid the -weapon in its owner's hands. Aymar lifted it to his lips, tried to say -something . . . then, clutching it to his breast, reeled suddenly -backwards into the arms of Laurent and du Tremblay, who already on the -watch, had jumped down from his place at the end of the table. - -He was indeed "finished"; but they kept him on his feet until, someone -producing a chair, they lowered him into it, and Laurent, kneeling by -him with his arm round him, disengaged the sword from his grasp. In -another moment M. Perrelet was bending over him. - -"Give him time, gentlemen! . . . Unfit for this . . . a great strain. -But he will be himself again in a little." Nevertheless, he had thrust -his hand inside the breast of Aymar's uniform. "Water?--yes, thank -you!" - -And Aymar's head lay against Laurent's shoulder, and Laurent, who rather -thought he was crying himself, and didn't care, was battling with a -most unseasonable desire to kiss it there, before everyone; and would -very likely have succumbed only that he was sure Aymar had not quite -lost consciousness. - -Meanwhile, the Court had broken up into little groups; the audience, -though deeply interested, and disposed to quit their seats, kept their -distance. And in a short while, after a period of being finely confused -at what had happened, Aymar had recovered, and stood up, and Laurent, -with shaking fingers, fastened on his sword--he and no other. No other -save he had even touched it. - -And, nursing that smaller joy amid the greater, he stood away watching -the little scene of congratulation that ensued, members of the Court -and of the audience alike crowding round that central figure to shake -hands. So he witnessed the long grip, the long wordless look, which du -Tremblay gave. - -Last of all came d'Andigné, with that fine smile, and said something in -a low voice which Laurent could not catch; but he saw Aymar flush, and -knew that it was with pleasure. But he did hear the General say, "Then -you will give me the pleasure of your company at supper to-night . . . -as a proof that you bear me no ill-will, Monsieur de la Rocheterie? I -would suggest, in order to spare you the fatigue of the return journey -from Kermelven, where I am staying, that you spend the night at my -château; and I shall give myself the privilege of sending the carriage -for you. I should like also," he went on, "to extend the invitation to -your friend M. de Courtomer, whose acquaintance I am anxious to make." - -Aymar turned and beckoned, and Laurent, as he was presented, braced -himself for the ignominy of confessing that he was not in a position to -accept this glorious invitation. Aymar would not remember his -disability . . . . But what was he saying? "I am afraid, General, that -M. de Courtomer will be unable to have the honour of supping with you, -unless you can put in a word for him in the proper quarter. I regret to -say that he is under arrest." - -M. d'Andigné's keen gaze turned on the culprit. "Dear me, what for?" - -"Because," said Aymar, half smiling, "he had a difference of opinion -with an officer of M. de Margadel's last night, and as the officer is -in bed this morning, and likely to remain there. . . ." - -"I see," said the Chevalier d'Andigné with a twinkle. "Oh, I think that -can be arranged, Monsieur de la Rocheterie . . . yes, I think I can -take that on myself. Our little festival would be very incomplete -without M. de Courtomer. Of course, he will honour me by staying the -night also." He turned directly to Laurent. "I think I can guess what -the difference of opinion was about, can I not?" and as Laurent did not -answer, he put his hand for a moment on his shoulder and gave it a -little pressure. After which he asked Aymar if he would be so obliging -as to make him acquainted with Colonel Richard, with whose general he -had been having some correspondence about combining to keep the -unnecessary Prussians out of Brittany. So Aymar crossed the hall with -him. - -Meanwhile, M. Perrelet had requested de Fresne to procure a carriage. -"We will drive him home," he said to Laurent and, drawing him aside, -"Oh, my dear boy, that ramrod story! And I had deserted him; you had no -doctor for those burns!" There were tears in the little man's eyes. - -"Oh, come," responded Laurent, "Mme Allard and I did not do so badly, -doctor. I shall set up in your line some day." He spoke thus -hilariously because, really, his eyes were in much the same state as M. -Perrelet's. It was so wonderful, so adorable of Aymar, in the midst of -his own triumph and relief, to remember his plight, and to be collected -enough to seize the one available opportunity of getting him out of it. - -De Fresne here came back and reported that there was a large and -enthusiastic crowd gathered about the steps outside. - -"There is no doubt," he added in a satisfied tone, "that the finding of -the Court is popular." As he said it d'Andigné, Colonel Richard, and -Aymar all returned their way, talking together. - -"I should be most willing, Monsieur," came the Imperialist's voice. "If -we combine, foes though we have been, it could be done. We are all -Frenchmen. I know that General Lamarque is most anxious to do it." - -"We will enlist L'Oiseleur also in the task," said General d'Andigné. - -"But I . . . I have no men now," said Aymar, colouring. - -"You have--what I once wished you, Monsieur, if you remember--your sword -again," said Colonel Richard. - -"It's your brains, your advice that I want, Monsieur de la Rocheterie," -said the Royalist. "It will be a matter of arrangement with our allies, -after we have come to an understanding with our compatriots. We can -talk about it this evening. And if only you had the famous _jartier_ -back we could try the effects of that on the Prussians." - -"But I have got it back," confessed Aymar, "and it is mended, and I am -wearing it at this moment. It is at your service." - -"Mended, eh?" said d'Andigné. "Magically, no doubt?" - -Aymar suddenly wheeled round and put his hand on Laurent's shoulder. -"Yes, magically," he said. "_He_ mended it . . . like a good many other -things." - -His smile pretty well finished Laurent. - -To cover his confusion he went out to the steps. His appearance was the -signal for a burst of cheering which very quickly drove him in again. -The crowd was much larger and more expectant than he had realized. He -clutched Aymar, just turning away from du Tremblay, by the arm. "Can -you hear them?" he asked. "In England, you know, we should take the -horses out and drag the carriage. I wonder if MM. de Fresne and -Perrelet are game?" - -"I am," observed the little doctor gaily, but Aymar, beginning to move -rather unwillingly towards the door, observed that for nothing on earth -would he trust himself behind Laurent as a horse in his present frame -of mind. "You might take the bit between your teeth and bolt again," he -added with a meaning smile. And he put a hand on the culprit's shoulder -and gave him a little shake. "I don't believe you are an atom penitent, -either. And what was so unpardonable, Laurent, was the inexactitude! I -had told you so many times that it was _not_ red-hot!" - -Laurent choked back a queer sound. "Aymar, you really are impayable! -. . . What's the matter?" - -Aymar had caught sight of the crowd. "Must I go through that? I would -rather face the ramrod again." - -"I'm afraid you must," said Laurent, and seeing that de Fresne and M. -Perrelet and du Tremblay were close behind L'Oiseleur, he darted down -the steps to open the carriage door. So, without meaning to, but with -delight, he saw the picture he should unendingly possess for his -own--Aymar coming down the steps after his ordeal, neither triumphant -nor abashed, but just his own quiet and gallant self. - -He had so much eyes only for that descending figure in its beautiful and -unconscious perfection of poise, that it was not till afterwards that -there came to him out of memory the stored scraps he had heard from the -populace as he waited there--among people who wanted to shake hands -with him, too, which rather bored him. "He would not tell--he saved M. -du Tremblay--that's M. du Tremblay himself--they say he was actually -tortured--how pale he looks--I knew a man who was with him in the -Moulin Brûlé----" and the only other actual visual impression he -retained, that of a middle-aged Breton with a firelock slung across his -goatskin, reverently removing his broad-brimmed hat as Aymar -passed--the Chouan who had spat at him yesterday. - - -(13) - -Laurent was in crazy spirits during the meal which followed at Mme -Leblanc's. Particularly did the good M. Perrelet appreciate his -sallies; and even de Fresne, who made the fourth, relaxed into -amusement. "I shall no longer be a 'guest' at that disgusting convent; -to-night we shall both be M. d'Andigné's 'prisoners.'--Do you imagine, -Aymar, that old de Noirlieu will be there--a 'prisoner,' too? I wish -Guitton cadet could be . . . as a footman! I shall go and serenade him -with the news this afternoon; and I shall write to Rigault, and he can -tell them all at Arbelles. Oh, I forgot, Arbelles is evacuated." - -"And in any case," observed Aymar, "they would only say that Saint -Sebastian----" - -Laurent dropped his knife and fork. His jaw dropped also. "Where on -earth . . . I always hoped that you never knew. . . ." - -"My dear Laurent," replied L'Oiseleur, smiling, "your walks on the -terrace did not give you the monopoly of the bons mots of Arbelles. I -also had the privilege of hearing them during my one visit to the -library." - -"Of course," said Laurent, when he had got over this, "it was really M. -Perrelet who turned the scale, not M. d'Andigné at all. Imagine being -able to hurl about missiles like 'ecchymosis' and 'haemorrhage'! I am -considering adopting the first as an oath." - -"I think," observed M. Perrelet, wiping his eyes (for his was not an -exacting sense of humour), "that you had better go and work this off -outside, my boy. I cannot allow you to remain in the house, because -Aymar" (he made no bones about the Christian name) "is going to bed -this afternoon so as to be in trim for the evening." - -So a little later Aymar, lying on his bed, looked up at the young man -and the old and remarked that they were both of them nothing but -tyrants at bottom, and that when they got together one was simply -crushed. "Not," he added, shutting his eyes, "that the process is -altogether repugnant." - -"I wish, my poor boy," said M. Perrelet softly, "that I had been there -to tyrannize over this!" And he gently drew his hand down his right -arm. Before Aymar could answer he had left the little room. - -Laurent stood a moment longer. Then he suddenly dropped on his knees and -hid his face against the bed. - -"Oh, Aymar, at last . . . at last!" - -Aymar gave a long, deep, tired sigh. "It was wonderful. . . . And _his_ -coming like that--a miracle. . . ." - -"_You_ were wonderful!" said Laurent unsteadily. - - - -Perhaps that evening was the most wonderful of all. No more efficacious -method of rehabilitation could probably have been devised than that -supper with General d'Andigné and his staff, where L'Oiseleur was -plainly the guest of the evening, and where yet the host, with -exquisite tact, so arranged matters that it seemed the most natural -thing in the world that he should be there, and not a festivity with an -object. And, in Laurent's eyes, the unanswering patience, courage, and -dignity which Aymar had displayed throughout the enquiry, against -perpetual odds both of bodily weakness and of circumstance, found here -something of their fitting recognition. In the seventh heaven himself, -he thought that, despite the marks of strain, of illness, and of -fatigue, there was no one in the room (except possibly M. d'Andigné -himself) who could hold a candle to him for distinction. And there were -moments when he looked as he had done before the catastrophe, when he -might indeed have been the Aymar of the Paris reception. But he would -never be quite the same again. To Laurent, at least, he was even more -admirable. - -Yes, he had come through the sombre forest at last, he had everything -back again now . . . all but one thing, probably, to him, the most -precious of all. - -Very late that night, after the guests had dispersed, Laurent went into -the room near his which had been assigned to his friend. It was a room -so large that two candles had little effect on it, but the moon was -streaming in also through the uncurtained window. And across the -majestic fourposter he perceived, by the gleam of his shirt in the -moonlight, that Aymar was sitting on the window-seat, partially -undressed. But his head was down upon his arms on the sill. - -Laurent hesitated. He had not meant to intrude on this. Perhaps, -however, he was asleep. Not liking to turn back, either, he went slowly -on past the column of the bed, and by the time he had got round the -foot L'Oiseleur had lifted his head and was looking at him with a -little smile. - -"Not in bed, Laurent?" he asked lightly. - -"And you?" retorted Laurent. "Think of what M. Perrelet would say after -such a day! It must be about two in the morning, I fancy." - -"It has been an evening, certainly. Did you enjoy it?" - -"What do you suppose?" inquired Laurent. "--But, Aymar, it was -indescribably mean of you to tell them about that silly dungeon and my -going back for M. Perrelet. You must have known that I was trying to -stop you!" - -Aymar made no reply. His smile, however, was sufficient commentary. - -"Oh, confound you!" cried Laurent, laughing. - -"Well, now you know what it feels like! And _I_ got it over quickly!" - -"Really, Aymar, I had no idea you were so vindictive!" - -"I am a mine of evil qualities," announced Aymar. "You ought to know -that from Arbelles. How long ago that seems, now. . . . You remind me, -standing there with your candle, Laurent, of further back still, of the -night I spent under your roof in Devonshire, centuries ago, when you -were so polite. You hoped I would sleep well--which I did." - -"And I could not believe I was not dreaming, to have you there. It was -then I saw the swan and the motto on your watch. And, Aymar," his voice -shook a trifle and he sat down suddenly on the window-seat, "your motto -is true. You are _'sans tache'_--you always have been!" - -Aymar shook his head, smiling a little sadly. But he looked at him with -great affection. - -Now, if ever, was the chance to say something about Mme de Villecresne. -"How pleased they will be at Sessignes," remarked the diplomatist, -looking carefully out of the window. The observation sounded inane to -him directly he had uttered it, particularly as Aymar made no reply. It -was no use trying to work round tactfully to the subject, and there was -always the picture of Mme de Villecresne eating her heart out there now -that she was enlightened. Besides, what of Aymar's own tell-tale -attitude when he came in? . . . So he next said boldly, "I suppose you -will go home now?" - -"No, I am not going home," replied Aymar; and he also looked out of the -window. - -After a moment he turned his head. His pallor was accentuated almost to -ghastliness in the moonlight. "I cannot very well do so. I told my -cousin when I wrote about the enquiry that whether I were cleared or no -I should not come back, and that I hoped she would continue to make -Sessignes her home. I should not trouble her." - -Laurent was now terribly bothered. What was the right thing to do? "Oh, -but don't you think----" he began, and then floundered desperately. -"Aymar, I think I ought to tell you . . . yet I don't know whether I -had better . . . I . . . I really wish you would advise me whether to -tell you . . ." and unconscious of the absurdity he was uttering, he -caught hold of Aymar's coat, which lay on the window-seat, and began to -wring a button round and round. - -A little smile dawned on Aymar's mouth as he looked at his occupation. -"Better tell me . . . before you have them all off!" - -"I . . . I talked to Mme de Villecresne after you left. I . . . I had no -choice--I had to make things clear. She . . . she had not understood, -Aymar--she really had not." - -"Sometimes," said Aymar very slowly, and dropping out each word -separately, "I have hoped that, since." - -"Yes," responded Laurent eagerly. "You see, when you explained to her -there was so little time--it was so sudden . . . all so horrible and -you never do yourself justice. . . . So I--she asked me, you know, and -I could not go away like that, before she did understand--I explained." - -"So you explained," repeated his friend. "That was . . . like you, -Laurent." He put his hand abruptly to his throat, got up with equal -abruptness, and walked away out of the wash of moonlight. - -He had told him! Now that Aymar knew that she knew the truth--now, -surely. . . . - -Aymar reappeared with startling suddenness, like a ghost. - -"Hadn't we better go to bed?" he said in a dry voice. - -Laurent jumped up and held out his hands to the ghost. - -"Aymar, if you blame me----" - -"Blame you? how could you think such a thing! Don't I know that you -would make out a case for me a thousand times better than I could -myself, and that you would do it so that it must be believed--if any -truth in this world is to be believed! And that is just why . . . Never -mind. Why talk of it to-night? Let us go to bed." - -But Laurent had laid hold of him. "Aymar--I'm so stupid--for pity's sake -tell me what you mean!" - -"Why," answered Aymar, very quietly standing still in his grip, "just -this: she understands _now_ . . . and it has made no difference." - -Laurent loosed him, aghast. By telling him what he had done he had taken -away his friend's last hope. He dropped back on to the window-seat. - -Aymar sat down there, too, and leant his head against a mullion. "You -see," he said evenly, "that this is a just inference, for she has had -plenty of time to write to me, even if it were only to wish me good -success . . . and I have not had a word. She cannot be ill, or my -grandmother would have mentioned it. So it is not my ineradicable pride -as you call it, Laurent. I am certain that you put things better for me -than I could ever have done myself. Another debt--the deepest, it might -have been, of all I owe you. But it only shows that she has washed her -hands of me. I dare say she has cause." - -The moonlight enshrined the two silent figures. Aymar had his chin -cupped on his hand as he looked out of the window into the warm night. -But before Laurent's eyes was the rose-garden at Sessignes, the little -white-clad figure, the misty eyes, the trembling voice. . . . Yet -nothing had come of that emotion, after all. - -Aymar turned at last and put a hand on his. "My dear Laurent, one cannot -have everything. Don't, don't look like that! It is not for me to show -myself ungrateful for this wonderful day. I don't think that I quite -realize myself yet that I am no longer an outcast, and that must be my -excuse." - -Laurent gripped the hand very hard. "I knew the luck would turn," he -observed rather huskily. "No one could go on having such appalling bad -fortune as you since you lost the _jartier_." - -"I suppose," said Aymar softly, "that it has never occurred to you in -your imaginative moments--no, I'm certain it has not--that all the time -I had something a thousand times better than the _jartier_ . . . a -piece of such transcendent good fortune that I might well spend the -rest of my life thanking God for it!" - -"What do you mean?" exclaimed Laurent. "No, certainly it has not. . . . -Still, of course you were very lucky in having an opponent of the type -of Colonel Richard, and again in coming across him as you did at----" - -He stopped, because Aymar was gently shaking him. - -"Is it nature or art, Laurent, that has made you so thick-headed? You -don't know what I mean? Well, go and stand in front of your -looking-glass, and perhaps it will dawn upon you!" - -But it dawned then and there, for as he stared at him Laurent slowly -began to turn crimson. - - - - -CHAPTER X - "SANS TACHE" - - "Will you leave me here? - So wrong, so proud, so weak, so unconsoled, - So mere a woman!--and I love you so, - I love you . . ." - E. B. BROWNING, _Aurora Leigh_. - - -"Did he do right--did he do right to go?" Virginia de Courtomer asked -herself, on this the ninth day after her son's departure. Yes, of -course he had done right, but had he done wisely? They are not always -the same, she thought. And then, "Oh, you foolish, faint-hearted -mother! you ought to be proud of having a son who does not count the -cost of devotion!" - -And she was proud; she had made no attempt to hold him back. Had he not -told her, at last, with all the rest, of an arm with five burns upon -it? Moreover, there was always that flooded river. And of his friend's -innocence she had no doubt . . . but supposing he could not establish -it? It was not only on Laurent's account that she had shivered as she -thought of what had been going forward these last few days at -Aurannes--a sort of Bois des Fauvettes over again, as Laurent had put -it. But Laurent himself would be there this time. - -Yes, indeed she was glad that he was with L'Oiseleur in his ordeal, but -still, she was a mother--a foolish mother, no doubt. And the General's -words had been very weighty that day in the salon. Laurent could hardly -have flouted them more openly and more immediately than he had done! -No, Laurent cared nothing for himself and his reputation where his -friend's was concerned--Laurent, who, as he had so absurdly remarked on -the day which saw the beginning of all this enslavement, would never be -a mother. - -"Dear boy!" said the Comtesse de Courtomer, and went and worshipped the -recent miniature of him on her table. No woman, she was sure, had ever -had a son like hers. It was just possible that to-day would bring him -back, and that to-morrow they could start for their stay at their -country house in Picardy as they had arranged . . . without the Aunts. -They would have a delightful autumn, with plenty to occupy them at -Courtomer. But she paused on this thought. Yes, it would be delightful -provided that Laurent did not return from Brittany broken-hearted. If -M. de la Rocheterie were not cleared he _would_ be broken-hearted. What -in that case was she to do with him? - -But, of course, L'Oiseleur would be acquitted. Yet . . . he had really -sent the letter--and, of course, for the sake of a woman! Back came the -memory of that evening in Devonshire when she had begun her clumsy -remark and he had replied that there was no danger. "Dear me," -reflected Mme de Courtomer, sighing, "we women . . . it is not only as -mothers that we are to be condemned! And this one . . . 'did not -understand.' Well, I think, from my recollection of him, that I could -have 'understood' anything that M. de la Rocheterie had done. I have -that amount of infatuation in common with Laurent, at all events." - -And to her thus congratulating herself entered a domestic. - -"Will Madame receive"--the card was presented to her--"Mme la Comtesse -de Villecresne?" - -"The Comtesse de Villecresne!" ejaculated Mme de Courtomer. She remained -speechless for a moment. "Yes, of course. Where is she? In the large -drawing-room? Ask her to be so kind as to come here to my boudoir." - -She could not have been more astonished had she learnt that the Empress -of China had called upon her. Mme de Villecresne herself . . . she, -precisely, who had not "understood," who had been so cruel . . . but -who was not to be blamed for it (Laurent's dictum). - -The pale girl who came in did not look like an empress, nor like a woman -who could be cruel, nor even like one who did not understand. She -looked as if she understood two things only too well--loss and a regret -unutterable and hopeless. That comprehension spoke so clearly in her -whole appearance that it caught Mme de Courtomer by the throat. - -"Oh, you poor thing!" her heart cried. But one did not begin like that -at a first call. - -Rather, "How kind of you to give me this opportunity of making your -acquaintance, Madame," when the visitor was seated, and the August sun -came in from the Rue St. Dominique on to her wonderful hair. "Now I can -thank you for all your kindness to my son during his stay at Sessignes, -of which he has so often spoken to me." - -"It was . . . your son who was kind to me," was Avoye's unexpected -rejoinder to this. And she went on, looking at Mme de Courtomer with -the saddest eyes the elder woman had ever seen. "If it were possible I -should like to have the opportunity of speaking to him again." - -"It is not I whom she has come to visit at all," reflected Mme de -Courtomer. "It is Laurent--to find out, of course, what has happened at -Aurannes." "I am so sorry," she said gently, "but my son has not yet -returned, and I have heard nothing. I think, however, that we may -expect him to-morrow--or even possibly to-day--and if you will allow -him he shall wait upon you at once and let you know the verdict. But, -of course, it will be favourable." - -The bewilderment in the eyes gazing at her was succeeded by terror. -"Verdict . . . what verdict?" - -Good Heavens, did she not know? Well, she would have to tell her now, -having blundered into it! - -"Laurent is at Aurannes with your cousin, Madame. M. de la Rocheterie -asked for a court of enquiry. If he has not informed you it was no -doubt that he wished to spare you unnecessary anxiety, and I regret -very much that I should have mentioned the matter. But, of course, he -will be acquitted . . . must indeed be already acquitted by this time, -and we shall soon hear the news." - -One great effort did her visitor make to save appearances. "I left -Sessignes so unexpectedly," she said with a formal air and a piteously -trembling lip, "that the news has not followed me. Perhaps I shall -hear. . . ." It was no use. The strained voice broke. "Aymar -court-martialled--_Aymar!_" she whispered to herself, and covered her -face. - -Mme de Courtomer impulsively put out a hand. But it was not seen, and -she withdrew it. "No, no, Madame, it is not a court-martial. M. de la -Rocheterie asked for it himself. He is not under arrest, I know. -Besides, I am sure it can only be a matter of form; he _must_ be -acquitted." - -Behind the shrouding hands the girl was quietly weeping. Mme de -Courtomer rose and went to the window and stood there thinking. Since -Avoye de Villecresne knew nothing of this business at Aurannes--which -in itself was strange--it could not have been anxiety as to the verdict -which had brought her here in the hope of seeing Laurent. It must just -have been hunger for some tidings of the lover of whom, now, she knew -nothing. Since his friend might know, she had come, a suppliant, for -some crumb of information--to be presented with this! Poor child, poor -child! - -In a little Virginia de Courtomer became aware that her visitor had -regained command of herself, and she came back to her place. "I cannot -blame myself enough, Madame," she said, as she sat down again, "for -having inadvertently thrown away, as it were, M. de la Rocheterie's -consideration for your feelings. I shall have to make my peace with -him!" she added more lightly. - -Avoye's face was suddenly flooded with colour. "What! are you expecting -him here, Madame?" - -"Oh, no," responded Mme de Courtomer instantly. "No, I wish I were. I -share my son's admiration, you know, for M. de la Rocheterie. At my -age, fortunately, one can confess to a penchant for a young man. My -son's devotion to your cousin, which dated, I think, from the first -moment he set eyes on him, is quite comprehensible to me. I am glad he -is with him now--when no woman can be." - -"It is not the first time," murmured Avoye, and she fixed her eyes on -Laurent's miniature. "What would Aymar have done there in captivity -without your son? He would have died. Oh, Madame, he has told me . . . -of that wonderful devotion, that never tired . . . night after night, -day after day, not only when he was so near death, but for weeks -afterwards, and he--your son--unused to anything of the kind. . . ." - -"I have found once or twice in my life, Madame," said Virginia de -Courtomer softly, "that a man can be tenderer than a woman on -occasions. I like to think that my Laurent belongs to that company." - -But Avoye had caught her handkerchief to her mouth and looked away. -"Good gracious," thought her hostess, "was ever any one such a -blunderer as I this afternoon? She must think that I am contrasting her -behaviour over the whole business with Laurent's . . . which was not in -the least my intention." - -Not to leave time for this reflection to sink in she hurried on, harking -back to her visitor's question of a little while ago. "No, I expect M. -de la Rocheterie is on his way back to Sessignes now, with this -unfortunate affair no more than a bad memory." - -"Did M. de Courtomer say that my cousin intended to return there if the -. . . verdict was favourable?" - -"No; I only assumed it, Madame, as the natural thing. There was no -indication of his subsequent plans, I believe, in his letter to my -son." - -But Avoye leant forward. "Are you sure there was no sign of what he -. . . meant to do if the verdict was not favourable?" - -Mme de Courtomer suddenly got up and seemed to consider that a vase of -flowers near Laurent's portrait needed attention. The fact was that she -had suddenly and very vividly remembered Laurent telling her of such an -indication, and she was afraid that her face might betray her. She did -not want to pass on the knowledge to that poor child. And yet, was it -not her duty? For really, if L'Oiseleur did come to that desperate -step, and took it quickly, sailing perhaps from Nantes or La Rochelle, -he might well be out of France before ever Mme de Villecresne could see -him again, unless she were warned. - -"Your cousin did say, I believe," she murmured, "that if the verdict -were unfavourable--which of course, is unthinkable--he should probably -leave France altogether, and go, possibly, to the United States." - -Every remaining vestige of colour went from Mme de Villecresne's face. -"But of course, dear Madame," went on Virginia, glancing at her -anxiously, "that possibility is not worth considering; he is bound to -be acquitted." And she made another attempt to lighten the atmosphere -by adding, half laughing, "For purely selfish reasons I am glad to feel -so certain of that, for otherwise Laurent would probably want to -accompany him to America, and I cannot spare him!" - -Her effort had no success. Gazing at her with a poignant directness and -absence of concealment Avoye said, "Madame, I envy your son more than -any one else in the world. He had his chance and took it, whereas -I----" - -Virginia de Courtomer could resist no longer. She stooped over her and -possessed herself of her hand. "Oh, my dear, surely it is not too late -yet! Forgive me--but I am so much older than you, and I do desire M. de -la Rocheterie's happiness, which I am sure is bound up with you alone!" - -And Avoye clung for a moment to the kind hand. Then she loosed it, as -one who has no right to comfort. "Yes, it is too late. He could not -forgive the things I said to him that day. And I shall never see him -again now. I have deserved it all, because I had so little faith. And -he went through martyrdom for me--martyrdom. He is going through it -again now. That alone--the enquiry, Aymar being what he is--is enough -to kill him. Only, I do thank God that he is not by himself there . . . -that your son is with him. . . ." - -She rose, in a calm of despair more moving than tears. Mme de Courtomer, -looking at her in pity, suddenly heard a door bang downstairs, and a -voice. . . . Was it? "Wait, Madame, pray! Do not go yet! That sounds -like Laurent. If it is, he can give us news." - -Avoye shrank back. Mme de Courtomer caught her hands. "My child, have -courage! It _must_ be good news!" - -Apparently it was. There was the further sound of a light foot running -up the stairs, a voice outside saying cheerfully to someone, "Is Madame -la Comtesse in here?" and a hand on the door. The mother of this -presence left her visitor, who shrank still farther back towards the -windows. The door burst open. - -"Maman, maman chérie, me voilà! Yes, yes, of course it's all right--his -sword given back to him untarnished, as the General said, and quite an -ovation afterwards . . . supper with d'Andigné, no less. It was he -who--oh, first, I must tell you that I've brought back a friend from -Aurannes with me, rather against his will . . . in fact, I had the -deuce of a tussle over it, so you will give him a warm welcome, won't -you? He can't run up the stairs like me, so I came on in advance." - -"But who is it, dearest?" asked his mother, disengaging herself from the -whirlwind. "And you have not seen, Laurent, that I have a visi----" - -But Laurent had gone to the half-open door and flung it wide. The guest -who could not run up the stairs had just arrived on the threshold. -There was a faint cry from the other side of the room. But Aymar only -saw Mme de Courtomer. - -"I really was brought by brute force; that must be my excuse, Madame," -he said, smiling. "To inflict myself on you was no part of my plans. It -has been as near a case of kidnapping as I ever remember to have heard -of." - -Mme de Courtomer, the tears coming into her eyes, gave him both her -hands. "My dear Vicomte!" she said rather unsteadily. And Aymar bent -his head and raised her hands to his lips. - -It was at this juncture that Laurent became aware of Mme de -Villecresne's presence. The shock, in his state of effervescence, was -almost calculated to unseat his reason. But perhaps so many shocks in -one room counteracted each other. Aymar was the only person who had not -yet received his. At any rate, Laurent was able to cross the room and -kiss Mme de Villecresne's hand; he did not quite know what he said to -her, nor she, doubtless, what she said to him. Afterwards he had the -impression that she never even saw him, her eyes being elsewhere. - -Laurent's went in the same direction, and so he saw Aymar receive his -shock. He changed colour, stiffened a little, and bowed, but he showed -no signs of advancing from Mme de Courtomer's vicinity. - -The Englishwoman out-generalled him, however. "Come, Vicomte," she said, -laying her hand for an instant on his arm, "you will want a word with -your cousin. It was a lucky chance that Mme de Villecresne was calling -here to-day, and can be the first to congratulate you." - -And, making a little sign to Laurent (for his part ready enough to -receive it) she slipped out by an unobtrusive door, followed by her -son, and almost before they knew it, Aymar and Avoye were alone . . . -in a silence. - - - -"Forgive my intrusion," said Aymar quietly but formally to the carpet. -"Had I known that you were here. . . ." The sentence was fully -completed by his slight movement of withdrawal. - -"The court-martial . . . you were acquitted?" - -"I was acquitted. My honour is cleared . . . in the eyes of the world at -least. I succeeded in keeping your name from the public. If you really -wish to hear any details, M. de Courtomer will no doubt give them to -you." He paused a moment, and then added, "Before I relieve you of my -presence I should be glad if you will tell me why you are in Paris?" - -She tried to answer, but nothing came. If he would only look at her--but -he kept his eyes resolutely averted. - -"No, of course it is no business of mine," he agreed, still gently. "I -had hoped . . . but that was not very likely in the circumstances. I am -sorry to have deprived you of a home also. There is no more to be -said." He bowed, and this time turned in earnest and walked to the -door. - -But the room was long, and the faint, heart-broken cry fluttered to him -before he reached it. "Aimé . . . Aimé . . . !" Too many memories clung -about that name for it to pass unregarded. Aymar paused, while the lips -that had uttered it tried to say more, and could not for tears. - -And slowly Aymar turned, and came back to the little figure--came much -closer this time; and now he looked at her at last. - -"Why are you crying, Avoye? Why do you . . . have you been ill?" he -asked, himself as white as a sheet. - - - -Twenty minutes later a self-posted sentry, Laurent, still leant over the -balustrade of the great staircase outside. He had already beaten off -Tante Clotilde, desirous of offering her congratulations on general -grounds to the "hero of Penescouët," and equally outraged and puzzled -at being refused admittance by her great-nephew and told with a nervous -laugh that her felicitations might be premature. - -And now . . . it seemed a long time that they had been left alone in -there--those two. Was it a hopeful sign or no? Surely, surely. . . . -But when Aymar was hers in very truth, would he be less _his_ friend? -. . . A surge of loneliness went over Laurent, but he fought it back. -What did that matter, if Aymar had his heart's desire? - -He heard the door open at last. He was afraid to turn round. Then he -felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice said "Laurent!" and he did -turn . . . to learn what Aymar's eyes were like when he was really -happy. - -"She wants to speak to you--to thank you. She owes you so much. But I, -Laurent, how shall I . . . ?" He paused as if to steady himself, and, -abandoning the sentence, merely whispered, "Friend of friends!" and -laid his hand over Laurent's where they clutched the rail. Their looks -met, and Laurent knew, knew with certainty, that he would always be -that to him--that happiness would not loosen the bond which unhappiness -had so securely forged. - -Then he suddenly perceived Avoye de Villecresne standing there beside -her lover. And her face, too, was wonderful. But it was at _him_ that -she was looking. - -"I shall never forget . . . Laurent!" she said, and held out both her -hands. - - -The End - - - - -Transcriber's Note: Throughout the text, the author's and publisher's -original typesetting has been used for: choice of roman or italic text -for French words and phrases; choice of three-dot or four-dot ellipses. - -In addition to the frequent use of em-dashes, the original text also -contains double-length em-dashes when an em-dash ends a sentence. -These have been rendered in the transcription as ----. - -The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the -public domain. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOUNDED NAME *** - -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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